Page 98 of The Merciless Laird
Ivar stood, his gaze briefly lingering on the body, before he turned and headed for the door. Torvald followed, his footsteps muffled on the cold stone. He had the expression he always had at these moments. The one that said he understood and agreed and would carry his half of the weight.
Ivar had already made the decision before the sentence finished. He understood, in a cold and practical way, that there was no version of keeping this man alive that ended well for Matilda. Not because of what he knew, which Ivar now knew, but because of what he was, a man loyal to the wrong person and willing to say so plainly.
Then, Ivar sensed a shift.
Ivar registered her presence in the doorway at the same time she seemed to register him. She was standing there, one hand on the doorframe, her eyes moving between him and the room as if weighing something heavy.
Her expression wasn’t the composed stillness he was used to seeing; this was different. It was the stillness of someone caught off guard, trying to figure out what to do with the surprise that had just been dropped on them.
He said nothing, simply holding her gaze, letting the silence stretch as her eyes moved from him to the floor and back. He waited for her to process, knowing she would. Torvald nodded towards her in acknowledgement and went ahead.
Finally, she stepped back through the door, her movements deliberate, as if deciding what she needed to say.
Ivar followed her into the corridor, where she had stopped a few feet out, leaning against the stone wall.
"Matilda," he said, his voice lower than he intended, but she didn’t look at him right away.
"Dinnae apologize," she said, her voice soft but firm, like she already knew what he might say.
"I wasnae going tae."
She turned her head to meet his gaze, her eyes searching his, as if weighing his words before she spoke.
"I dinnae like it," she said, her voice steady, but there was an edge to it. "What I saw."
"I ken."
Her gaze held his, unflinching. She didn’t soften her words, didn’t pretend it was okay. And for some reason, that felt like the most honest thing she could have said.
"I need ye tae ken that first," she continued. "I dinnae like it, and I’m nae going tae pretend I dae."
"Aye."
The silence between them stretched again, the sound of life continuing beyond them in the keep, distant and indifferent to the moment they were in. Ivar let her words settle, knowing she had more to say.
"He said Callum wouldnae stop," she said, and though it wasn’t a question, he answered anyway.
"He said that."
She studied him for a long moment, and Ivar could feel the weight of her gaze, like she was reading him, running through every possible conclusion in her head.
"And ye believe him?" Her voice was quieter now, searching.
"Aye."
She took a slow breath, her eyes never leaving his. Then she said, in that direct, unwavering tone he knew so well, "Then I’m glad ye dinnae hesitate."
Ivar’s jaw tightened slightly, but he didn’t look away. He let the words sink in, and though part of him was uneasy, he understood what she meant.
"I am," she repeated, her voice steady, but the weight of it hit him harder this time. "Even if I dinnae like what I saw… I feel safer, kenning that ye willnae hesitate when it matters."
There was a pause. She shifted her hands against each other, almost as if trying to steady herself.
"That’s an uncomfortable thing tae be glad of," she added softly, her voice quiet.”
"Aye," he said, his voice low. "It is."
The corridor was silent except for the sound of their breathing. Ivar could feel her words settling between them, raw and honest.
