"Aye. But what choice dae either of us have? They depend on us."
"And who dae we depend on?"
The question hung between them, heavy with implication. His eyes held hers, and she saw her own loneliness reflected back at her.
"I suppose that's the price of being the one others lean on," he said finally. "We learn tae stand alone."
"Is that what ye want? Tae stand alone?"
"Nay." The simple honesty of it surprised her. "But wantin' and havin' are different things, lass. Ye should ken that better than most."
She did. God, she did.
"Ye should get some rest," he said, breaking the moment.
Liliane didn’t move. The warmth between them lingered in the air, fragile as spun glass. Her fingers brushed the edge of the table, tracing the grain as if to anchor herself before she found the courage to speak.
"Ye're… nae comin' tae the chamber?" she asked finally, her voice softer than she meant it to be.
Tòrr's quill stilled midair. He looked up at her, the lamplight catching the green in his eyes. "Nay," he said quietly. "I'll be spendin' the night here. Still have work tae finish."
Her breath caught, a faint disappointment stirring where she hadn’t expected it. "In that chair? Ye'll wake with yer back twisted worse than yer ankle."
"I've slept in worse places," he replied, and though his tone was mild, his mouth curved in a small, knowing smile that told her he understood exactly what she’d meant.
She stood slowly, reluctant to leave the fragile peace they'd stumbled into. For a heartbeat, she reached out—then stopped herself, fingers curling against her palm.
He picked up his quill again, a deliberate dismissal. "Go on, lass. Get some sleep."
She left the library, her mind churning with confusion. Every conversation with him seemed to shift the ground beneath her feet, making her question everything she'd been so certain about.
Back in their chamber, she lay alone in their bed and stared at the ceiling, conflicted by emotions she couldn't name.
She'd spoken of Nessa. Revealed her greatest vulnerability to the one man who could use it against her. Yet somehow, she didn't feel more trapped. She felt... seen. Understood in a way she'd never experienced before.
And that terrified her more than any cage ever could.
"Me laird, a rider's arrived."
Tòrr looked up from breaking his fast, noting the tension in the guard's face. "From where?"
"Munro lands. He carries a sealed letter. Says it's urgent."
Every conversation in the hall died as Tòrr stood. "Bring him tae the council chamber. Gather Michael and the elders immediately."
Within minutes, they were assembled—his brother, Elder Malcolm and Gregor, Captain Fraser of the guard, and the nervous rider who'd delivered the message. The wax seal bore Roderick Munro's mark, pressed deep into the blood-red wax.
Tòrr broke it open and read in silence.
"Well?" Michael demanded. "What daes the bastard want?"
"He wants Liliane returned." Tòrr's voice was flat. "Claims the marriage is unlawful. That I forced his daughter against her will and his consent."
"Forced?" Elder Malcolm's face reddened. "Ye paid more than fair coin at a legal auction! How is that force?"
"He's graspin' at straws," Michael said. "Tryin' tae find any angle tae challenge the marriage."
"There's more." Tòrr read aloud, his voice hardening with each word. "Should ye continue tae defy me request, I will appeal tae His Majesty King William fer an annulment. I will present evidence of coercion, of unlawful procurement.'" He stopped, his jaw clenching. "He ends with a threat.'Remember, MacDonald, that a man's younger blood can pay the price fer the elder's defiance. I trust ye understand me meanin’."
