His voice went flat. “Ye do now. Ye’re mine. The moment I took ye from that village, everything has changed.”
“I daenae care to be in yer company, Alasdair.”
“Then Nathan comes. ‘Tis one of the two, lassie. Choose wisely.”
She looked like she’d fight him again. Like she’d turn on her heel and run if she could. But she didn’t. She only pressed her lips together, hard.
“Fine,” she said.
Alasdair helped her mount his horse. She didn’t thank him, and he didn’t ask her to.
Lily straightened on the horse as it moved further away from Alasdair. At least she wouldn’t have to see his face for the next few hours.
The horse moved at a rather steady pace beneath her, the slow hoofbeats dull against the soft dirt path. She held the back of the saddle tightly, trying not to think of Alasdair. Of how his hand felt around her wrist. Of how his voice had dropped when he’d spoken of war.
He was different from the last time she had seen him; that much was clear. He had grown into himself. He looked broader, and the scars…
She swallowed. His skin was marred with scars from the war. A healed cut here, a stab wound there. He looked like he’d been through it all.
Something about that, for some reason, gave her relief. He hadn’t wandered off for ten years to enjoy his life. He seemed to have earned it through blood and sweat.
Nathan said nothing, just steered his horse without question. His shoulders were broad and his back straight. Red hair peeked from under his helm, catching the last golden light of the sun.
She blinked. It reminded her of late summer, of the apples that used to grow wild by the fields. Of her childhood when she used to play in the courtyard with her sisters.
The silence pressed in, too thick for her liking.
“How long have ye ken Alasdair?” she asked.
He didn’t answer.
She tilted her head. “As yer lady, do ye nae have the obligation to speak with me?”
He stole a glance at her. “For someone who doesnae want to be a lady, ye seem to ken plenty about the rules.”
Something about that made her smile, even if a little. “Humor me.”
He sighed, rough and tired. “I daenae ken him well. Nae the Laird. I kent his braither, Jeremiah.”
She blinked. “Oh.”
“Aye. We trained together. Grew up together. I should’ve been there sooner that day. Might’ve made a difference.” His voice was low now, like it wasn’t meant for her.
Lily stayed quiet.
“He was steady and kind. I could have saved him if I’d been by his side.”
She didn’t bother correcting him because she could hear the guilt caught deep in his chest.
“It’s nae yer fault,” she said gently. “Ye’re only one man. We daenae get to choose the people we save in the end. Believe me, I would ken.”
He looked back slightly, as if surprised by her softness.
Ahead, the small cottage came into view, with smoke rising from the chimney. The door opened before they even reached it.
The girl’s mother stepped out, her hands wringing her apron. “Oh, thank the saints. I’ve been waiting for ye.”
“I must apologize,” Lily said, sliding down from the horse. “Daenae worry, though. Have ye boiled the herbs I asked for?”
