Chapter 48
Calum
Snow lay thick on the stones, clinging to the walls and rooftops in white silence. Smoke drifted slow from the chimneys, and the keep’s courtyard stirred with life again—men tending horses, women hurrying between the kitchens and the hall, the sound of laughter threading faint through the cold.
Calum watched from the steps, his hand straying to his chest where the arrow had gone in.
The ache there was faint now—more memory than pain—but it kept him mindful.
The healer had told him he’d been a hand’s-breadth from certain death, a breath away from losing everything he’d only just begun to rebuild with Sorcha.
Their marriage, once bound by duty, had become something far truer.
What they shared now felt deeper than vows or name—it was a closeness he’d never known before, not even with his father or his oldest friends.
Each morning he woke beside her, he gave silent thanks that he still could—that he’d been granted the chance to see what life might be, with her in it.
The call came from the gate before he saw them. Riders. Glenbrae colors.
He straightened instinctively. The guard at the gate hailed him, and then, through the drift of snow, he saw the man himself.
Eoin MacAlasdair rode as though the years had weighted his spine but not his pride. He swung down from the saddle with measured care, and when he looked up, Calum saw the same sharp grey eyes Sorcha had—though his held more steel than warmth.
“Laird MacRae,” Eoin greeted when they met halfway across the yard. His voice carried the tone of a man who expected respect and seldom gave it first.
“Laird MacAlasdair,” Calum returned evenly. “Ye’re welcome at Strathloch. The fires are lit, and there’s ale enough to thaw the road from ye.”
Eoin nodded, brushing snow from his cloak. “Ye’ve my thanks.”
He turned at the sound of footsteps behind him—
and there she was.
Sorcha stood at the top of the steps, still as stone, her breath catching in the cold air.
Calum saw the moment it struck her—the sharp inhale, the flicker in her eyes before she forced herself to move. The space between them seemed to still, too fragile for the noise around them.
Her father took her in with a look that said he hadn’t known what he’d expected, but it hadn’t been this.
She came down slowly. “Father.”
Eoin’s mouth worked before words came. “Sorcha. You look well.”
It wasn’t much, but it was something.
Calum placed his hand at the small of her back in silent reassurance that he was there, then looked to Eoin.
“We’ll see ye inside,” he said. “There’s warmth in the hall—and ale waitin’ in the solar, if ye’ll join me.”
Duncan, standing nearby, inclined his head. “This way, Laird Eoin. The fire’s been kept lit.” He fell into step beside him, guiding the older man toward the keep.
As they went, Calum let his hand fall from Sorcha’s back, then immediately reached for her hand. Their fingers threaded together, warm and sure, before he lifted it to his lips for a soft kiss.
“Come,” he murmured, drawing her toward the hall.
The warmth met them at once—firelight and laughter spilling through the doors, voices rising like music against the stone.
With their hands still joined, Calum kept her close as they crossed the floor. He steered them toward the far wall, where Katherine sat with Agnes and Morag, her face bright as she spoke of her coming wedding.
He paused beside her, resting a hand on her shoulder. “I’ll be but a moment, love,” he murmured near her ear. “There’s talk I’d best have with your father first.”
She looked up, warmth in her eyes, and gave a small nod. “Go, then. I’ll keep your place.”
Calum smiled faintly, then straightened and signaled to a servant. “Bring ale to the solar.” The servant hurried ahead while he turned toward the stair.
By the time he reached the upper landing, the familiar creak of the old door echoed down the corridor. The fire had already been stoked. When Calum entered, Eoin was there—standing near the hearth, warming his hands.
Moments later, they sat before the fire, mugs in hand. The storm outside whispered against the shutters; the glow within was low and amber.
Eoin studied the room before he spoke. “Ye’ve a fine keep, MacRae. Well run. Your people seem content.”
Calum smiled faintly. “Aye. Thanks in no small part to your daughter.”
Eoin’s brow lifted. “I am not surprised to hear that, Sorcha’s always had a strong head. Always doin’ for others, though she seldom spoke for herself.”
“Aye,” Calum said quietly. “That hasn’t changed.
” He took a drink, weighing his next words.
“She’d no' tell ye herself, so I’ll say it plain.
She’s been the strength of Strathloch this past year.
When she came here, she thought she’d found her place.
Instead, she was given to me as part of an agreement neither of us wanted.
And ye’re no’ the only one who’s let her down. I am guilty of that as well.”
Eoin’s gaze hardened. “That was the way of things. For peace between our clans—”
“Peace at the cost of her peace,” Calum cut in, his tone calm but steady.
“Did ye ever stop to think what that meant for her? After her mother died, she carried Glenbrae on her shoulders. Acted as your lady until your eldest married and another woman took the honor from her. She gave everything, and still, she was treated as duty—useful, but never essential.”
He leaned forward slightly, his voice low.
“She was of worth to your clan, aye—but she’s vital to mine.
That’s why I allowed your visit: so ye could see her here, see her belongin’.
To see a people who love her not for what she gives, but for who she is.
And to give her the chance to show ye what it cost her—to be made a duty instead of a daughter. ”
Eoin’s jaw worked, pride and shame warring across his face.
Calum didn’t relent. “Ye’ll say the clan must come first—and it should.
But when she gave herself to it, she deserved to be valued by it.
Ye and yours did neither. I left the choice of your welcome to her, and if she finds your words lacking, I’ll see you walked to the gate myself and left outside to think on it in the cold. ”
The silence that followed was deep enough to hear the fire crackle.
At last, Eoin exhaled. “Ye think I never cared for her?”
Calum’s expression softened, though his voice stayed firm. “I think ye didn’t show it when she needed it most.”
Eoin’s hands tightened around his mug. “She was my heart,” he said quietly. “But after her mother died… I didn’t ken how to speak to her. She reminded me too much of what I’d lost. I thought she’d be better off without my shadow hangin’ over her.”
Calum’s voice gentled, though his gaze stayed fixed. “Then tell her that. She carries that silence like a wound that’s never healed—and she’ll no’ open it herself. She’d sooner bleed dry than ask for comfort.”
Eoin’s gaze drifted toward the door, as though he could see her through the walls. “Aye,” he murmured. “She always was like that. Stoic as a winter hill, heart on her sleeve for everyone but herself.”
Calum nodded slowly. “Then hear me, Laird—what she is now, she built with her own hands. She’s more than a daughter of Glenbrae.
She’s the heart of Strathloch. The people love her.
They follow her. And I—” he stopped, the words almost catching—“I love her too. Fiercely. I asked ye here so ye could see that with your own eyes. So she’d have the chance to be seen for the woman she’s become, not just the lass ye remember. ”
Eoin stared into the fire, his face unreadable for a long time. Then, quietly, “I am glad I made the betrothal agreement with your father.”
Calum’s brow rose. “How’s that?”
“Because of you,” Eoin said quietly. “I’m glad my daughter has a champion—a man who speaks plain, but with honor. Ye said ye did her wrong once, and what man hasn’t made his share of mistakes? But I can see ye tryin’ to be better. And for that, I’m grateful.”
Calum’s jaw eased a fraction. “She’ll be joinin’ us for supper. I’d ask ye, when she does—dinnae hide behind formality. She’s no' yer duty to correct or to praise. She’s yer daughter. Let her see that.”
Eoin nodded once, slow. “Aye. I’ll do that.”
Calum rose, offering his hand. “Good. Then come, Laird. Let’s share a meal and give her a Yule worth rememberin’.”
Eoin took the hand, his grip firm despite the years. “Aye, MacRae. Lead the way.”