Page 65 of Under the Laird’s Promise

"Aye."

She worked quickly, her movements efficient and impersonal. The cloth wound around his torso, crossing over the wound and tying it off at his side. When she finished, her fingers lingered on the knot fer just a heartbeat before she stood and stepped back.

"All done."

Tavish nodded, not trusting his voice.

Maighread moved to the other side of the room, putting as much distance between them as the small space allowed. She turned her back, busying herself with straightening the bedding that didn’t need straightening.

The air between them felt thick, unresolved. Every word they didn’t say hung there, waiting.

After a moment, Tavish stood and reached fer his shirt. His muscles protested, still stiff from the hours on the tavern floor, but he pulled the garment on anyway.

"We should—" Maighread started.

"Aye," he cut her off. "We should."

They dressed in silence, the easy banter from earlier gone. Tavish kept his back to the bed, refusing to look at the rumpled sheets that still bore the impression of their bodies. If he looked, he'd remember how she felt pressed against him. How her breath hitched when his hand had slid lower. How close they'd come to crossing a line they couldn’t uncross.

Better not to think about it.

Maighread sat on the edge of the bed, tugging on her boots. "Dae ye think the villagers noticed anything?"

"That we shared a room?" Tavish buckled his sword belt. "They ken we're betrothed. Comes with the territory."

"I suppose." She stood, reaching fer her cloak.

Tavish got to it first. He lifted the heavy wool from the peg, shaking it out before turning to face her. "Here."

She stepped closer, turning so he could drape it across her shoulders. His fingers found the clasp at her throat, working the metal catch with more focus than necessary. The task gave him an excuse to stand near her, to breathe in the scent of lavender that clung to her hair.

The clasp clicked shut. His hands remained where they were, resting against her collarbones. He could feel her pulse racing beneath his fingertips.

"Tavish," she said softly.

"Aye?"

"We should go."

He knew she was right. Knew they were dancing too close to disaster. But his hands didn’t seem to care about logic or rules or consequences. They slid down, fingertips grazing the swell of her breasts through the fabric before he forced himself tae step back.

"Sorry," he muttered, though he wasn’t sorry at all.

Maighread's cheeks flushed. "Dinnae apologize. Just…. dinnae dae it again."

"If ye insist, lass."

"I dae."

They gathered the rest of their belongings in silence. Tavish checked his weapons while Maighread rolled up the extra blanket they'd used. When everything was packed, they stood facing each other in the center of the room.

"Ready?" he asked.

"As I'll ever be."

The walk to the door felt longer than it should have. Every step took effort, as though his body refused to leave this room where they'd nearly surrendered to the heat between them.

Maighread reached the door first, her hand on the latch.