He’d barely slept. Had tossed and turned for hours, his body aching, his mind replaying every sound she’d made, every gasp and whimper. When he’d finally dozed off near dawn, he’d dreamed of finishing what they’d started. Of tearing off her dress and tasting every inch of her skin. Of burying himself so deep inside her that neither of them could tell where one ended and the other began.
He’d woken hard and aching, his sheets tangled, her name on his lips.
This was going to be a very long day.
“Da?” Skye tugged on his hand, pulling him out of thoughts that had no place in a courtyard full of people. “Are ye listenin'?”
“Aye, wee one.” He crouched down to her level, forcing himself to focus on her rather than the woman who was currently laughing at something her brother said. The sound made something tighten in his chest. “What did ye say?”
“I said ye need to bring back sweets from the village. They make the best tablets, and I havenae had any in ages.” Skye’s brown eyes were wide and pleading. “Please?”
“Aye, I’ll bring back sweets.” He tucked a strand of dark hair behind her ear. “But ye need to promise me somethin'.”
“What?”
“Ye’ll listen to Hamish. Ye’ll be good to the maids. And ye’ll be gentle with the…” He paused, catching sight of the black cat in Rufus’s arms. The beast’s yellow eyes fixed on him with what could only be described as feline disdain. “With the kitty.”
As if summoned by his words, Nyx hissed. A long, drawn-out sound that made Skye giggle and Murdock’s lips twitch despite himself.
He glanced at Leona, catching the way she pressed her lips together, trying not to smile. And failing. The sight of her fighting laughter, her green eyes dancing with mirth, did something dangerous to his carefully maintained control.
“I’ll be gentle,” Skye promised, though she was still giggling. “Even though I think she doesnae like ye, Da.”
“The feeling is mutual,” Murdock muttered, rising to his full height.
The cat hissed again, as if it understood and took offense.
“Be good, aye?” He rested his hand on Skye’s head, the gesture achingly tender despite his gruff tone. “I’ll be back before dark.”
“Have fun!” Skye bounced on her toes, her excitement palpable. “And when I grow up, I’ll go to festivals too! And I’ll dance and eat sweets and stay up late!”
Before Murdock could respond, Leona moved closer. Not close enough to touch, but close enough that he could smell heather and sweetness, close enough that his body responded immediately.
“There’ll be nay dancin' without me,” Leona said to Skye, her voice warm. She crouched down, bringing herself to eye level with the girl. “When ye’re old enough for festivals, I’ll teach ye all the dances. I promise.”
Skye’s face lit up like the sun. “Really?”
“Really.” Leona held out her pinky. “I swear it.”
Skye linked her pinky with Leona’s, sealing the promise with the gravity only a child could muster. “Ye have to keep it. Pinky promises are sacred.”
“I ken that,” Leona assured her. “I never break me promises.”
Murdock watched the exchange, something shifting in his chest. Something warm, dangerous, and utterly terrifying.
His daughter looked at Leona with such open affection, such trust. And Leona looked back with genuine warmth, not the forced pleasantness of someone trying to curry favor, but real care.
As if Skye mattered to her. As if this promise wasn’t just empty words, but something she intended to keep.
When Leona straightened, her eyes found his. They stared at each other for a beat too long, awareness crackling between them like lightning before a storm. He saw color bloom in her cheeks, watched her tongue dart out to wet her lips, and had to force himself to look away before he did something foolish.
Like pull her into his arms in front of everyone.
“We should go,” he said, his voice coming out rougher than intended. “It’s a fair ride to the village.”
“Of course.” Leona’s response was proper, formal. But he heard the slight breathlessness beneath it, the way her voice wavered on the second word.
Hamish emerged from the stables, leading two horses. Murdock’s massive black destrier, Thunder, and a smaller chestnut mare that one of his sisters had left behind when she’d married. The mare was gentle and well-trained—perfect for a lady.
