Page 30 of Under the Laird’s Promise

"That went better than expected," Angus said dryly.

"Fragile support at best," Tavish replied.

"Aye." Angus poured wine into two cups, pushed one toward Tavish. "Dougal speaks fer a faction that wants Sinclair alliance regardless of cost. They see gold and military strength, nae the trap it represents."

"How large is this faction?"

"Three council members openly. Perhaps two more quietly." Angus's gaze sharpened. “Keir Sinclair is dangerous, aye. But internal opposition can be worse. At least Keir's intentions are obvious. Dougal and his allies work through whispers and manipulation. They'll undermine ye slowly, erode support until the Council demands Maighread choose differently."

"That could complicate things."

Angus's expression went serious. "Maighread needs someone who'll fight fer her nae out of duty but because losing her would destroy him. Someone who'll face down Keir, the Council, and any other threat because the alternative is unthinkable. Can ye be that man, Tavish?"

The question landed harder than expected. Three days ago, this had been obligation.

Now the thought of Keir touching Maighread made rage boil in his chest. The memory of her hands gentle on his wounds made something warm unfurl beneath his ribs. Her laugh, her stubbornness, her fierce intelligence—all of it tangled into feelings he couldn't name and didn't want tae examine.

"I can be that man," he said quietly. "I already am that man, whether I planned it or nae."

CHAPTER TEN

Maighread found Tavish in the small chamber adjacent to the Great Hall, leaning against the window frame and staring out at the loch. Three days since the council meeting. Three days since he'd stood before those skeptical men and defended their betrothal with a conviction that had surprised her.

She'd been avoiding him since then, unsure how to navigate their new reality. The rules they'd set felt both too restrictive and not nearly enough. But they couldn't avoid each other forever. Not when the entire castle watched their every interaction.

"We need to talk," she said from the doorway.

He turned, his expression guarded. "Aye. I suppose we dae."

"About our story. The one we're supposed tae have been living fer months." She entered the room, closing the door behind her. Improper, but necessary. "Kathleen says the servants are already gossiping. Half think we're madly in love, half think it's a political arrangement. We need everyone believing the former."

Something eased in his face. "Ye're right. We've been fumbling through it badly. Time tae get our tale straight before someone catches us in another contradiction."

"Agreed." He moved to the table, gesturing for her to sit. "So. Let's start at the beginning. Where did we meet?"

"The Beltane gathering in Edinburgh. Three years ago." She settled onto the bench. "We agreed on that already."

"Aye, but what happened after I caught yer wine cup?" His eyes glinted. "Did we speak? Dance? Sneak off behind the stables for a quick tumble?"

Heat flooded her cheeks. "We did nae tumble anywhere!"

"Pity. That would make the story more interesting." He grinned. "Fine. We spoke. About what?"

"About..." Her mind went blank. "About the weather?"

"The weather." His tone went flat. "Lass, if all we discussed was clouds and rain, I'm a terrible romantic."

"Then what should we have talked about?"

"Ye." He leaned back, studying her. "I would have asked about yer life, yer interests. Tried to make ye laugh. Complimented yer eyes—they're quite striking, by the way. Storm grey with flecks of silver when the light hits them just right."

Her breath caught. "That's… oddly specific."

"I'm practicing." His voice roughened slightly. "Convincing lies require vivid details."

"Right. Details." She forced her mind back to the task. "So ye complimented me eyes. Then what?"

"Then ye blushed, exactly like ye're daeing now, and tried tae change the subject. But I persisted. Asked if ye'd dance with me."