She managed a shaky smile. "I'm grateful ye killed him too, if I'm honest."
That startled a sound from him, something between a laugh and a groan. "Ye were nearly kidnapped and ye're grateful."
"I'm grateful ye came when I screamed. That ye fought fer me. That ye..." She trailed off, suddenly very aware of how close they were standing, of his hands still cradling her face. "That ye care enough tae be furious."
"Of course I care." His voice roughened. "Ye think I'd let anyone take ye? Let anyone hurt ye?" His forehead dropped to rest against hers. "I heard ye scream and I've never moved so fast in me life."
The absolute certainty in his voice should have frightened her. Instead, it sent warmth flooding through her chest, dangerous and undeniable.
"Tòrr," she whispered.
"Aye?"
"Thank ye."
"Always." His thumb brushed her uninjured cheek. "I'll always come fer ye, Liliane. Nay matter what."
"Hate tae interrupt," Daemon said from near the bodies, "but we should probably move these before someone else comes in. And ye might want tae get her cleaned up before returnin' tae the festival."
"Right." Tòrr stepped back reluctantly, his hands sliding from her face. "Can ye stand?"
"Aye. I'm steadier now." Though in truth, she wasn't sure if she was shaking from the attack or from his proximity.
"Good. Daemon, help me move these. We'll take them tae the stable, let the innkeeper decide what tae dae with them." He glanced back at Liliane. "Stay here. Dinnae move until I get back."
"I'm nae goin' anywhere."
"Promise me."
The intensity in his gaze made her throat tight. "I promise."
He nodded once, then moved to help Daemon with the first body. They worked in grim silence, hauling the corpses out through the back door. Liliane stood frozen where Tòrr had left her, her mind spinning.
Her father had sent men. Had planned this when he learned about the festival and timed it for when security would be spreadthin and chaos would provide cover. He'd tried to take her back, to use her as leverage or trade her for concessions.
And Tòrr had killed for her. Without hesitation, without mercy. Had painted the washroom floor red to keep her safe.
The door opened again and Tòrr returned alone, a clean cloth and a small bottle in his hands.
"Where's Daemon?" she asked.
"Dealin' with the innkeeper and makin' sure word spreads about what happened." He moved to stand before her. "This is goin' tae sting."
"What is it?"
"Dram. Best thing fer cleanin' wounds that I've got on hand." He dampened the cloth. "Hold still."
She braced herself, but when he touched the cloth to her cut, she still hissed at the sharp burn.
"It does pack a sting," he murmured, his other hand coming up to steady her. "Almost done. When we get ae the keep, we’ll go tae the healer. But this should hold fer now."
"It's fine. I've had worse."
His jaw tightened again. "Ye shouldnae have tae say that."
"But it's true."
"Aye. Which makes me want tae ride tae Munro lands and show yer faither exactly what 'worse' feels like." He finished cleaning the cut and examined it closely. "It's shallow. Willnae scar if we tend it proper."
