Page 8 of Under the Laird’s Promise

Keir's expression froze. "Yer… what?"

Maighread turned to the golden warrior and smiled, praying he'd remember her plea. She stepped closer to him, close enough that their shoulders nearly touched.

"Me betrothed." She looked up at him, her eyes pleading silently for him to play along. "We were tae meet and travel taegether tae me faither's lands when those bandits attacked."

The warrior's eyes widened slightly, but after a heartbeat's pause, he gave a slight nod. "Tavish MacBain," he said, his voice steady despite the shock she could see in his face.

"Master MacBain fought them off, of course," Maighread continued, emboldened by his cooperation. "He always protects me."

Tavish's entire body had gone rigid. She felt the shock rolling off him in waves. But he didn't step away, didn't contradict her.

"Betrothed," Keir repeated. His voice had gone flat. Dangerous. "I was unaware ye had accepted any marriage proposal, Lady MacEwan."

"Because it's recent." She moved fractionally closer to Tavish, willing him to play along. "Very recent. We've been... negotiating the arrangements privately."

"Indeed." Keir's gaze slid to Tavish, assessing. Cold calculation flickered behind those grey eyes. "MacBain. I didn't realize ye were courting Lady MacEwan."

Tavish's hand found the small of Maighread's back—a steady, possessive touch that surprised her. When he spoke, his voice came out steady and firm.

"Aye. We've been acquainted fer some time. The negotiations were conducted between our families initially, as is proper." He met Keir's gaze without flinching. "I'm escorting me betrothed home tae finalize the arrangements."

"How fascinating." Keir's smile could've frozen the loch solid. "And yet nay one in yer clan mentioned this when I dined at MacBain lands last month."

"Private family matters arenae typically discussed with guests," Tavish replied smoothly. His thumb moved in a small, reassuring circle against Maighread's back. "Surely ye understand the need fer discretion until contracts are signed."

Keir leaned forward in his saddle. "And now ye're traveling taegether tae MacEwan lands tae… what, exactly?"

"Tae marry," Tavish said before Maighread could speak. His tone left no room for doubt. "With her faither's blessing, which we already have."

Keir studied them both for a long, silent moment. The forest held its breath. Rain dripped from pine needles with terrible patience.

"Well then." He straightened in his saddle. "In that case, I insist on escorting ye both tae MacEwan lands. Tae ensure yer safety, of course. These roads are clearly dangerous, what with bandits and..." His smile sharpened. "Other threats."

Tavish's hand pressed more firmly against Maighread's back. "We have sufficient men⁠—"

"I insist." Keir's tone left no room for argument. "I'm heading north meself. How convenient that we can travel taegether. Unless ye have reason tae refuse me protection?"

Refusing would raise suspicion. Accepting meant traveling under Keir's watchful eye.

Tavish's jaw tightened, but he inclined his head. "Yer concern is noted. We'll travel taegether, then."

"Excellent." Keir turned his horse. "Shall we? I'm sure Laird MacEwan is anxious tae see his daughter. And his new son by marriage." The emphasis on those last words sent ice down Maighread's spine.

Tavish guided Maighread toward his horse with a firm hand, his movements deliberate and protective. As he helped her mount, he leaned close enough that only she could hear.

"We'll talk when we can," he murmured. "Fer now, follow me lead."

She nodded, and he swung up behind her, one arm settling around her waist to keep her steady as they began to ride.

CHAPTER THREE

Tavish MacBain had faced down raiders, survived border skirmishes, and once talked his way out of a blood feud with nothing but charm and audacity. None of that had prepared him for the feel of Maighread MacEwan's arms wrapped around his waist as she rode on his horse with him.

They rode in tense formation, Sinclair men surrounding his small party like wolves circling prey. The lass sat behind him, pressed close out of necessity. He could feel her trembling—for fear or cold, he couldn't tell. Probably both.

What in God's holy name had he gotten himself into?

One moment he'd been riding home from Grant lands, his sister Marsaili safely wed to Laird Alasdair. The next, he'd stumbled into an ambush, rescued a woman from Sinclair's men, and found himself claimed as someone's betrothed. Not just anyone's betrothed. Angus MacEwan's daughter.