Chapter 20
Isla wakes slowly, drifting up through layers of warmth and quiet.
For a few disoriented seconds, she doesn’t remember where she is, only that she feels… held. Not physically, not quite, but contained in a way she hasn’t felt in years. Safe. Unrushed.
Then memory returns in fragments.
Stone walls.
Lamplight.
Callum’s voice, low and steady.
The way he stayed.
She opens her eyes.
Morning light spills across the room, pale and soft, catching in the folds of the curtains and warming the gray stone until it glows. The castle looks different in daylight, less imposing, less haunted. Almost gentle.
Callum is still asleep beside her, one arm thrown loosely across the pillow where her shoulder rests. His face is relaxed, unguarded in a way she hasn’t seen before. Without the tension he usually carries, he looks younger. Vulnerable.
Human.
Her heart beats a little faster staring at him. The last time she’d slept with a man was in college, before her first tour. But this feels different. Right in a way, she hadn’t anticipated. She remembers the first time she saw him, the way grief had left him stricken.
And then at the funeral, wearing a kilt. The full regalia. He’d been so damn handsome, and yet she’d been filled with anger. Anger that he had gotten to live with her father, and she never had.
But now, he is a rock, strength when she feels like giving up, comfort, and so damn sexy it’s all she could do not to pull him into her arms and make love to him once again.
Last night, they had made love way into the morning and only given up when they were both exhausted and out of condoms. And yet, she wants him again.
Staring at him, she studies him quietly, afraid to move too quickly and break whatever fragile magic has settled between them.
Last night wasn’t an escape. Last night, he’d driven the demons from her that seemed to reside in her soul.
That’s what surprises her most. Now, at least, she has some understanding of why her father never appeared. Now at least, she can begin the healing process.
She’d half-expected to wake with regret or panic or the familiar instinct to armor herself again. Instead, she feels calm. Grounded. As if something that’s been clenched inside her for years has finally loosened.
She slips carefully out of bed, pulling on a sweater and crossing to the window. Emerald grass and tall trees stretch out below, green and damp with morning dew. Somewhere in the distance, a bird calls. Life is going on.
For the first time since she arrived, the castle doesn’t feel like a battlefield.
It feels like a home.
She hears movement behind her.
Callum’s voice is rough with sleep. “You disappeared.”
“I’m right here,” she says softly.
He sits up, hair rumpled, blinking against the light. When his eyes find her, something gentle settles in his expression, relief, maybe. Or something closer to joy.
“Morning,” he says.
She smiles. “Morning.”
There’s no awkwardness. No scramble for distance or explanation. Just the quiet acknowledgment of what they shared.
Callum swings his legs over the side of the bed. “How are you?”
She considers the question honestly. “Better than I expected.”
He nods. “Me too.”
Gently, he presses his lips to hers. “You wore me out, woman.”
She giggles and realizes that’s a sound she hasn’t made in years.
“Me too,” she says gently.
They dress without ceremony, brushing past each other easily, the intimacy lingering in small, ordinary gestures. When they step into the corridor together, Isla realizes she’s humming under her breath.
Callum notices.
“Happy?” he asks.
She pauses, surprised by the word. Then nods. “Yes.”
It feels almost rebellious to admit it.
They don’t talk about the papers. Or the envelope. Or what comes next.
Instead, Callum takes her hand and leads her down a narrow corridor and through a door to the music room.
Sunlight pours in through tall windows, illuminating the grand piano that dominates the space. Isla stops short, breath catching.
“I forgot how beautiful this room is,” she murmurs.
Callum watches her, something like pride flickering across his face. “Keir loved it. Said music needed space to breathe.”
“I want to play along with you,” he says softly.
She crosses to the piano, running her fingers lightly over the keys. The instrument feels alive beneath her touch, resonant and ready.
“What do you play in the mornings?” Callum asks.
“Whatever needs to come out,” she replies.
He disappears for a moment and returns with a guitar, well-worn, familiar. He settles into a chair near the piano, watching her with quiet anticipation.
“Show me,” he says. “You lead.”
Isla sits, a timid smile crossing her face.
She doesn’t think. She just plays.
The melody is simple at first, tentative, like a question asked softly. Then it grows, layering emotion without effort. Not grief this time. Not fury.
Hope.
Callum joins her after a few bars, his guitar threading through her music like it belongs there. They don’t discuss key or tempo. They don’t need to.
They listen.
They follow. Their music joins them in ways only their bodies could before.
The music swells and ebbs, a conversation without words. Isla laughs once when Callum shifts unexpectedly, catching her off guard with a playful riff.
“Show-off,” she accuses.
He grins. “You started it.”
They play for a long time, long enough that the world outside fades entirely. When they finally stop, the silence feels full rather than empty.
Isla leans back on the bench, breathless. “That was…”
“Right,” Callum finishes.
She nods. “Yes.”
They sit together, shoulder to shoulder, basking in the afterglow of sound.
For a moment, Isla lets herself imagine it, mornings like this. Music instead of conflict. Partnership instead of inheritance.
Then her mind drifts, unbidden, to Keir’s bedroom.
The single envelope resting on his bed. The one with her name on it.
Callum notices the shift immediately.
“Not yet,” he says gently.
She looks at him, grateful. “Thank you.”
He reaches for her hand, squeezing once. “We’ll open the letter together.”
The promise steadies her.
For now, she lets herself lean into the moment, the warmth of the room, the quiet joy, the man beside her who chose to stay.
Just for this morning, she allows herself to be happy.
“I think I’m hungry,” she says. “My body needs energy.”
A grin spreads across his face. “I’ll call Martha to tell her we’re ready for breakfast as soon as we shower together.”
A giggle escapes her. “Don’t tell her we’re showering together.”
“Oh, I’m sure the entire staff knows what went on in your bedroom last night. We were kind of noisy.”
“We were great together,” she says.
“We are,” he says and gently kisses her.