“It’s beautiful.”
Her voice startled him out of his spiraling thoughts. He glanced over to find her gazing out at the landscape, her expression soft with wonder.
And it was beautiful. The Highlands stretched before them in rolling hills painted gold and green by early autumn. Heather bloomed purple across the slopes, and the mountains rose in the distance, their peaks touched with morning mist. A burn rushed somewhere nearby, the sound of it a pleasant burble beneath the birdsong.
“Aye,” he said, though he found himself looking at her rather than the view. “It is.”
Leona turned her head, catching him staring. Color bloomed in her cheeks, but she didn’t look away. “Do ye ever take it for granted? Livin' somewhere so bonnie?”
“Sometimes.” The honesty surprised him. “When I’m caught up in clan business, in ledgers and disputes and politics, I forget to look. To see what’s right in front of me.”
Their eyes held for a beat too long. The weight of his words hung between them, suddenly meaning more than just landscape.
She looked away first, clearing her throat delicately. “How much further to the village?”
“Another hour. Maybe less at this pace.” He forced his attention back to the road, his jaw tight. “We should arrive just as the market is in full swing.”
“And everyone will be expectin'… what, exactly?” Her voice had taken on a nervous edge. “I’m nae sure what a newly betrothed couple is supposed to act like in public.”
Like they cannae keep their hands off each other,a voice in his head supplied helpfully, unhelpfully. Like the thought of anyone else touching her made him want to commit violence. Like he wanted to mark her, claim her, make it clear to everyone that she was his.
“Just be yerself,” he said instead. “The people will love ye for it.”
“Will they?” She sounded doubtful. “I’m a Gilmore. Me clan hasnae exactly been friendly to Ainsley over the years.”
“Ye’re nae yer clan.” The words came out sharper than intended, almost fierce. “Ye’re a woman who showed courage when it mattered. Who risked everythin' to do what was right. That’s what they’ll see.”
He felt her eyes on him again, searching, but he kept his gaze ahead. He couldn’t look at her. If he did, he’d say more. Admit more. Things he had no business admitting.
“Thank ye,” she said softly. “For sayin' that.”
A hawk cried overhead, circling lazily on the morning thermals. Thunder’s hooves struck a steady rhythm against the packed earth. The world moved around them, peaceful and beautiful, but Murdock couldn’t shake the tension thrumming through his veins.
Last night had changed things. He could feel it in the air between them, this new awareness that made even silence feel intimate. Could see it in the way she kept stealing glances at him when she thought he wasn’t looking, her green eyes dark with something that matched the hunger in his blood.
He opened his mouth to say something. What, he didn’t know. But then movement on the road ahead made his hand go instinctively to his sword.
Three men on horseback had appeared around the bend, blocking their path. They sat their mounts with casual arrogance, but Murdock’s instincts, honed by years of battle, screamed danger.
Beside him, Leona had gone very still.
“Murdock,” she breathed, her voice tight with recognition. “Those men…”
“I see them.” He edged Thunder slightly ahead of her mare, positioning himself between her and the threat. His hand stayed on the hilt of his sword, ready.
The men urged their horses forward, closing the distance. As they drew nearer, Murdock studied them. All of them wore the colors of Clan Kerr. One was older, grizzled, with scars that spoke of experience. The others were younger, cocky, with the kind of swagger that usually got men killed.
They stopped ten feet away, their horses stamping nervously. Thunder stood rock-steady beneath Murdock, a warhorse trained for battle.
“Well, well,” the older man drawled, his eyes fixed on Leona with an unpleasant smile. “So the Laird was right. Ye released the captive.”
Murdock felt Leona stiffen beside him, heard her sharp intake of breath. But when she spoke, her voice was steady.
“That person is nay Laird.”
The younger man laughed, the sound harsh and mocking. “Ragnall Gilmore is our Laird, whether ye like it or nae. Ye’re the one who lost legitimacy. The moment ye betrayed us.”
“I betrayed nay one.” Leona’s hands were white-knuckled on her reins, but her chin lifted with pride. “I refused to be used as a pawn in Keith’s schemes. There’s a difference.”
