Finn looked up, saw the sword, and blinked. “Good morning, me Laird,” he said, brave because Kristen was near.
“Good morning,” Neil rasped. Still, he did not move.
Kristen shifted Anna to her other hip. “The stable roof has been repaired,” she said evenly, giving him something ordinary to catch. “Ewan set the beam right. The mare ate oats from our hands. Nay one broke a thing.”
“I did. I broke the oats,” Finn piped up.
“That isnae a thing,” Kristen said. “That is food. Ye broke oats with yer teeth.”
Finn nodded, satisfied.
Anna held up her horse for inspection. “Neigh.”
“A fine animal,” Kristen praised, with all the seriousness the toy deserved.
The study slowly filled with the small sounds that made a castle alive. Little hands on wood. Small voices. The steady thump of Maggie’s tail when one of the children laughed. The glow of the low fire.
It was loud. Alive. Warm.
Neil did not step into it. He watched it as a man might watch a village he did not know how to cross. The sword stayed in his hand; his grip had loosened, but he did not let it go.
Kristen met his eyes over Anna’s head. “Ye can put that up,” she said gently. “There is nothing here that asks for steel.”
Neil looked at the blade as if surprised to find it there, then laid it on the table, careful with the edge. His hand lingered on the handle a moment longer than it should, then fell away.
“Come say good morning,” Kristen urged. “Ye willnae break them by standing near.”
His jaw tightened, but he did not move.
Finn saw the set of his mouth and lowered his own voice. “Maggie can sit next to ye, me Laird,” he offered kindly. “She is very brave.”
Neil’s throat worked. “I ken,” he said. “I have seen how she protects ye two.”
Kristen smoothed Anna’s hair. “We were just speaking of biscuits, Finn,” she said. “If we find some, we will share them with the brave.”
“Even the Laird,” Finn added generously.
“Even the Laird,” Kristen agreed.
The ache under Neil’s ribs sharpened, then spread. It was pain and a desire for something stable. He could not name it, but he knew it made the room tilt.
He thought of the cabin and the silence that had kept him alive. He thought of the kiss and the heat that had nearly undone him. He thought of this tender noise and how it slid under his skin like a blade he had not seen coming.
Kristen must have noticed his inner turmoil. After she brushed Anna’s nose with her own, making her giggle, “Shall we go find Davina?” she asked. “That way, we can let the Laird finish his work.”
Anna nodded gravely, while Finn sprang up and took her free hand. Maggie rose, ready to herd again.
Neil finally found his voice. “I need air,” he muttered.
Kristen’s head turned. “Neil,” she said, not sharp, not pleading.
But he had already moved. He crossed the room in three long strides and reached the door. He did not look back.
The corridor greeted him with light and cooler air. He shut the door on the warm chaos before the ache could break him open again.
Outside, Neil stood with his hand on the cold stone wall, his jaw locked, his lungs dragging in air as if he had run a mile. He stared down the corridor at the courtyard, where the wind still held a taste of last night’s rain.
He needed distance. He had thought he was ready to face this, but apparently not.
