Page 77 of Under the Laird’s Promise

The corridor leading to his quarters was quiet, most of the household busy with evening tasks. Maighread paused outside his door, her hand raised to knock. Her heart hammered so loudly she could hear it in her ears.

Just knock. Just talk to him.

She rapped her knuckles against the wood before she could talk herself out of it.

"Come in," Tavish's voice called from inside.

Maighread pushed open the door, stepping into the chamber. Tavish sat at the small desk near the window, bent over a piece of parchment. He'd changed since the attack, his bloodied clothing replaced with clean trews and a fresh shirt. His hair was damp, suggesting a recent wash.

He glanced up as she entered, and his expression shifted immediately. The quill stilled in his hand.

"Maighread." He set the quill down. "Is something wrong?"

"Nay, I just..." She faltered, suddenly unsure how to begin. "I wanted tae speak with ye. About our situation."

He gestured to the chair across from him. "Of course."

She settled into the seat, her hands folding in her lap to hide their trembling. Tavish leaned back, but his attention remained on the letter before him, his expression distant.

"I've been thinking about the attack," he said, picking up the quill again. "About how organized it was. How they kenned our route." His jaw tightened as he dipped the quill in ink. "This threat is more serious than we anticipated."

"Aye, I ken."

"Which is why I'm writing tae me clan." He gestured tae the parchment. "Requesting military support. Fionnlagh will send men, I'm certain of it. With MacBain warriors reinforcing yer guards, we'll be better positioned tae deal with Keir."

Maighread blinked, thrown by the practical turn of conversation. There she'd gone, prepared to speak about them, about what was growing between them, and he was discussing military strategy as though this afternoon's terror had been nothing more than a tactical problem to solve.

"That's… sensible," she managed.

"It's necessary." He continued writing, his focus on the letter. "I'll also request that Fionnlagh send word tae our allies. If we can gather enough support, we might force Keir tae back down without further bloodshed."

She watched him write, his movements efficient and controlled. The practicality of his approach stung more than it should have. While she'd spent the afternoon consumed with thoughts of them, of what they meant to each other, he'd moved straight into planning and strategy.

Perhaps she'd been wrong. Perhaps it was still just obligation to him after all.

"I should go," Maighread said quietly, starting to rise. "Let ye finish yer letter."

"Wait."

The single word stopped her. She looked at him, finding his eyes already on her, the quill forgotten in his hand.

"Ye came here tae talk about something," he said. "What was it?"

"It daesnae matter. Ye have important work⁠—"

"Maighread." Her name on his lips carried a note of frustration. "Dinnae dae that."

"Dae what?"

"Shut me out." He set the quill down carefully. "Ye came here fer a reason. What is it?"

She hesitated, her earlier courage faltering. "I just… after today, I wanted tae make certain we were… that we understood each other."

"About?"

"About what this is. Between us." The words came out rushed, uncertain. "The betrothal started as a lie, but now with everything that's happened, I thought perhaps we should discuss⁠—"

"Dae ye have any doubt ye linger on me mind constantly?"