"Why did ye bid fer me?" The question slipped out before she could stop it.
His expression flickered with surprise. "Ye ken why. Politics. Stoppin' the alliance."
"But was that all?" She held his gaze. "Really?"
He was quiet for several heartbeats, their feet moving in time with the music. "I went tae that auction tae observe. Tae see which clans were bendin' tae Campbell's will. I never meant tae bid."
"But ye did."
He looked down at her, the corners of his mouth tightening. “Aye, Clan duty,” he said finally. “I did it tae stop others from usin’ ye. Tae keep Munro’s schemes from reachin’ me lands. It was nae about pity or claimin’ a prize.”
She swallowed. “And ye dinnae regret it?”
"Nay, I felt that lettin' ye go tae him would be wrong. Nae just politically, but morally. Fundamentally." His hand tightened on her waist. "I dinnae regret biddin' fer ye, Liliane. Under different circumstances, if things had started differently, I would have courted ye proper."
The confession stole her breath. "Tòrr."
"I ken. Ye didnae choose this. Didnae want me." His voice was rough. "But I need ye tae ken it isnae just politics fer me. Maybe it started that way, but somewhere along the way, it became somethin' more."
The music swelled around them, the crowd fading to background noise as his words sank in. He'd just admitted, what? That he cared? That this marriage meant something beyond convenience?
It unsettled her more than any threat or command ever could.
"I need air," Her voice came out shaky. "I need a moment. Please."
"Liliane."
But she was already pulling away, practically fleeing toward the inn while the crowd watched with knowing smiles, clearly thinking she was just overwhelmed by young love.
If only it were that simple.
Tòrr lingered near the edge of the square as the music began to fade. He’d meant to follow her, but something in the look on her face, that flash of hurt––or was it confusion?––had stopped him cold.
Now, standing by the inn door, he wondered if he’d pushed her too far too soon.
He’d seen the way she’d stiffened, the way her gaze had darted away as though the very idea of feeling something for him frightened her more than she cared to admit.
He scrubbed a hand over his jaw and exhaled.
Fool.
He should’ve given her more time, more distance. But every time he thought to keep away, he found himself drawn back, caught between reason and the pull he could no longer deny.
The faint crunch of boots on the packed earth broke through his thoughts.
Tòrr turned sharply. A familiar figure was making his way through the dim street, travel-stained and exhausted, cloak heavy with dust.
"Daemon?"
The man’s grin was weary but genuine. "Tòrr. Thought I’d find ye here."
"Daemon!" Michael shouted as he walked toward them, his relief palpable. "Where the hell have ye been?"
"Munro lands. " Daemon's eyes found Tòrr. "We need tae talk."
"Can it wait? Liliane's inside and I need tae wait fer her."
"It's about the alliance and what Munro's plannin'. Ye need tae hear this." Daemon's expression was grim.
