Chapter 12 #2
He turned to find Connor walking across the stones, dressed in his plaid. The laird moved quietly for such a large man, settling onto a stone bench in the low wall that looked out to the sea.
“The Cailleach came to me,” Dawson said. There was no point in hiding it. “In a dream. She said the door opens tomorrow.”
Connor’s expression didn’t change, but something flickered in his eyes. “Aye. I wondered when she would come.”
“You knew?”
“I suspected. The storms have been building for days. There’s a feel to the air when the door is close—like the world is holding its breath.” Connor stared into the fire. “I felt it when Kate faced the same choice, four years ago. So did Maddie, though her circumstances were different.”
“What did they choose?”
“You already know the answer to that.”
Dawson lowered himself onto the bench next to Connor. The wall blocked the wind, some of the chill that had settled into his bones—a chill that had nothing to do with the temperature.
“How did they know?” he asked quietly. “How did they know they were making the right choice?”
“They didn’t.” Connor’s voice was matter-of-fact. “No one ever knows, not truly. You weigh what you’re leaving against what you’re staying for, and you make the best choice you can with the information you have. And then you live with it.”
“And if I make the wrong choice?”
“Then you live with that too.” Connor met his eyes.
“I won’t pretend there haven’t been hard days.
Days when Kate missed her world so fiercely I could see it eating at her.
Days when she wondered if she’d made a terrible mistake.
But she chose to stay anyway. Chose it again every morning when she woke up.
And eventually, the choosing got easier. ”
“Did it ever stop?”
“No.” Connor’s smile was small but genuine. “But that’s the nature of love, isn’t it? It’s not something you decide once and then forget about. It’s something you choose, over and over, every day for the rest of your life.”
Dawson absorbed this as he looked out over the land.
“She’s not ready,” he said finally. “Elspeth. She’s not ready to trust me. To love me back.”
“No. She’s not.”
“And if I stay, and she never is?”
Connor was quiet for a long moment. When he spoke, his voice was careful. “Then you’ll have given up everything for a woman who couldn’t give you what you needed. And you’ll have to decide whether that was worth it.”
The brutal honesty of it cut through Dawson’s chest. This was the question he had been avoiding, the fear he hadn’t let himself examine. What if he stayed, and Elspeth’s walls never came down? What if he spent years earning her trust and she still couldn’t love him the way he loved her?
“Kate says Elspeth is worth the wait,” Connor continued. “I believe her. My sister has a heart bigger than she knows—she’s just forgotten how to use it. But I won’t lie to you and say it’s guaranteed. Nothing in this life is guaranteed.”
“In my world, I could have guaranteed a lot of things.” Dawson laughed, the sound hollow. “I could have bought solutions to most problems. Hired people to handle the rest. Everything was... manageable.”
“And were you happy?” Connor ran a hand through his hair. “Women have a way of complicating things.”
“No,” Dawson admitted. “I was bored. Restless. I had everything I’d ever wanted, and it wasn’t enough. I kept thinking the next achievement would fill the emptiness, but it never did.”
“And here?”
Dawson thought about it—really thought about it. The ache in his muscles after a day of hard labor. The satisfaction of a fence post properly set. And the way the clan had slowly, grudgingly begun to accept him. The moments with Elspeth, small and fragile as they were.
“Here I’m terrified,” he said slowly. “Uncertain. Completely out of my depth. But I’m not empty anymore. I feel things I haven’t felt in years.”
“Then perhaps you already know your answer.”
Connor rose, clapping Dawson on the shoulder. “Get some sleep. Tomorrow will come whether you’re ready or not.”
He headed back toward the door, then paused, looking back.
“For what it’s worth—I hope ye stay. My sister deserves someone who would give up everything for her. And I think you’re that man. I would gladly have ye by my side in any battle.”
Then he was gone, and Dawson was alone with the wind and the sword and the weight of his choice.
He was still there as dawn crept over the hills, painting the snow in shades of rose and gold. The wind had died down, leaving the world hushed and expectant.
From here, he could see the path down to the beach where it had all begun. Where the sword had called to him, where the lightning had struck, where the Cailleach had first appeared in a swirl of storm and shadow.
Tomorrow—no, today—that beach would be the site of his choice. Stay or go. Forever.
He tried to imagine walking through the door. Waking up back on the beach, going home to his penthouse, the city spread out below him in all its glittering, familiar glory. The relief of hot showers and instant communication. The comfort of his money, his power, his carefully constructed life.
His mother’s face when he showed up at his father’s birthday celebration. I could go back, he thought. I could return to all of it. Use what I’ve learned here to live differently. Be present. Stop running.
It was a seductive thought. The best of both worlds—the wisdom of this experience without the sacrifice of everything he’d built.
But even as he considered it, he knew it was a lie.
The Cailleach had said it plainly. That he would forget. The memories would fade, blurring into dreams, until Elspeth was nothing but a ghost he couldn’t quite recall.
He couldn’t bear it. The thought of forgetting her—her gray eyes, her scarred hands, the way she had looked at him at the market like he might be worth believing in—was worse than any sacrifice he could imagine.
But could he truly give up everything else?
His mother, who would spend the rest of her life not knowing what had happened to him?
His foundation, which did real good in the world?
The future children in villages across the globe who might not have clean water if the board decided they were tired of funding the projects.
You can’t save everyone, a voice whispered in his mind. You never could.
It was true. For all his wealth, for all his achievements, he had always known that his impact was limited. Other people would step up to fill the void. Other foundations, other philanthropists, other idealists with money to burn.
But his mother...
He closed his eyes, and for one agonizing moment, he let himself grieve.
I’m sorry, Mom. I’m so sorry I can’t explain. Can’t say goodbye. Can’t be there for all the things a son should be there for.
But I found something here. Someone. And if I walk away from her, I’ll be walking away from the only thing that’s ever made me feel truly alive.
I hope you can forgive me. I hope you can understand.
I hope you can be proud of me for finally learning to stay.
The sun broke fully over the hills, flooding the landscape with light. Dawson opened his eyes and looked out at the world that had become his home.
He still wasn’t certain. Still couldn’t quite silence the voice that whispered of regret and sacrifice and the terrible cost of choosing.
But beneath the uncertainty, something else was taking root. Something that felt almost like peace.
He had spent his whole life running. From commitment, from connection, from anything that might make him feel something real.
It was time to stop.
He found Elspeth in the stillroom, surrounded by the familiar scent of dried herbs and wood smoke. She looked up when he entered, and something flickered across her face—hope and fear tangled together.
“You’re awake early,” she said, her voice carefully neutral.
“Couldn’t sleep.” He crossed to the window, staring out at the courtyard below. “The Cailleach came to me last night. In a dream.”
Behind him, he heard her sharp intake of breath. “What did she say?”
“The door between worlds opens today. At sunset.” He turned to face her, letting her see the weight of it in his eyes. “I have to choose, Elspeth. Stay or go. Forever.”
The color drained from her face. Her hands, which had been grinding something in the mortar, went still.
“You have a choice,” she said slowly. “You can go back.”
“Yes.”
“To your world. Your wealth. Your—” Her voice cracked slightly. “Your family.”
“Yes.”
She set down the pestle with exaggerated care, her movements precise and controlled. When she spoke again, her voice was flat, stripped of emotion.
“Then you should go.”
The words hit him like a blade between the ribs. “What?”
“Go back to your time.” She wouldn’t meet his eyes. “To your life. Your riches and your important work. Your mother who loves you.”
“Elspeth—”
“You don’t belong here, Dawson.” Her voice was rising now, taking on a desperate edge. “You can’t chop wood properly. You don’t know how to preserve meat for winter or mend a roof. You would be useless. A burden.”
“I can learn—”
“Weeks!” She spun to face him, and he saw the tears she was fighting to hold back.
“You’ve been here for weeks. A few weeks of novelty and romance and the thrill of the unfamiliar.
What happens when that fades? When you realize you’ve traded palaces for hovels, power for poverty?
You’ll resent me. You’ll regret this. And I’ll have to watch you realize you made a terrible mistake. ”
“That’s not—”
“Alasdair said he loved me too.” The words came out raw, bleeding. “He said I was worth any sacrifice. And when the sacrifice became real, he vanished. Because I wasn’t worth it. Because no woman is worth giving up the world for.”
“I’m not Alasdair.”
“No. You’re worse.” She wrapped her arms around herself, her whole body shaking. “He was a coward who ran from difficulty. You’re a man who conquers everything. And the moment staying here stops feeling like a challenge, you’ll find a new mountain to climb. That’s who you are. That’s what you do.”
The accusation landed because part of him feared it was true.
He had spent his entire life chasing the next thrill. Summiting peaks, crossing oceans, building empires—always in pursuit of something that felt increasingly like trying to fill a hole that couldn’t be filled. What made him think he could suddenly become a man who stayed?
“Go back,” Elspeth whispered. “Go back and forget you ever found me. It will be easier for both of us.”
“And if I don’t want easier?”
“Then you’re a fool.” The tears were falling now, despite her efforts. “Please, Dawson. Please, just go.”
She fled before he could respond, leaving him alone in the stillroom with the scent of herbs and the weight of her words pressing down on him like stones.
The hours that followed were the longest of Dawson’s life.
He walked the keep without purpose, his mind churning through everything Elspeth had said. You’ll resent me. You’ll regret this. You’re worse than Alasdair.
She was pushing him away. He knew that. Using her wounds as weapons, cutting him before he could cut her. It was a defense mechanism, honed by years of pain and betrayal.
But knowing that didn’t make it hurt less.
He found himself in the stables, brushing down one of the horses with mechanical movements. The familiar routine soothed something in him—the simple, honest work that asked nothing of his mind.
“She’s afraid,” Kate said from behind him.
Dawson didn’t turn around. “I know.”
“She’s been abandoned before. By a man who swore he loved her, who promised her everything and then vanished when things got hard. She’s trying to protect herself by pushing you away first.”
“I said I know.”
Kate moved to stand beside him, leaning against the stall door. “When I first came here, I did the same thing to Connor. Told him to leave me alone, that I didn’t need him, that I was fine on my own. I was vicious about it, sometimes. Said things designed to hurt.”
Dawson’s hands stilled on the horse’s flank. “What changed?”
“He stayed anyway. Day after day, choice after choice, he kept showing up. Not demanding anything. Just... being there. Proving through his actions what his words couldn’t convince me of.”
“And if I stay, and she never believes me?”
“Then you’ll have given up everything for a chance at love that didn’t work out.” Kate’s voice was gentle but unflinching. “But at least you’ll know you tried. At least you won’t spend the rest of your life wondering what might have been.”
Dawson resumed his brushing, the rhythm grounding him. “She told me to go. She meant it.”
“She said the words, but she didn’t mean them. There’s a difference.”
“How do you know?”
Kate smiled sadly. “Because I said the same words to Connor. And I’ve never been so grateful for anything as I was when he ignored them.”
The afternoon dragged on, each hour bringing sunset closer.
Dawson couldn’t find Elspeth anywhere. She had vanished into some corner of the keep, hiding from him, hiding from the choice that loomed over them both.
He ate a meal he didn’t taste, nodded at conversations he didn’t hear, performed the motions of normalcy while his mind was three thousand miles and over three hundred years away.
His mother would be planning his father’s birthday celebration right now. Ordering flowers, arranging caterers, fussing over the guest list. She had no idea that her son was standing on the edge of oblivion, trying to decide whether to step back into his life or let it go forever.
I’m sorry, Mom.
The thought came unbidden, accompanied by a wave of grief so strong it nearly brought him to his knees.
I’m sorry I can’t be there. Sorry I can’t explain. Sorry you’ll spend the rest of your life wondering what happened to me.
But I can’t go back. I can’t forget her. And I can’t spend another thirty years being empty.
The certainty settled over him slowly, like snow accumulating on frozen ground. He had been fighting it all day—wrestling with the cost, the sacrifice, the terrible weight of what he would lose.
But in the end, the choice was simple.
He loved Elspeth MacLeod. Loved her with a ferocity that frightened him, a depth that defied everything he had believed about himself. And if there was even a chance—even the smallest, most fragile possibility—that she might learn to love him back...
He had to stay.
Not because staying was safe. Not because he was certain of the outcome.
But because walking away from her would be a kind of death. A slower death than any mountain or ocean could offer, but death nonetheless.
I’m done running, he thought. Even if staying means standing still while she pushes me away. Even if it means years of earning trust that may never fully be given.
I’m staying.