Page 43 of Under the Laird’s Promise

"It's a lovely gathering."

"That's nae what I asked." Her cousin leaned closer, voice dropping. "Ye disappeared fer a bit. With yer betrothed. Looking rather flushed when ye returned."

"The sun's strong today."

"The sun." Kathleen's tone suggested she believed that about as much as she believed pigs could fly. "Right. Naething tae dae with the way Tavish MacBain was looking at ye like he wanted tae devour ye whole?"

"Kathleen!"

"What? I'm just observing. And what I'm observing is that ye two are getting very comfortable with each other."

"We're betrothed. We're supposed tae be comfortable."

"There's comfortable, and then there's whatever that was." Kathleen's expression softened. "I'm nae judging, cousin. I'm just saying… be careful. Lines blur easily when ye're pretending."

"I ken that."

"Dae ye?" Kathleen squeezed her arm gently. "Because from where I'm standing, ye're nae pretending anymore. Neither is he."

The words landed like stones in still water, sending ripples through Maighread's chest. Before she could formulate a response, Tavish returned carrying two cups of ale.

"Ladies." He handed one to Maighread, his fingers brushing hers in a way that felt entirely too intentional. "Thought ye might be thirsty after all that… activity."

Kathleen's eyebrows rose, but she had the grace not to comment. "I should check on the children. They've been suspiciously quiet."

She slipped away, leaving Maighread alone with Tavish again.

"Yer cousin daesnae miss much," he observed.

"Nay, she daesnae." Maighread sipped the ale, grateful for something to do with her hands. "What did ye tell the others about where we went?"

"Told them we were practicing yer throwing technique." His smile was pure innocence. "Which is technically true."

"Technically."

"I'm very good at technicalities."

"I'm starting tae notice that."

They stood together, watching the gathering continue around them. The wrestling matches had concluded, and now musicians were setting up for evening dancing. Soon the real celebration would begin, with bonfires and songs that would last well into the night.

"Ye'll dance with me later," Tavish said. It wasn't a question.

"Will I?"

"Aye. We danced three times the night we met, remember? At Beltane." His voice held laughter. "Can hardly break tradition now."

"That's nae a real tradition. We made it up."

"Best kind of tradition. The ones we create ourselves."

She looked up at him, at the way golden light caught in his hair and turned his eyes the color of the sea in summer. At the slight smile playing around his mouth, the relaxed set to his shoulders. He looked happy. Content. Like being there with her was exactly where he wanted to be.

The realization struck her with the force of a blow. It wasn't just performance anymore. Somewhere between the desperate lie in the forest and now, something had shifted. Changed. Become real in ways she hadn't intended and certainly hadn't planned for.

"What?" Tavish asked, catching her expression.

"Naething. Just thinking."