Page 66 of Under the Laird’s Promise

She paused, glancing back at him over her shoulder. "Tavish?"

"Aye?"

"Last night…" She trailed off, seeming to struggle with the words. "It cannae happen again."

"I ken."

"Dae ye?" Her voice carried a note of desperation. "Because I'm nae sure I’ll have the strength tae stop us twice."

Tavish crossed the room in three strides, stopping just short of touching her. "Then dinnae ask me tae be strong either, lass. Because when ye look at me the way ye did this morning, when ye touch me so gently while tending me wounds, I want naething more than tae throw every bloody rule out the window and show ye exactly how badly I want ye."

Her breath hitched. "We cannae."

"I ken that too." He reached past her, his arm brushing her shoulder as he gripped the door handle. "But knowing it and accepting it are two different things entirely."

They descended the narrow stairs to the tavern's main floor. The innkeeper waited by the hearth, nursing a cup of what smelled distinctly like whisky.

"Morning," the old man said, eyeing them with undisguised curiosity. "Sleep well?"

"Well enough," Tavish replied, fishing out coins from his purse. "What dae we owe ye?"

"Two shillings fer the room, another fer the meal last night." The innkeeper pocketed the coins Tavish offered. "Yer horses are saddled and waiting outside. Took the liberty of having me boy prep them soon as I heard ye stirring."

"Much appreciated."

The morning air hit them as they stepped outside, crisp and cold enough to make Tavish's breath fog. Their horses stood ready, stamping impatiently in the packed earth.

Maighread moved to her mare without a word. Tavish followed, unable to help himself. He reached her mount before she could swing up into the saddle.

"Let me," he said, offering his cupped hands.

She hesitated, then placed her boot in his palm. Tavish lifted her easily, watching as she settled onto the horse with natural grace. When she gathered the reins, their eyes met.

"Thank ye," she said.

"Anytime, lass."

He mounted his own horse, falling into position beside her. They rode through the village together, side by side, careful not to let their legs brush. The distance between them felt calculated, maintained.

Neither spoke fer a long while. The only sounds were hoofbeats on packed earth and the jingle of tack. Tavish kept his gaze forward, tracking the road ahead fer signs of trouble.

But his mind stayed fixed on the woman riding beside him.

On how she'd touched him. How her hands had lingered. How she'd leaned into him instead of away.

On how badly he wanted to pull her from that horse and finish what they'd started.

"Ye've gone quiet," Maighread said finally.

"Just thinking."

"About?"

"How much longer we can keep pretending."

She glanced at him, her expression guarded. "Pretending what?"

"That this is just an arrangement." He met her eyes. "That we're just playing a part."