Page 47 of Wedded to the Twisted Highlander
“It was under the mattress,” Alba explained. “We’ve had it there since the night of our wedding.”
“How do ye ken that? Unless ye’re a spy,” Tavish hissed as he started toward Alba.
Without thinking about her own safety, Astrid stepped before him, her arms held out.
“Me love,” she cooed, “ye’ve saved me. Please, take me far away from here and dinnae let me see this foul place again.”
“Alba? Is it… Ye’ve never aged a day,” Tavish breathed as he lowered the dirk until it slipped through his trembling fingers. He stepped closer to her, bewilderment flickering in his eyes.
“Come,” Astrid urged, glancing over at Alba. There was no hiding the tears pooling in the older woman’s eyes as Astrid lured Tavish back to the bed. “Rest now. Ye’ve had a very busy day.”
“I am a bit tired,” Tavish admitted as she heard the thunderous footsteps hurrying down the hallway.
There was no doubt the Laird was on his way. The urge to prolong the moment niggled at Astrid. She couldn’t help but think that Tavish would be riled up once again if he saw his son armed to the teeth and ready to fight.
“Then ye should rest,” she cooed as Alba darted toward the door to intercept the Laird.
Tavish reached out a hand to cup her face and gave her the biggest smile she’d ever seen. How strange it was to see him so coherent and alive. But Astrid knew it was the final push before the farewell.
“I’ve sent for yer son,” Alba said. “He’s come to honor ye, Me Laird.”
Astrid eased away from Tavish and stepped up to the Laird’s side as Alba went back to the bed. She stood in the corner, watching.
“Faither, how do ye fare? It’s been months since ye’ve spoken,” the Laird said.
His voice was laced with joy that Astrid had yet to sense. She didn’t have the heart to tell him how fleeting the moment would be.
“Right as rain,” Tavish answered as he extended his hand toward his son.
Astrid stepped back, feeling like an intruder.
The hallway was quiet save for the patter of her footsteps as she made her way to her chambers. She tried not to let the heaviness of the situation linger too long on her shoulders. It wasn’t like she was part of the family. She’d only been married to the Laird for a spell—not even enough time to remember the names of the servants.
“Astrid.” Her name bounced off the walls like the sound of metal clashing against metal.
She froze, refusing to turn around.
“How?” the Laird asked.
His voice was inquisitive yet soft. So much softer than she’d ever heard it before. It was luring and inviting her to yield to him.
She held her breath as she glanced over her shoulder. She blinked, stunned that it wasn’t the Laird who stood before her, but a boy, curious and hopeful with eyes ablaze with wonder.
“How did ye get him to calm down? Do ye ken how many times he gets worked up and ends up wit’ a broken bone?”
“Yer faither is relivin’ some of his memories,” Astrid explained. “His sole purpose is to protect his family and his clan. Ye get yer loyalty from him, do ye nae?”
“Maybe,” the Laird answered as he stepped closer to her. “But that doesnae answer me question. We’ve had him bolt from that bed, spoutin’ all sorts of tales.”
“Yer faither fought many battles and defended his land and family proudly. Is it so uncommon to want to taste that sweet victory once more before ye go?” Astrid asked, her eyes following his movements.
“I suppose that when I’m that frail, I’ll want to die on me feet and nae in a bed,” he admitted.
Her heart fluttered wildly in her chest as they walked through the corridor, the sound of their footsteps syncing.
“’Tis the wish of any great warrior,” Astrid said, daring to steal a glance at him.
He was a formidable man. Yet, as she moved beside him, she felt comforted by his strength instead of intimidated.
