Neil cleared his throat. “Ye mean when ye dragged her to the wedding? How could I forget?”
“Aye. That.” Murdock’s gaze stayed on his sister. “She didnae grow up knowing what love meant. Our faither twisted it. Our maither didnae have enough time to show us. But Kristen created the meaning of the word herself. She chose to be gentle. Kind. She loved with her whole heart. Foolish sometimes. Fierce always.”
He turned to Neil and fixed him with a hard look. “I brought her to ye because I thought ye might give her a better life. I was wrong for a long while. Ye hurt her, even if ye thought ye were protecting her.”
Neil did not flinch. “Aye, I did.”
“But I see something different now,” Murdock continued. “I am telling ye, man to man. Ye can never hurt her like that again. If ye do, I will come for ye meself.”
There was no anger in Neil’s answer, only a promise. “I never plan to. I wasted too much time thinking distance would keep her safe. I willnae make that mistake again.”
Murdock studied him, then gave a short nod. “Good. Now, come before the bairns eat every bannock and leave us crumbs.”
Inside, the kitchen was warm and loud. The table groaned with plates, and small hands reached for everything at once.
Anna hummed over her half-bannock, and Finn tried to cram a whole piece in his mouth. Skye scolded him and then did nearly the same. Kristen, on the other hand, moved between the children. She wiped sticky fingers and cut small pieces and stole little bites for herself. Every time Neil looked up, she was there, alive and laughing andreal.
He ate because she pressed a bannock into his hand and told him he needed it. He chewed and felt the simple weight of the food settle his stomach. He watched Finn lean against his shoulder and wiped crumbs from Anna’s chin when she wriggled. He caught Kristen’s eye, and she gave him a look that said they were both surprised to be standing there.
When the plates were empty and the children’s eyes grew heavy, Murdock declared it was time for naps and frog tales. He led the three of them away with a promise of stories, and Maggie trotted after, pleased with her herd.
Silence slid into the gaps they left. The fire popped. A draft touched the flagstones by the door.
Neil stepped up to Kristen, who stood with her hand on the door handle and a small smile on her lips.
“Kristen…”
She looked up, and he saw the question in her eyes.
“Back at the castle,” he said, “I dragged ye into me world. Me study. Me tower. Me rules.” His mouth twisted. “I would like to learn yers now.”
She blinked. “Me world?”
He nodded. “Show me yer favorite place in these lands. Where ye go when ye need to breathe. I want to ken it all. I want to stand there with ye.”
Color rose in her cheeks. “It is nothing special.”
“I doubt that,” he said.
She held his gaze for a beat, then cracked a smile. It was small and shy and true. “Very well then, me Laird. Come.”
She reached for his hand, and he gave it.
34
Kristen led him along the narrow path, light breaking in soft patterns through the leaves. The air smelled of water and crushed grass. When the trees opened, the lake lay still and round, reeds stirring at the edge, the flat stone waiting where she used to sit as a girl.
“This is where I used to come when I needed to think,” she said, a little breathless.
Neil took it all in. “It suits ye,” he remarked. “Quiet at first glance, but deeper upon a second glance.”
She rolled her eyes, and her cheeks warmed.
They stood side by side, looking over the water. There were no children or brothers to distract them. No voices calling him away. Only the wind in the distance and the sound of their breathing. Shy smiles rose and fell.
Neil reached for her hand. She let him take it.
“Are ye sure?” he asked, his voice low.
