Page 85 of Under the Laird’s Promise

She did, her hand trembling slightly from the sword's weight.

"Nay, nae quite right." His hand came up, hovering near hers but not touching. "May I?"

"Aye."

His fingers wrapped around hers, adjusting her grip on the hilt. Warmth flooded through her at the contact, simple as it was. He shifted her thumb's position, angling it properly against the flat of the blade.

"There," he murmured, his breath stirring the hair near her ear. "Now move it across the edge. Gentle. Ye just want tae feel the texture."

Maighread drew her thumb perpendicular to the blade, following his earlier demonstration. The steel caught slightly, a barely-there resistance that she wouldn't have noticed without knowing to look for it.

"I feel it," she said.

"Aye. That's a properly sharpened edge." His hand remained over hers, warm and steady. "Too dull and ye wouldn't feel anything. Too sharp and ye'd cut yerself before ye realized."

They stayed frozen for a heartbeat, his hand covering hers on the sword. Then Tavish pulled back deliberately, putting space between them once more.

"Try it again," he said, his voice slightly rougher. "On yer own this time."

Maighread adjusted her grip, repeating the motion without his guidance. The catch of steel against skin felt different now that she knew what to expect. More noticeable.

"Good," Tavish said. "Ye've got it."

She tested the edge in several more places, checking for consistency. Each time, she felt that same slight resistance. Finally satisfied, she offered the sword back to him.

Their fingers brushed as he took it, the contact fleeting but electric.

"Thank ye fer showing me," she said.

"Anytime, lass." He set the blade aside, reaching for the whetstone again. "Though I'm surprised ye wanted tae learn. Most ladies dinnae concern themselves with weapon maintenance."

"I'm nae most ladies."

"Nay. Ye're nae." His smile was soft, genuine. "Ye're far more interesting."

Heat crept up her neck despite the morning chill. "Flattery will get ye naewhere, MacBain."

"I'm nae trying tae get anywhere. Just stating facts."

They fell back into silence, but it felt different now. Charged with awareness and things neither of them would say aloud. Maighread watched as Tavish returned to his work, the whetstone sliding along steel in that same meditative rhythm.

The sun climbed higher, burning away the last of the dawn mist. Even more people appeared in the courtyard, going about their morning tasks, but sitting there beside Tavish, Maighread felt cocooned in their own small bubble of peace.

"I should go," she said finally, though she made no move to stand. "The Council will be expecting me soon."

"Aye. And I need tae finish this before training begins." But he didn't look up from the blade, didn't acknowledge her impending departure beyond the words.

Maighread rose slowly, gathering the empty cloth and cup. She paused, looking down at him. His profile was sharp against the morning light, all clean lines and focused concentration.

Beautiful.

The word came unbidden, but she didn't push it away. He was beautiful. Not in the conventional sense perhaps, but in the way he moved. The way he spoke to her as an equal. The way he'd placed his hand over hers to teach her something simple yet strangely intimate.

"Maighread?" He glanced up, catching her watching him.

"Aye?"

"Be careful today. We still dinnae ken who's feeding information tae Keir."