Chapter 17
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
The sun had long since dropped behind the hills, but the sky still burned faintly, the last of the light caught in the low-hanging clouds over the glen.
The village had quieted. Smoke curled thin and tired from the chimneys that were left standing, and the sound of the stream carried through the wreckage like a reminder of what they’d lost.
Aidan stood near the edge of the road, the mud thick beneath his boots, the air heavy with damp and exhaustion.
Around him, his men worked in low voices, finishing what could be done before night took full hold.
The scent of wet timber and earth clung to everything; even the air he breathed seemed soaked in it.
Gordon came up behind him, his voice cutting through the hum of the evening. “That’ll dae fer the night, me laird. We’ve done what we can. The rest’ll have tae wait till mornin’.”
Aidan didn’t answer right away. His gaze had caught on movement near the far end of the green—the flicker of a lantern’s glow where Catherine stood among the villagers.
She was speaking to a young mother, her hands moving as she gestured toward the makeshift shelter they’d built from the remains of the cottages.
Her hair had come loose again, curling at her temples in the damp air, and her skirts were streaked with mud from hours of work.
She looked exhausted. But she was still there. Still giving.
Gordon followed his gaze and made a sound that was far too knowing. “If ye’re waitin’ fer her tae turn in, ye’ll be here all night.”
“I’m nae waitin’ fer anyone,” Aidan said, his tone flat, his eyes still on her.
Gordon’s grin widened. “Aye. Course ye’re nae.” He crossed his arms, shifting his weight onto one leg. “Ye could at least go tell them it’s time tae head back. They’ll listen tae ye.”
“They’ll argue,” Aidan muttered. “They always dae.”
“Then argue back,” Gordon said easily. “Or stand here starin’ till sunrise. Either way, the men need tae ken if we’re stayin’ or goin’. I’ll tell Bruce tae start roundin’ up the wagons.”
Aidan gave a low sigh, the sound rough with fatigue. “We’ll leave within the hour.”
But even as he said it, his eyes didn’t leave her.
Catherine had crouched to speak to a child, her expression soft, voice barely audible from where he stood.
The child smiled shyly and took her hand, pressing something small and wooden into her palm—a charm, maybe, or a broken toy.
She laughed quietly and ruffled the bairn’s hair before standing again.
That laugh. It did something to him every time.
“Ye ken,” Gordon said, half laughing, “fer a man who claims nay interest, ye’ve a strange way o’ provin’ it.”
Aidan shot him a look that could have silenced a storm. “Mind yerself.”
Gordon raised both hands, still grinning. “Aye, laird. Just observin’. Though if ye mean tae leave, ye might want tae let her ken before she starts rebuildin’ the whole damn village.”
Aidan ignored him and started walking.
The mud clung to his boots, the air cold enough now that each breath misted faintly before him.
He passed by the half-collapsed cottages, the flicker of torches lighting the faces of his men as they packed what tools they could.
When he reached the clearing where Catherine and her sisters worked, the lantern light cast them in gold.
Alyson was kneeling beside a small fire, grinding herbs in a clay bowl. Sofia stood nearby, shaking out wet blankets to dry. Catherine was the first to notice him. She straightened, brushing her hands on her skirts, that familiar guarded look flickering through her eyes before she smoothed it away.
“Me laird,” she greeted, her tone polite but far too steady to be sincere. “Have ye come tae see the damage fer yerself again?”
“I’ve come tae tell ye we’re done fer the night,” Aidan said, keeping his voice even. “We leave fer the castle within the hour.”
Sofia’s head snapped up. “Leave? But we’re stayin’!”
Aidan frowned. “The glen’s still unstable. Ye’ll return wi’ us. The men can finish the rest.”
Catherine exchanged a glance with Alyson, then turned back to him. “That’s precisely the problem,” she said, crossing her arms. “The men will finish what they can, but they’ll need help in the mornin’. The villagers cannae dae it alone. We were talkin’ with the tavern keeper—he’s offered us rooms.”
He stared at her, certain he’d misheard. “Rooms?”
“Aye.” Alyson rose, wiping her hands. “They’ve enough space fer three of us, and half the soldiers that are stayin’ behind tae guard the stores. We’ll be safe.”
Aidan’s disbelief hardened into irritation. “Ye’ll dae nay such thing.”
“Why nae?” Sofia asked, wide-eyed. “It’s warmer here than in the wagons, and we can start early.”
“It’s improper,” Aidan said flatly. “Yer braither would have me head if he heard I left ye unchaperoned in some roadside tavern.”
Catherine lifted her chin. “Ye’re nae leavin’ us unchaperoned. We’ll be surrounded by guards. Yer men.”
“That’s nae the point.”
“Then what is the point, me laird?” she asked, her voice cooling. “That ye like givin’ orders fer the sake o’ hearin’ them obeyed?”
He took a step closer, his temper rising despite his best effort to rein it in. “The point,” he said, low and sharp, “is that it’s me responsibility tae keep ye safe. And I cannae dae that if ye refuse tae listen.”
Catherine didn’t back away. If anything, her defiance sharpened. “Safe?” she repeated, her voice quiet but cutting. “We’re in a village full o’ yer soldiers, surrounded by families who’ve lost everythin’. Tell me, what danger dae ye think lurks here that warrants such protection?”
Aidan’s jaw worked. “Ye’ve nay idea what danger looks like.”
“Then perhaps ye should show me,” she said, her chin lifting higher.
For a heartbeat, neither of them moved. The tension between them was so taut it felt like the air might snap.
It was Alyson who broke it, stepping forward with a placating tone. “Catherine, please. The laird’s only concerned.”
Catherine shot her sister a look. “I ken fine what he’s concerned about.”
“Aye,” Aidan said tightly, “and ye’re determined tae ignore it.”
“Because it’s unreasonable,” she said. “We’re nae children tae be packed away every time ye find the world too untidy fer our presence. We can help. We have helped.”
He ran a hand through his hair, exhaling hard.
The worst part was that she was right. They had helped.
Her presence had kept the villagers from despair, her calm from chaos.
The men respected her already, he’d heard them say as much.
But still, the thought of leaving her there without him, made something restless twist in his chest.
He turned his gaze on her, steady, unflinching. “And if I forbid it?”
She met his look head-on. “Then ye’ll have tae drag me back tae the castle yerself.”
A muscle jumped in his jaw. She meant it. Saints, the woman was impossible.
He was aware of Alyson and Sofia watching, trying to stifle their amusement. Catherine stood before him, proud and immovable, her eyes gleaming in the lamplight.
Finally, Aidan exhaled through his nose, slow and resigned. “If ye’re stayin’, then I’ll stay as well.”
That wiped the smile from Sofia’s face. “Ye’ll stay?”
“Aye,” Aidan said. “If ye’re tae remain in this village, ye’ll nae be daein’ it without oversight.”
Catherine’s brows rose, her mouth parting slightly in disbelief. “Ye’re sayin’ ye’ll sleep in the tavern?”
He crossed his arms. “Aye. I’ve slept in worse.”
Her lips curved into something dangerously close to a smirk. “I dinnae doubt that.”
The comment earned a muffled laugh from Sofia, quickly hushed by Alyson’s elbow. Aidan ignored them, his focus still locked on Catherine.
“I’ll have a word wi’ the tavern keeper,” he said, his tone brooking no argument. “Ye’ll take the upper rooms, nearest the stairs. Me men’ll keep watch through the night.”
Catherine regarded him as though weighing whether to press further, then finally sighed. “If that’s what it takes tae keep ye from hoverin’, then aye. Fine.”
“Good,” he said curtly.
He walked away before she could answer, his pulse a steady roar in his ears. “Make ready, then. We’ll rest at the tavern till dawn.”
Behind him, her voice carried, quiet but unmistakably amused. “As ye command, laird.”
Aidan didn’t look back.
The men were already gathering their things, the last of the fires dying down to embers. Gordon caught his eye as he approached, his grin crooked. “So we’re stayin’, then?”
“Aye,” Aidan said shortly.
“Let me guess—Lady Catherine insisted?”
Aidan gave him a look that shut him up quick enough. “I’ll hear nae more about it.”
Gordon chuckled under his breath. “Aye, me laird. Whatever ye say.”
Aidan said nothing. He adjusted his sword belt and glanced once more toward the far edge of the green, where Catherine stood with her sisters, her laughter soft in the dark.
He told himself it was duty that made him stay. Responsibility. The need to protect what wasn’t his. But deep down, where no one could hear it but himself, he knew that was a lie.
The storm’s wreckage lay quiet beneath the pale wash of twilight, the air thick with the scent of damp earth and smoke. Someone struck flint near the green, then another, and before long a spark caught—a single flame rising where the villagers had gathered the fallen branches from the day’s work.
It spread quickly, a crackle in the stillness, drawing people from their shelters like moths to warmth. Children ran with armfuls of kindling, laughter ringing through the dark. Soon the fire grew high, spilling its light over the ruined cottages, chasing the night from their faces.
And just like that, Aidan found himself standing there among them, watching the glow catch in Catherine MacDonald’s hair as she stepped near the flames.