“Could we speak?” he asked finally, his voice low and rough.
“Ye came,” she said.
“Aye.”
“Why?”
Murdock’s jaw tightened. “Because I’m an idiot. Because I let ye leave. Because I’ve spent the past week wanting to drive me fist through a wall every time I walk into a room and ye arenae there.”
Leona’s breath caught. “Murdock?—”
“Nay. Let me…” He dragged a hand through his hair, a gesture of frustration she remembered so well. “Let me say this. Before I lose me nerve. Before ye tell me to leave, and I have to accept it.”
He took a step into the room. Then another. Moving slowly, carefully, like he was approaching something wild and easily startled.
“I was wrong,” he said, and the words sounded like they were being torn from somewhere deep inside him. “About everythin'. About ye, about meself, about what I was capable of feelin'.”
“What are ye sayin'?”
“I’m sayin' I’m a coward.” His voice was raw, stripped of all the careful control she was used to. “I’m sayin' I let fear rule me instead of…” He stopped, struggled, then forced himself to continue. “Instead of trustin' what I felt. What I feel.”
Leona’s heart was pounding so hard she felt dizzy. “And what do ye feel?”
Murdock took another step closer. Close enough now that she could see the exhaustion in his eyes, the tension in his jaw, the way his hands were clenched at his sides like he was physically restraining himself from reaching for her.
“Terrified,” he admitted. “Absolutely terrified. Because ye’re standin' there, lookin' at me like I might actually have a chance, and I cannae breathe for wantin' ye. For lovin' ye.”
The world tilted.
“What?” she breathed.
“I love ye.” He said it like a confession, like an apology. “I’ve loved ye since ye walked into the dungeons and demanded I escape with ye. I just… I couldnae let meself see it. Couldnae let meself feel it. Because feelin' it meant riskin' becomin' me faither, and I’d rather die than?—”
“Ye’re nothin' like yer faither,” Leona interrupted, finding her voice at last. “Nothin'. Ye’re kind and gentle and?—”
“I killed many men in front of ye.” Murdock’s voice was harsh. “Cut off Ragnall’s hand. Beheaded him. And felt nothin' but satisfaction.”
“Yeprotectedme. Protected Skye. That’s what faithers do: they protect the people they love. Even if it means violence. Yer faither hurt people for power. For control. Ye hurt people to keep others safe. Can ye nae see the difference?”
“I’m tryin' to.” Murdock’s voice broke. “I’m tryin' so damn hard to see it. To believe I can be more than what he made me. That I can love ye without destroyin' ye.”
“Then believe it.” Leona reached out to cup his face in her hands, feeling the rough stubble against her palms. “Because I do. I believe in ye completely.”
“Leona…” Her name came out rough, desperate. “I daenae deserve ye.”
“Maybe nae. But I love ye anyway.”
The confession hung between them, more powerful than any weapon, more dangerous than any enemy.
“Ye…” Murdock stared at her. “Ye what?”
“I love ye.” Leona felt tears welling up, but this time they were tears of joy rather than grief. “I’ve loved ye for weeks. Since ye let Skye scheme and plot and play matchmaker. Since ye killed the man who would have forced me into marriage. Since ye kissed me like…like I mattered. Since ye opened yer home for me. Since ye protected me that first night, even though ye kent nothing of me.”
“I kent ye’d be mine.”
The confession made her week at the knees.
“I love ye, Murdock Lyall. Every scarred, complicated, beautiful part of ye.”
