“It’s a child’s solution,” Leona said quietly, more to him than to Skye. “It willnae change the problems we’re facin'.”
“Nay,” Murdock agreed. “It willnae.”
But he didn’t pull his hand away from where Skye had placed it near Leona’s. Didn’t dismiss his daughter’s suggestion outright.
“It might buy us time, though,” he added, his voice low. “If we present a united front at the council meeting. If we show them that we’re committed to this… arrangement.”
“A performance,” Leona said.
“A strategy,” Murdock countered.
“See?” Skye said triumphantly. “It’s a good idea!”
Leona felt something shift in her chest, not quite hope, but something close to it. A possibility she hadn’t considered. What if, instead of running, instead of surrendering to the inevitable, she fought? Not with swords or politics, but with the one weapon Ragnall hadn’t counted on: genuine connection.
Even if that connection was just beginning. Even if it was fragile and untested. Even if putting it on display felt like exposing something too tender, too new, to harsh scrutiny.
“Ye’d be willin' to do this?” she asked Murdock. “To stand before the council and… and pretend?”
Something flickered in his eyes—hurt, perhaps, that she’d called it pretend.
“I told ye last night, lass. Ye’re nae facin' them alone. Whatever happens, whatever they say, ye’ll have me beside ye.”
“But now ye’ll be beside her lookin' like ye want to be,” Skye interjected helpfully. “Nae like ye’re just bein' dutiful.”
Despite everything, the fear, the uncertainty, the very real possibility that this would all end in disaster, Leona laughed. It was a real laugh, not tinged with tears or desperation. Just genuine amusement at this remarkable child and her straightforward worldview.
“All right,” she heard herself say. “All right. We’ll try it yer way, Skye.”
The girl’s face lit up like sunrise over the loch. “Truly?”
“Truly.” Leona looked at Murdock again, searching his face for any sign of reluctance or regret. “If yer da agrees.”
“Da?” Skye turned to him, her eyes wide and pleading. “Please? Please say aye?”
Murdock was quiet for a long moment, his gaze flitting from his daughter to Leona and back again. Then, slowly, deliberately, he reached out and took Leona’s hand properly, not just letting it rest near his, but threading his fingers through hers in a gesture that felt both intimate and inevitable.
“Aye,” he said, his voice rough with emotion. “We’ll do this together.”
Skye squealed with delight, throwing her arms around both of them in an enthusiastic embrace that nearly threw Leona into the loch. Murdock caught her with his free hand, steadying her, then pulled her closer to his solid warmth.
And there, on the dock in the early morning light, with a child’s joy surrounding them and their hands clasped together, Leona felt something she hadn’t felt in days.
Hope.
Maybe it was foolish. Maybe it would all end in heartbreak and disaster. But for now, she had allies. She had people who cared whether she stayed or left. She had Murdock’s hand in hers and his promise to stand beside her.
It wasn’t much, in the grand scheme of things. But it was something.
And sometimes, something was enough.
18
The warmth of Leona’s hand in his was doing dangerous things to his resolve.
Murdock had meant what he said about standing beside her, about facing the council together. But holding her hand, feeling the delicate bones of her fingers threaded through his, her pulse fluttering against his palm like a trapped bird, made him acutely aware of how much more he wanted than just standing beside her.
He wanted her beside him. In his bed. In his life. In ways that had nothing to do with strategy or council meetings or political maneuvers.
