Chapter 21
The party set off from the Rose Inn beneath a pale morning sky, hooves thudding softly against the damp road. Gracie rode beside Jaxon while Connor led the wagons behind them, guards flanking the supplies with watchful eyes. The road stretched on with a gentle curve through the hills.
Gracie felt a flutter of nerves, knowing what awaited them at the journey’s end, a whole village of people that will be introduced to their new Lady.
Will they accept me?
Hours passed as the countryside rolled by, heather and grassland giving way to rockier slopes. The sun climbed higher, warming Gracie’s cheeks as dust kicked up beneath the wheels. Jaxon rode with easy confidence, occasionally pointing out a bend in the road or a distant ridge.
“That bend in the road used to be used for ambushes. So, we had the trees cleared on that side so that no one can hide and the view is clear from a good distance,” he said proudly.
Gracie listened, comforted by his steady voice and the rhythm of travel.
“That was a good move to make. Now that bend is safe,” she said.
As the road sloped downward, the land opened into a steep valley cupped by hills.
Nestled within it lay Glenmoor, a small cluster of stone cottages with smoke curling thinly from a few chimneys.
The village looked worn and tired, its fields sparse and pale from hardship.
Gracie’s heart tightened as she took in how small it was, fewer than a hundred souls holding fast against the world.
The wagons creaked as they descended, drawing the attention of those below. A few villagers stepped from their homes, shading their eyes as they looked up the road. Then children began to run, their shouts ringing clear.
“The Laird,” they cried, “the Laird has come.”
Gracie watched faces emerge everywhere, thin and weathered yet alight with hope. Some clutched one another, others pressed hands to mouths in disbelief.
The guards slowed the procession as they entered the village. Jaxon reined in his horse and lifted his hand, calling for quiet.
“People of Glenmoor,” Jaxon said, his voice carrying strong and sure.
“I have received word of yer sufferin’ and came at once with what aid I could gather.
” He gestured to the wagons behind him. “Here ye’ll find barrels of water, casks of wine, stores of grain, dried fish and meat, and firewood to see ye through the cold. ”
A roar of cheers broke out, mingled with sobs and laughter. An older man pushed forward, tears streaming down his lined face.
“God bless ye, me laird,” he cried. “We feared we were forgotten.”
Jaxon inclined his head solemnly, clearly moved.
Then Jaxon turned in his saddle and looked to Gracie.
“And I would have ye ken this,” he said, pride warm in his tone.
“This is me wife, Lady Gracie McMillan.” He paused, letting her name settle among them.
“It was she who oversaw the bringin’ of warmth, knitted clothin’, blankets, scarves, hats, all made by willin’ hands for ye. ”
For a heartbeat the village stood silent, then the sound of weeping rose like a tide. A woman fell to her knees, clutching her shawl.
“Bless her,” she whispered, “bless her kind heart.”
Gracie’s eyes burned as she looked upon them, overwhelmed by their gratitude.
A young girl approached shyly, holding out a small bunch of dried flowers.
“Thank ye, me lady,” she said softly.
Gracie dismounted at once and knelt before her. “Ye’re most welcome, lass,” she replied, accepting the flowers with a smile.
Connor began directing the men, his voice brisk as he organized the unloading.
“Easy now, mind the wheels,” he called. “Get the wood stacked by the sheds.” Villagers hurried to help, their movements eager despite their weariness. Gracie watched the scene unfold, her chest full to bursting.
An elderly woman clasped Gracie’s hands, her grip surprisingly strong. “We’ve been cold,” she said simply. “So very cold.”
Gracie squeezed back gently. “Ye will be cold nay more,” she promised, her voice steady though her heart ached.
Jaxon joined Gracie, standing close at her side. “This is what it means to serve,” he murmured quietly to her.
She nodded, tears slipping free at last. “I ken now,” she whispered back, never having felt more certain of her place. “Me faither never took me with him to do such things. I only heard stories on his return.”
As the supplies were handed out, laughter slowly replaced despair. Children wrapped themselves in scarves far too large and ran about proudly. Men clapped one another on the back, and women hugged. Glenmoor seemed to breathe again, life stirring where it had been thin.
Gracie met Jaxon’s gaze. In his eyes she saw admiration and something deeper, something like shared purpose. She lifted her chin, standing tall as Lady McMillan among the people. For the first time, she felt not only like a laird’s wife, but like a true guardian of the clan.
As they stood together, a figure approached from the edge of the gathering.
He was broad of shoulder despite his age, his beard white and thick, his back bent but unbroken.
His eyes were sharp beneath heavy brows, holding the weight of long years and hard choices.
This was Barnaby, the chief of Glenmoor, and he walked with the dignity of one who had endured much.
Barnaby reached Jaxon and clasped his forearm in a hearty handshake. “Ye’ve come at last, me laird,” he said, voice rough as stone yet steady.
Jaxon returned the grip firmly. “I would have come sooner had I kent the truth of it,” he replied.
Barnaby then turned to Gracie and bowed his head low. “A pleasure to meet ye, Lady McMillan, ye must excuse me tardiness as I was in the far west fields and came as soon as may be,” he said with respect.
Gracie inclined her head in return, offering a soft smile. “The pleasure is mine, Chief Barnaby,” she answered.
Jaxon’s jaw tightened as he looked back to the older man. “Tell me this,” he said, voice controlled but edged. “Why was I nae informed earlier of how dire yer plight had grown?”
Gracie felt the shift beside her, the tension coiling in him.
Barnaby sighed and rubbed a hand over his beard. “We did send word,” he said slowly. “The last time young Edmund rode through, we told him plain.” He paused, eyes lowering. “He said he’d take care of it.”
Gracie felt the air change, sharp and heavy. Jaxon’s hands curled into fists, and she could feel the fury radiating from him like heat. His shoulders stiffened, and his breath grew measured. Gracie recognized that look now, the one he wore when holding back a storm.
Before Jaxon could speak, Gracie stepped forward.
“Perhaps the message was lost in the chaos of the weddin’,” she said gently. “Much was happenin’ at the time.” She met Barnaby’s gaze with calm assurance. “What matters is that we will remedy the situation so that messages daenae get lost in the future. We are here now, and we wish to listen.”
Barnaby looked relieved, his shoulders easing slightly. “Aye, me lady,” he said. “That it does.” He nodded slowly, as though reassured by her presence.
Gracie turned fully to him, her tone warm but earnest. “Tell us what else ye need,” she said. “Food and warmth we’ve brought, but there may be more.” She gestured toward the village. “We would ken it all.”
Barnaby’s eyes softened, and he glanced back toward the cottages. “The well runs low in the far end,” he said. “And the roof on the communal hall leaks somethin’ fierce.” He hesitated, then added, “And some are ill, though we lack a healer.”
Jaxon exhaled slowly, the tightness in him easing as Gracie spoke. He listened now, nodding as Barnaby continued. Gracie felt his anger ebb, replaced by focus and resolve. She was glad she had stepped in when she did, before he exploded in anger over his brother.
“We will see to it,” Jaxon said without hesitation. “One step at a time, but we will see to it.” His voice carried quiet confidence, and it settled the crowd around them.
“Thank ye, me laird. And ye have a steady heart, me lady,” he said. “The clan is blessed to have ye both here.” Barnaby inclined his head deeply.
Gracie felt her cheeks warm at the praise but held his gaze. “We are blessed to serve ye,” she replied.
Jaxon looked at her then, truly looked at her, and something unspoken passed between them.
His expression softened, and she thought she could see pride clear in his eyes.
Gracie felt her chest tighten with feeling, knowing she had done right by him and by the people.
She felt not only like his wife, but his equal at his side.
Gracie felt Jaxon draw close, his hand resting lightly on the small of her back, and spoke in a low, earnest tone.
“Lass, I thank ye for steppin’ in back there,” he said, his voice carrying both gratitude and a rare vulnerability. “Aye, me temper… it got the better of me, and I shouldnae have let it show.”
Gracie smiled softly, her hand brushing against his chest.
“That’s what I’m here for, Jaxon,” she replied, her voice calm but full of warmth. “To stand beside ye, through all of it.”
He leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead, then lingering at her lips, his touch both possessive and tender. Gracie felt a flutter in her chest, the steady beat of reassurance mingling with her own excitement.
Jaxon’s lips curved into a small grin as he straightened, taking her hand.
“Now,” he said, “come meet some of these good folk.” He led her through the gathered villagers, many of them smiling with awe and relief.
Children clutched at their parents’ skirts, peeking up at Gracie, whispering shyly about Lady McMillan.
A small woman named Elsie stepped forward nervously. “Ye brought blankets for wee Ailsa,” she said, her voice trembling slightly. “We… we daenae ken how to thank ye, me lady.”
Gracie knelt slightly to meet her eye level. “Ye need nae thank me,” she said softly. “Ye are keepin’ yer bairns safe, and that is the greatest thanks a lady could wish for.”
A young boy, no more than ten, piped up shyly, tugging at Gracie’s hand.
“Will ye show us how to knit too, Lady McMillan?” he asked eagerly.
Gracie laughed lightly, warmth spreading through her chest. “Aye, I’ll show ye, and mayhap ye’ll teach me a thing or two as well,” she replied, winking.
Jaxon watched her from the side. “Ye’ve a way with them, lass,” he murmured, leaning close. “Better than I ever could hope.”
Gracie blushed, brushing a strand of hair from her face.
The villagers began to chatter freely now, telling stories of their hardships.
“Ye have endured much,” Gracie said. “But together, we shall see yer home flourish again.”
Jaxon caught her gaze, his hand finding hers again, giving it a gentle squeeze.
“Ye see what I mean?” he asked, voice low. “Ye are more than me lady, ye are a light to them all.”
Gracie’s heart swelled at his words. “I am only doing what any woman would, standin’ beside her husband,” she whispered.
“If ye will, Laird and Lady, I can walk ye around and show ye what needs to be done,” Barnaby said.
Jaxon nodded. “I would like that very much, Barnaby. Lead the way, and I’ll see that nothin’ is neglected.”
He turned to Connor, who stood nearby overseeing the unloading of supplies.
“Make sure the villagers all get a meal at once with fresh water. Build a fire to warm them. Everythin’ else can wait.”
Connor bowed deeply. “Aye, we will do this at once, me laird.”
Gracie fell into step beside Jaxon as Barnaby led the way through the narrow paths of Glenmoor. The village was small, less than a hundred souls, but it was clear the people cared for their homes despite the hardships. Barnaby gestured to a crumbling fence.
“This here needs repair, Laird. The storms last winter nearly took it all, and the sheep need it for safety.”
Jaxon nodded, his eyes scanning the area. “Aye, we’ll have timber brought from the cart and fix it right away.”
Gracie looked at him with admiration.
Barnaby led them to a row of small cottages. “This one’s the Smith family,” he explained. “The roof leaks and the wind chills them through.”
“We shall have that mended,” he promised. “Nay bairn of Glenmoor shall suffer for lack of warmth or shelter while we are here.”
Barnaby pointed to a patch of farmland, the crops withered in the sun.
“These fields need attention, Laird, but the drought made it near impossible. Some grain and seeds could help till next season.”
Jaxon nodded thoughtfully. “We’ll provide fresh seed. We’ll have the villagers work together, and I’ll oversee it meself.”
Barnaby led them to the small village square. “And this is where the communal well has mostly dried up. Some stones fell, and the pulley’s weak.”
“We will search for a spot for a new well. There's good water under this land, it must be found.”
As they moved on, Gracie felt the weight of responsibility mix with pride. She was struck by the respect the villagers had for Jaxon and the trust they seemed to extend to her as well.
“Ye are a laird in the truest sense,” she said quietly.
Jaxon squeezed her hand. “And ye, me lady, are learnin’ fast how to be one beside me.”