Page 108 of Under the Laird’s Promise

The kitchen girls had gone silent, listening.

"That's how ye ken it's real," Moira continued. "When a man makes ye feel more like yersel', nae less. When he stands beside ye instead of in front of ye."

Maighread thought of Tavish redirecting the villagers' attention back to her. The way he'd stepped half a pace behind, deferring to her authority without hesitation.

"Aye," she murmured. "Aye, I understand."

Moira smiled. "Good. Now go speak tae yer faither. These girls can finish the rest."

"But I…"

"Ye came here tae think, nae tae bake." The old woman's eyes were knowing. "And ye've thought enough. Time fer action."

Maighread wiped her hands on her apron, heart thudding. "Thank ye."

"Dinnae thank me yet. If that MacBain breaks yer heart, I'll poison his porridge."

The girls burst into laughter. Maighread managed a smile, but it felt fragile on her lips as she left the kitchen's warmth and headed toward her father's chambers.

The corridor outside Angus's room felt colder than it should. Maighread paused at the door, steadying her breathing. Two guards stood watch, their faces neutral.

"He's awake," one said quietly. "Been askin' fer ye."

She nodded and slipped inside.

The chamber smelled even more of herbs and sickness. Her father sat propped against pillows, his face gaunt but his eyes sharp. A single candle flickered on the bedside table.

"Come here, lass." His voice rasped, weaker than she remembered.

Maighread crossed to him, settling into the chair beside his bed. "How are ye feelin'?"

"Like a man who's run out of time tae dance around the truth." He studied her face. "The Council's still grumblin'?"

"Aye. Some of them."

"And Keir?"

"Circlin' like a vulture."

Angus grunted. "Bastard always did have patience. I'll give him that much." He reached for the cup of water on the table. Maighread handed it to him, steadying his shaking grip. "What about the MacBain lad?"

Her pulse kicked. "Tavish?"

"Aye, Tavish. How is he with ye. I'm nae blind, lass." He set the cup aside. " I've seen the way ye look at him when ye think nay one's watchin'. And I've heard how he speaks of ye when he thinks I cannae hear."

Maighread's throat tightened. "What daes he say?"

"That ye're the fiercest woman he's ever met. That ye'd burn the world down before lettin' anyone take what's yers." Her father's mouth curved. "He said it with enough admiration tae make me think the lad's already half in love with ye."

"Faither..." The word caught in her chest.

"And ye?" He leaned forward slightly, his breathing labored. "Are ye half in love with him?"

She could lie. Should lie. But sitting there in the dim candlelight with her father's life slipping away, dishonesty felt obscene.

"I love him," she whispered. The admission felt monumental, terrifying and perfect all at once. "When I'm with him, I feel… capable. Strong. Like I could face down Keir and the Council and anyone else who thinks they can decide me future fer me." She met his eyes. "He makes me want things I thought I'd given up on. A future. Happiness. Partnership instead of servitude."

"What things, truly?" her father pressed gently.