Page 131 of Under the Laird’s Promise

When they finally broke apart, both breathing harder, Maighread rested her forehead against his chest.

"How much longer dae we have?" she whispered.

"Before Sinclair arrives? Probably less than a day."

"I meant before ye have tae go back tae the preparations."

"Oh." He pressed a kiss to the top of her head. "A few more minutes. Greg's handling things."

"Good. I want a few more minutes of just this. Just us."

"Ye have them. Take all the time ye need."

They stood together beneath the arbor, holding each other, the pendant cool between them where it pressed against both their chests. Birds called from the trees. Wind rustled through dead leaves. The world continued around them, indifferent to their stolen moment of peace.

Tavish breathed in the scent of her hair, committing it to memory. Heather and something uniquely Maighread, sweet and grounding. His wife. His partner. The woman he'd fight and kill and die for without hesitation.

"I love ye," he said quietly. "Whatever happens, ken that. I love ye more than I thought it was possible tae love anyone."

"I feel the same." Her arms tightened around him. "We're going tae survive this. Both of us. Taegether."

"Aye. We will."

"Promise me."

"I promise." He meant it with every fiber of his being. Failure wasn't an option. Losing her wasn't an option. They would win because any other outcome was unthinkable.

Maighread lifted her head, opening her mouth to say something. Then her expression changed. Her eyes focused on something past his shoulder, widening with alarm.

"Tavish—"

He spun, instincts screaming danger even before his conscious mind processed what was wrong. Movement in the hedges.

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

Shadows shifted in the hedges.

Tavish's instincts screamed danger a split second before armed men exploded from the greenery. He grabbed Maighread's arm and spun her behind him, his other hand already reaching for his sword. Steel rang as he drew the blade just in time to block a vicious overhead strike.

The impact jarred his shoulder. The attacker was strong, well-trained, wearing Sinclair colors barely concealed beneath a dark cloak.

"Run!" Tavish shouted at Maighread.

"Like hell!"

From the corner of his eye, he saw her pull a small dagger from her boot. Smart lass. Always armed now, just as he'd taught her.

Another Sinclair soldier rushed from the left. Tavish kicked him back, then drove his sword through the first attacker's guard, catching him in the shoulder. The man screamed and fell. Movement everywhere now. At least six men, maybe more, pouring from hiding spots throughout the garden.

An ambush. Planned and executed while he'd been distracted, vulnerable, holding his wife in his arms like a lovesick fool.

Fury ignited in his chest.

A mercenary swung at Maighread from her blind side. She turned, too slow, eyes widening. Tavish lunged between them, his blade intercepting the strike with a shower of sparks. He shoved Maighread hard, sending her stumbling out of range.

"Stay behind me!"

"I can fight!"