“And I said nay.” Hamish planted his practice sword in the ground and crossed his arms. “Ye’re distracted. Unfocused. One more round and ye’ll get hurt for real, and I’ll nae have that on me conscience on yer weddin' day.”
“Me weddin' day,” Murdock repeated bitterly. “Where the bride can barely stand to look at me.”
“Can ye blame her?” Hamish’s voice was blunt. “Ye’ve given her passion and protection, aye. But ye’ve held back the one thing she actually wants. The one thing that would make all of this real instead of just a convenient arrangement.”
“I’m trying to keep her safe.”
“Nay, ye’re trying to keepyerselfsafe.” Hamish took both swords and propped them against the wall. “From feeling too much. From risking too much. From becoming yer faither.” He paused. “But let me ask ye something, me Laird. Did yer faither ever stand in a trainin' yard on the mornin' of his weddin' day, worried sick about what his bride was feelin'? Did he ever lose sleep over whether he was givin' her enough? Did he ever once consider that maybe his way of lovin' was wrong?”
“Nay,” Murdock admitted quietly.
“Then ye’re nothing like him.” Hamish’s voice softened. “Yer faither never questioned himself. Never doubted. Neverwondered if his love was hurtin' the person he claimed to cherish. But ye? Ye’re tearin' yerself apart over it. That’s nae the same man, Murdock. That’s nae the same kind of love.”
Murdock wanted to argue. Wanted to defend his position, his walls, his careful control. But the words stuck in his throat because maybe Hamish had a point.
Maybe he’d been so focused on not becoming a monster that he’d failed to see he was already something different. Something better.
He wanted to argue. Wanted to demand they continue until his body was too exhausted to think, to feel, to remember the way Leona had looked at him with such desperate hope and such crushing disappointment.
But Hamish was right. His head wasn’t in the fight. Hadn’t been since Leona walked out of his study two days ago.
He lowered his sword. “The maids picked a gown for her?”
“Aye. Skye helped. They say it’s beautiful.” Hamish’s voice softened. “They say she’ll be the bonniest bride the Highlands have ever seen.”
“She’d be bonnie whatever she wore.” The words escaped before Murdock could stop them, honest and unguarded.
Hamish’s expression shifted to something that might have been satisfaction or sympathy. “Then tell her that. Tell her she’s beautiful. Tell her ye notice her. Tell her somethin', anythin', that makes her feel like she’s more to ye than a problem ye’re solvin'.”
“She kens.”
“Does she?” Hamish challenged. “Because from where I’m standin', all she kens is that ye want her body and ye’ll protect her. But ye’ve nae given her any reason to think ye want more than that. Any reason to believe she’s more than just another responsibility ye’ve taken on.”
The words hit Murdock like physical blows, each one landing with brutal accuracy.
“What would ye have me say?” His voice was rough. “That I lie awake at night thinkin' about her? That I cannae focus on anythin' else? That the thought of her leavin', of losin' her, makes me want to tear the world apart?”
“Aye,” Hamish said simply. “That’s exactly what ye should say. Because that’s the truth, is it nae?”
Murdock looked away, jaw working. “Sayin' it willnae change anythin.”
“It’ll change everythin''.” Hamish moved closer, his voice urgent now. “Ye think she’s askin' for grand gestures or pretty words?She’s nae. She’s askin' for honesty. For ye to stop hidin' behind duty and protection and tell her that she matters. That ye…” He paused. “That ye care for her.”
“How do I love someone without destroyin' them? Without becomin'' him?”
“By realizin that ye’re nae him.” Hamish’s voice was firm, certain. “Ye never have been, and ye never will be. Yer faither’s love was about control, about possession, about making her into what he wanted rather than accepting who she was. But ye? Ye’ve spent yer whole life doin' the opposite. Giving Skye freedom to be herself. Listenin' to yer people rather than demandin' blind obedience. Protectin' rather than possessin'.”
“That’s different.”
“Is it? Or is it the same thing ye’re afraid to give Leona?” Hamish stepped closer, his expression somber. “And what if real love, the kind Leona’s askin' for, is somethin' entirely different? Something ye’re more than capable of givin' if ye’d just stop being so damned afraid?”
Murdock wanted to argue. Wanted to list all the reasons why Hamish was wrong, why the risk was too great, why settling for less was safer for everyone involved.
But the words wouldn’t come.
Because maybe, just maybe, Hamish was right.
Maybe the fear he’d been carrying all these years, the certainty that he’d become his father if he let himself love too much, was nothing more than a cage he’d built for himself. A prison of his own making that kept him from reaching for the one thing he wanted the most.
