Page 73 of The Highlander Steals a Virgin
Daisy looked up at him through half-lidded eyes. “She looks at ye like she cares. Nae just like she’s bein’ nice.”
His throat tightened. “She’s… aguest.”
“That’s what ye keep sayin’.”
There was a beat of silence between them, broken only by the soft pop of the hearth.
Then she whispered, “But do yewanther to stay?”
Rhys exhaled through his nose. “It’s nae just about wantin’ someone to stay, mo chridhe. It’s about what’s best foreveryone.”
“ButIwant her to stay.”
He looked over at her, surprised by the firmness in her voice.
“She listens when I talk,” Daisy said. “Nae just hears me. Listens. And she’s kind. She plays with me, even when she’s tired. She helped me when I got hurt. She reads in funny voices when she tells me stories. And when I cry, she doesnae tell me to stop. She just hugs me and lets me.”
Rhys swallowed.
“She hums when she brushes me hair. Just like how ye said Ma used to do.”
The quiet confession hit him harder than a blow in the training yard.
“She does?” he managed.
Daisy nodded.
“I love her,” she said softly, like it was a secret she wasn’t sure she was allowed to share.
Rhys leaned forward, bracing his elbows on his knees, head dropping into his hands.
“Daisy,” he said, voice rough. “This… it’s complicated.”
“Nay, it’s nae.”
He lifted his head.
The girl was looking at him with clear, stubborn eyes. “Ye tell me all the time, when I cannae decide between two dresses or what to eat, that ‘simple is best.’ That if I listen to me heart, I’ll know what’s right.”
Rhys stared at her, struck dumb.
She shrugged beneath the quilt. “So? Have ye listened to yer heart at all lately?”
His chest twisted.
“I think ye like her,” Daisy said, blinking sleepily now. “And I think she likes us. Even if she tries not to.”
Rhys reached out, brushing a stray curl from her forehead. “I’ve been tryin’, mo chridhe. Tryin’ to do what’s right.”
She yawned, turning onto her side. “Then maybe ye should try trustin’ yerself for once.”
Her eyes drifted shut. Within seconds, her breathing had evened.
Rhys sat there for a long time, watching the slow rise and fall of her shoulders.
He thought about the humming, the listening, and the hugs that Daisy talked about. The love.
He thought about the way Amara had looked at him tonight in the tavern, all heat and light and ache. The way she’d made him feel like the center of something fragile and real.
