Murdock’s hands stilled on the laces of his boots.
His mother. Dead before he’d turned ten, worn down by his father’s cruelty until there was nothing left of the vibrant woman she’d once been. He’d watched her fade, watched the light leave her eyes, and been powerless to stop it.
“I’m thinkin',” he said carefully, “that carin' about someone gives them power over ye. Power to hurt. To destroy. Me faither taught me that lesson well enough.”
“Yer faither was a bastard who twisted everythin' good into somethin' dark.” Hamish moved closer, his voice gentle. “But ye’re nae him, me Laird. Ye never have been, nay matter how hard he tried to break ye.”
Murdock finished with his boots and straightened. “This discussion is over.”
“Fine. But answer me this.” Hamish crossed his arms. “If this betrothal is just business, just temporary, why did ye look ready to murder me for saying she’s bonnie?”
Because Leona was his. Because even the thought of another man looking at her with desire made violence surge through his veins. Because he wanted to mark her, claim her, make it clear to every man in the Highlands that Leona Gilmore belonged to Murdock Lyall.
But he couldn’t say that. Couldn’t admit that a lass he’d known for barely a handful of days had somehow gotten under his skin in a way no one ever had.
“Go to bed, Hamish,” Murdock said instead. “We have an early morning.”
Hamish studied him for a long moment, then shook his head with a soft chuckle. “As ye say, me Laird. Though for what it’s worth…” He paused. “I think she might be good for ye. If ye let her.”
He walked away before Murdock could respond, his laughter echoing through the night.
Murdock stood alone by the loch, water still dripping from his hair, his body finally cool but his mind no clearer than before.He looked up at the sliver of moon, at the stars scattered across the dark sky like diamonds on velvet.
Hamish was wrong. Had to be wrong.
A woman he barely knew couldn’t have such power over him. Couldn’t make him feel things he’d locked away years ago. Couldn’t make him want things he’d convinced himself he didn’t need.
At least he hoped so.
Because if Hamish was right, then Murdock was in far more danger than he’d ever been in any battle.
And this time, he wasn’t sure he could win.
He gathered his cloak and began the walk back to the castle, each step heavy with the weight of truths he wasn’t ready to face.
Tomorrow, he’d take Leona to the village. They’d play their parts, smile for his people, pretend this betrothal was real. And he’d try very hard not to think about how much he wished it was.
For her own good, he told himself as the castle walls loomed before him.
For her own good, he had to keep his distance. Had to remember this was temporary. Had to protect her from the darkness thatlived inside him, the violence his father had bred into his very bones.
11
Leona hadn’t slept.
She’d tried. She’d crawled into bed, pulled the covers up to her chin, and willed herself to find oblivion. But every time she closed her eyes, she felt him. His hands on her body. His mouth on her throat. The way he’d pressed against her, hard and demanding, making her feel things she’d never imagined.
The ache between her thighs had kept her awake for hours, pulsing and insistent, a reminder of what had almost happened. What she’d wanted to happen, propriety be damned.
This changes nothin',he’d said.
Liar.
Everything had changed. She’d felt it in the way he’d touched her, heard it in his ragged breathing, seen it in his eyes before he’d shuttered them.
Whatever this arrangement was supposed to be, business, temporary, or convenient, it had become something else the moment his lips had found hers.
When dawn finally broke, painting her chamber in shades of pink and gold, Leona was already dressed. She’d chosen a riding dress of deep burgundy, practical but flattering, and braided her hair in a crown around her head. Her hands had trembled as she’d worked, and she’d had to start over twice.
