Neil stared at him.
Finn lifted his hands like a conductor. “Roar.”
Neil tried. The first attempt was miserable, more breath than beast. Anna clapped anyway. Maggie barked once in full support.
Finn nodded. “Good. Now, we run.”
Anna squealed and set off at a wobbling gallop, clapping her hands as she went. Maggie bounded after her, her tail swinging with each jump.
Finn took two quick steps, then paused and looked back at Neil with a kind of worry that did not belong on a child. “Are ye coming?”
Neil was half-dressed, his hair a mess, standing in a room that still smelled of soap and the ghost of last night. He could knock a sword from a hand in a blink. He could read a lie in a blink, too. He had no idea how to pretend to almost catch a child. He had no idea how to carry a girl the last stretch because she would tire.
He looked from Finn to the corridor and back. The boy’s hope was a small, bright thing. It did not feel like a test, and yet it did.
He let out the breath he had been holding. “Go.” His voice had weight again, but a different kind. “Run.”
Finn whooped and shot after his sister. Their steps pattered down the hall. Maggie skidded at the turn and recovered, her nails scratching for purchase.
Neil stood there for one last heartbeat, his hands empty, his mind loud. His body wanted steel, but the morning wanted something else.
Something he had no choice but to provide.
24
The kitchens were hot and noisy when Neil stepped in behind the children. Finn and Anna tore ahead of him like two excited pups, Maggie skidding after them, her nails clicking on stone.
The maids froze at the sight of the Laird in their domain, a ladle held in mid-air, a tray suspended above a table.
Neil ignored the wide eyes and the sudden hush. He reached for Anna before she ran into a bench and lifted her onto the table. Finn scrambled up beside her and kicked his heels, proud as a lord.
A maid slipped past with a pot of warm milk and gave Neil a quick nod. He cleared his throat and tried to look as if he understood every part of this routine.
“So tell me,” he asked, his voice gruffer than he had intended, “how does it end?”
Finn blinked. “End?”
“Yer game,” Neil clarified. He pointed toward the doorway as if the explanation might be hiding there. “What happens when ye reach the kitchen?”
Finn’s mouth opened, before a grin spread across his face, bright enough that Neil immediately realized he should not have asked.
“Punishment kisses,” Finn announced.
Neil coughed into his hand. “Punishment?”
The word sounded wrong in his mouth.
“For being slow,” Finn explained, solemn as a judge. “She catches us, then she kisses us everywhere. Here, here, and here.” He tapped Anna’s cheek, then her little forehead, then her belly.
Anna squealed and clapped both hands. “Kiss, kiss, kiss!”
Neil went very still. He had endured a hot brand with better composure. He cleared his throat.
“Ye like… that?” he asked stiffly.
Finn shrugged. “Aye. She is happy when she gives them.” He said it without bitterness. “She always is.”
Neil’s jaw tightened. Something twisted under his ribs, sharp and uncomfortable. Guilt. Tenderness. A feeling he could not name.
