Page 27 of Under the Laird’s Promise

That warm feeling in his chest intensified. She keeps her word. Just like I do.

"Maighread?"

"Aye?"

"Thank ye." His words were getting harder to form, darkness pulling at the edges of his vision. "For caring if I lived or died."

"Of course I care, ye daft man." Was that tears making her voice thick? "Now sleep. That's an order."

His last coherent thought before darkness claimed him was that somewhere between the lie and the truth, between obligation and choice, he'd started falling for Maighread MacEwan.

And he was in serious, serious trouble.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Maighread pushed open the door to the healer's chamber, balancing a tray of bread and broth. She'd barely slept, checking on Tavish during the night to ensure fever hadn't set in.

He was awake, propped awkwardly against pillows, his face drawn tight with pain. The bandages wrapped around his ribs showed fresh blood seeping through.

Guilt twisted sharp in her chest at the sight. This was her fault—dragging him into her schemes, putting him in Keir's crosshairs, watching him bleed for a lie that was becoming dangerously real. She'd told herself repeatedly that this was strategy, nothing more. But the sick fear that had gripped her when he'd returned wounded, the way her hands had trembled as she'd helped the healer clean his injuries—that wasn't strategy. That was something else entirely, something she wasn't ready to examine in the cold light of morning.

"Those need changing," she said, setting the tray on the table beside the bed.

"Good morning to ye too." His voice came rough but stronger than yesterday. "How lovely ye look this fine day."

"I look exhausted and ye look like death warmed over. So we're even." She poured water into a cup, handed it to him. "Drink. Then eat something before I change those bandages."

He took the cup, their fingers brushing. "Bossy this early?"

"Always." She pulled a stool closer to the bed, sitting. "How's the pain?"

"Tolerable." Which meant excruciating, judging by how carefully he moved. "I've had worse."

"Comforting." She watched him drink, noting how his hand shook slightly. "We need to talk about what happened."

"Aye. We do." He took the cup, their fingers brushing briefly. "About what happens next. Now that ye're stuck with me fer the foreseeable future."

A small smile tugged at her lips despite everything. "Stuck with ye? That's one way tae phrase it."

"Accurate though." He drank slowly, watching her over the rim. "We discussed rules before, but those were made when this was simpler. Before I nearly died proving the betrothal was real enough tae threaten."

Her smile faded. "Ye shouldnae joke about that."

"I'm nae joking." He set the cup down carefully. "Keir tested us, Maighread. Wanted tae see if the whole thing was performance. Now he kens it's real enough that I'm willing tae bleed fer it." His voice roughened. "Which means he'll escalate. We both need tae be ready fer what comes next."

She moved closer to the bed, studying his face. "What are ye saying?"

"I'm saying we need new rules. Better ones." He shifted against the pillows, wincing. "We need tae be more convincing. More… committed in how we present this tae everyone watching."

"How real?"

"Real enough that everyone believes it. The Council, the clan, even Keir himself." Tavish's gaze held hers. "We'll need tae be seen together constantly. Act like a proper betrothed couple. Spend time alone where people might notice. Make this so convincing that no one questions it."

Heat crept into her cheeks. "That's… that could lead tae complications."

"Aye. It could." Something flickered in his eyes. "Which is why we need rules. Boundaries. Clear understanding of what this is and what it isn't."

Relief and disappointment tangled in her chest. She returned to the stool, sitting. "Then let me set them. This is me clan, me future at stake. I should decide what I'm comfortable with."