“At three in the mornin'?” Hamish’s tone was dry as old parchment. “Try again, me Laird. And this time, maybe with something that resembles the truth.”
Murdock set down his quill with more force than necessary. “Fine. Ye want the truth? I was thinkin' about killing Ragnall Gilmore.”
That, at least, got Hamish’s attention.
His man-at-arms stared at him, his expression caught between surprise and concern.
“On what excuse?” he asked after a moment. “If ye got away with the first one, ye’re certainly invitin' war with the second. The whole Highlands will think ye’re making a habit of murderin' Gilmore men.”
“It’s nae like we cannae take it.” Murdock’s voice was cold. He’d fought wars before. Won them. “Our forces are strong. The clan is stable. If Ragnall wants to come for us…”
“But do ye want to go back to being that man, me Laird?” Hamish’s voice grew soft, serious in a way that made Murdock’s hands still on the desk. “Bein' just a weapon? I remember the man ye were before Skye was born. All rage and violence, with nothin' to live for beyond the next battle. Is that who ye want to be again?”
The words hit their mark, sinking into Murdock’s chest like a blade between the ribs. He thought of Skye, of the way she looked at him with love and trust despite everything he was, everything he’d done. Of the life he’d tried to build for her, away from the bloodshed and cruelty of his childhood. A life where she could laugh and play and grow up without fear.
“Nay,” he admitted finally. “I daenae want that.”
“Then find another way to help the lass,” Hamish said quietly. “One that doesnae involve more death. Because killing Ragnall willnae solve anythin'. It’ll just make ye into the monster they all think ye are.”
Before Murdock could respond, before he could argue or deflect or do any of the things he usually did when Hamish got too close to the truth, movement outside the window caught his attention.
He turned, grateful for the distraction, and froze.
Skye was in the gardens below, chasing after something small and black. Nyx, he realized.
The damned cat.
His daughter was laughing, the sound carrying through the glass, bright and joyful in a way he hadn’t heard in months. Maybe longer.
How long had it been since he’d heard her laugh like that?
The cat darted between flowerbeds, playing an elaborate game of chase. Always staying just out of reach but never going far enough to actually escape. Leading Skye on, keeping her engaged, as if the creature understood exactly what the child needed.
Despite everything, despite the tension coiling through his body and the exhaustion weighing his shoulders, Murdock found himself smiling. The beast had charm; he’d give it that.
“She’s happy,” Hamish observed, coming to stand beside him at the window. “I havenae seen her this animated in ages.”
“It’s the cat,” Murdock said. “Just the novelty of it.”
“Is it?” Hamish’s tone suggested he thought otherwise. “Or is it something else?”
Murdock didn’t answer. Because he knew what Hamish was implying, and he didn’t want to acknowledge it. Didn’t want to admit that Leona’s presence, even for one night, had brought something to life in his daughter that had been dormant for too long.
The idyllic scene below was interrupted when Nyx suddenly changed direction, streaking toward a group of men approaching through the garden. Murdock recognized them instantly. Members of his council, likely coming to discuss the upcoming harvest or some other matter of business that couldn’t wait until a more reasonable hour.
The cat, apparently lacking any sense of self-preservation, ran directly into the legs of Fraser, one of the more dour councilmen. The man had served Murdock’s father and had opinions about everything, from crop rotation to proper discipline for wayward children.
“This should be interestin',” Hamish murmured beside him.
To his credit, Fraser didn’t kick the creature away. Instead, he bent to pick it up, and Murdock saw Nyx’s typical reaction. A hiss and a swat, claws carefully sheathed, but the message clear:Daenae touch.
Fraser straightened, chuckling, and said something to Skye, who had caught up to them. To Murdock’s surprise, his daughter’s face lit up with a wide smile. She rose on her tiptoes and whispered something in Fraser’s ear, her small hands cupped around her mouth like she was sharing the most important secret in the world.
The man’s stern expression transformed into something warm, almost delighted. He beamed at Skye, then turned to the other councilmen and said something that made them allbeam.
Since when did his councilmen beam?
A cold feeling of foreboding settled in Murdock’s stomach. “Christ,” he muttered. “What has she done?”
