Page 44 of Under the Laird’s Promise

"About?"

"About how complicated this has become."

"Complicated isn't always bad." He moved closer, lowering his voice. "Sometimes complicated is exactly what ye need."

"And sometimes it's exactly what destroys ye."

"Only if ye let it." His hand found hers, fingers lacing together in full view of anyone watching. "But I'm nae planning on letting that happen. Tae either of us."

The promise in his words, the certainty, made her chest ache with something she wasn't ready to name.

"The dancing's starting," she said instead of addressing what he'd actually meant. "We should..."

"Aye." He squeezed her hand once before releasing it. "Lead on, lass. I'll follow wherever ye go."

And she believed him.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

The messenger arrived just after sunset, when the gathering had thinned to clusters of men drinking by dying fires and women collecting plates from abandoned tables. Tavish spotted him before anyone else did and imagined he worked for Sinclair even if he was not wearing his colors.

"Company," he murmured to Maighread, nodding toward the gates where a lone rider was being stopped by guards.

She followed his gaze, her fingers tightening on the cup she held. "Sinclair?"

"Aye. I believe so." He touched her elbow briefly. "Stay here. I'll handle it."

"Tavish—"

"Please." The word came rougher than intended. "Just… stay put."

He crossed the courtyard before she could argue, each step measured despite the urge to run toward the threat or away from it—he couldn't decide which. The guards had already relieved the messenger of any visible weapons, though the man's posture suggested he considered himself untouchable regardless.

"Message fer Tavish MacBain," the rider announced, extending a sealed parchment.

"’Tis me. From whom?" Tavish asked.

“I am nae tae say, it is a private matter. Ye shall see.”

Tavish took it without comment, breaking the anonymous wax seal with his thumb. The script was precise, each letter formed with the kind of care that made his skin crawl.

MacBain—

Yer hasty departure from MacEwan lands after the betrothal put yer life in danger. As daes yer equally swift return after facing unnamed dangers on the road.

I remain in the village, observing. Should this match prove less than genuine, consequences will follow fer all involved. And the same will happen if it daes prove genuine, fer I willnae give up what is mine by right. I suggest ye consider carefully whether yer presence at MacEwan Castle serves anyone's interests. And that perhaps ye should leave and return tae yer castle, unharmed this time.

Yer continued good health depends on choices yet unmade.

A friend

Ice flooded his veins. The bastard was threatening him openly now. No pretense of civility, no careful dancing around intent. Just pure threat wrapped in polite language.

"Have a response?" the messenger asked.

"Nay." Tavish refolded the parchment, his movements controlled despite the fury building beneath his ribs. "Tell yer master his message was received."

The rider inclined his head and turned his horse, cantering back through the gates without another word. Smart man. Tavish's control was hanging by threads so thin a strong wind might snap them.