"Where's the fun in that?" Catherine plopped down beside her and grabbed a handful from the bowl. "Besides, we've plenty."
"Aye, ye lot eat like starvin' wolves," Tòrr's voice came from behind them.
Liliane's spine went rigid as he and Michael approached, both still sweaty from training, both carrying that particular alertness that came from sparring.
"Braither!" Catherine jumped up. "Perfect timin'. We need someone tall tae help us…"
"Nay," Tòrr said flatly.
"Ye dinnae even ken what I was goin' tae ask!"
"Ye were goin' tae ask me tae climb that tree tae get berries from the top branches. And the answer's nay."
"Ye're nay fun anymore," Catherine pouted, but she sat back down.
“Ye all have been busy.”
“More productive than swingin’ swords, I’m sure,” Sofia said lightly.
“Ye’d be surprised what swords accomplish when words fail.”
Michael dropped onto the bench beside Alyson with a groan. “Saints preserve me, I think he near broke me arm.”
“That’s because ye talk too much,” Tòrr muttered.
Tòrr moved to stand beside Liliane's bench, close enough that she could smell leather and sweat. "Mind if I join ye, wife?"
The casual use of "wife" sent an unwelcome flutter through her stomach. "It's yer garden."
"Aye, but it's yer bench at the moment." He sat anyway, his thigh pressing against hers. "Been playin' games all afternoon?"
"Hide and seek," Sofia supplied. "Liliane's surprisingly good at findin' hidin' spots."
"I'd wager she is." Tòrr's eyes found hers. "Years of practice, probably."
The subtle jab wasn't lost on her, but she couldn’t respond.
"So what's the plan?" he asked. "The festival starts in few days."
"We're all goin', obviously," Catherine said. "It's tradition."
"And we need tae show off our new sister properly," Sofia added. "Let the clan see her as Lady MacDonald."
The title made Liliane's chest tighten. Lady MacDonald. As if she belonged there. As if it was permanent.
"Ye're quiet," Tòrr observed, his voice low enough that only she could hear. "Somethin' troublin' ye?"
Liliane kept her eyes on the flames, but she could feel his gaze, steady, searching, as if he were trying to read the thoughts she was working so hard to hide.
"Nay. Just tired from all the runnin' about."
"Liar." His hand rested casually on the bench behind her, not quite touching but close enough to feel. "Ye've been on edge since we got here. What's wrong?"
She should brush him off, make an excuse, keep her fear to herself. But his steady presence, the genuine concern in his voice, it broke something in her.
"When we were playin'," she said quietly so only he could hear, "I went behind the outer wall. Near the storage buildings."
His body went taut. "And?"
