Page 57 of Promised to the Wicked Laird

"We have little time before Robert realizes his emissaries are speaking tae brick walls," Fearchar said softly, looking out the narrow solar window toward the dark ridges in the distance. "When he finds out, he'll push hard."

"Let him push," Nandag murmured without breaking her stroke, the quill scratching rhythmically against the dry vellum. "He will find Strathglass standing firmer than he thinks."

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

The late afternoon sun slanted through the narrow stone window of the solar, casting long, golden bars across the rushes on the floor.

Nandag sat near the hearth, a wooden embroidery hoop resting forgotten in her lap. Her thumb absently traced the iron head of a silver pin stuck into the linen fabric, her gaze fixed on the heavy oak door that led down to the courtyard.

Fearchar had stepped out only an hour ago to oversee the shoeing of the warhorses in the lower stables, yet the quiet chamber felt strangely empty without the deep rumble of his voice and the solid, reassuring weight of his presence.

Across the low hearth, Mairi knelt beside a wicker basket, methodically sorting through fresh bundles of dried lavender and sweet-gale to lay among the bed linen.

Mairi stopped her work, her sharp hazel eyes cutting across the firelight to catch the distant, lingering look on Nandag’s face. A slow, knowing smile tugged at the woman’s lips.

"Ye dainnae have to stare at the door fer that long, me lady," Mairi said smoothly, shaking out a sprig of dried heather.

Nandag started, her cheeks instantly warming as she snapped her attention back to the embroidery in her lap. She tried to assume a stern, composed expression that fooled neither of them. "I was merely listening for the guards' change of watch."

"Aye, of course ye were," Mairi chuckled, sitting back on her heels and wiping her hands against her apron. "And I suppose it was the change of watch ye were dreaming about when ye let three stitches drop intae that clover leaf?"

Nandag looked down at the uneven thread, letting out a soft, defeated breath. A small, genuine smile broke through her composure. She laid the wooden hoop on the small table beside her chair and leaned back, letting her hands rest in her lap.

"I cannae believe it, Mairi," Nandag confessed quietly, her voice dropping into a tender, hushed rhythm that barely carried across the hearth. "If ye had told me a month ago... when I was brought intae this hall, believing I was tae be nothing more than a replacement bride tae a laird..."

She paused, her gaze drifting back to the hearth, where the dry oak logs crackled softly.

"I feared becoming his unwilling wife above all things. I swore I would keep me heart behind stone walls." She looked up at Mairi, her dark eyes shining with a mixture of wonder and raw honesty. "And now... now the moment he steps out of the room, the air feels thin. I find meself listening fer the thud of his boots on the stair."

Mairi’s face softened into a look of deep affection. She reached out, placing her warm, work-roughened hand over Nandag’s knee.

"The heart is nae a garrison," Mairi said gently. "Ye cannae defend it against a man who daesnae come tae conquer, but tae stand beside ye. A man like that daesnae want a captive. He wants his match." She winked, a mischievous spark lighting her eyes. "And in ye he most certainly found it, I never thought I'd see the day the proudest daughter of Clan Chisholm admitted she misses her husband like a moonstruck maiden."

Nandag let out a breathless, embarrassed laugh, reaching up to touch her flushed cheek. "Mairi, hush! Look at the two of us, suddenly acting like mature women."

"I speak only what I see," Mairi teased, her smile widening as she picked up another bundle of lavender. "And I see a woman who has finally stopped fighting her own shadow."

The warmth of the moment lingered in the small chamber, but as the shadows outside deepened into the deep purple of twilight, the light mood began to drift away. Nandag’s smile slowly faded, replaced by a dark, familiar shadow that pooled in her eyes.

She turned her head to stare into the dying embers, her shoulders tensing beneath her wool dress.

Mairi observed the shift instantly. She set the lavender aside, her tone dropping its teasing edge, becoming steady and grounded. "What is it?"

Nandag swallowed hard against a sudden, tight lump in her throat. She picked up the silver pin from her embroidery lap, her fingers pressing against its sharp point until the metal bit into her skin.

"Mòrag," Nandag whispered, the name hanging heavy in the quiet air.

Mairi didn't break the silence, allowing the name to settle between them.

"I cannae stop thinking about her," Nandag said, her voice trembling slightly despite her best efforts to hold it firm. "While I am here, safe within these walls, sitting by a fire with a man who protects me... me sister is out there in the high glens with Robert."

She turned to Mairi, her dark eyes wide with a frantic helplessness. "Is she safe, Mairi? Is he keeping her warm? Or is he using her as a shield, the way he uses everyone else?"

"Mòrag is stubborn, Nandag," Mairi offered quietly. "She has yer faither’s blood."

"That is what terrifies me," Nandag interjected fiercely, leaning forward in her chair. "She is stubborn, but she is blind where Robert is concerned. She might be too loyal tae him. She sees him as the brave savior of the old ways, a hero fighting fer our clan’s honor. She daes nae see the cruelty in him. She daes nae see that he would burn every croft in Strathglass if it meant sitting in the laird's chair."

Nandag covered her face with her hands, letting out a long, shuddering sigh. "If Robert realizes that Fearchar and I are uniting the lower glens against him, if he sees his grip slipping, what will he dae tae her? And worse, Mòrag is too loyal tae him tae see the trap until the steel is at her throat. She might defend him until it destroys her."