Epilogue
Two weeks later
The sea lay deceptively calm. From the high windows of Brochel Castle, Halvard watched the water stretch out in cold, silver sheets under a pale sky.
The storms that had torn the coast apart seemed a distant memory, but he knew better than to trust such stillness.
The sea, like kings and enemies, could turn without warning.
Behind him, the great hall was alive with quieter sounds—Elsie’s low laughter as Sten recounted some half-embellished tale from their return, the crackle of the hearth, the soft scrape of parchment as accounts were sorted and resettled. Life had resumed its rhythm, but it had not forgotten.
Halvard stood with his hands clasped behind his back, the weight of the past weeks pressing on him in a way no blade ever had.
Bowen Harcourt was dead.
An English earl slain on Scottish shores, his schemes exposed but not yet judged by a Crown that did not look kindly on such bloodshed—no matter how deserved.
A horn sounded from the courtyard below and Halvard stilled.
“Messenger,” Sten said at once, already rising from the table.
Elsie looked up, her expression sharpening. “From the south?”
Halvard nodded once. “There’s nay one else who would have need tae send word now.”
Moments later, the doors of the great hall opened, admitting a rush of cold air and a rider still spattered with road mud and salt. He knelt quickly, pressing a sealed letter forward with both hands.
“From His Majesty’s court,” the man said. “For Laird Halvard MacLeod of Raasay.”
Halvard took the letter without ceremony. It bore the King’s seal, stamped deep and unquestionable. For a moment, he only stared at it.
Elsie went to his side, her hand slipping into his. “Whatever it says,” she said, “we will answer it together.”
He squeezed her fingers once, grateful for her support, for her presence next to him.
Through it all, Elsie had remained steadfast. Not once had she faltered; not once had she shown any desire to leave his side, even when they both knew how much she missed her sister.
Every day that passed was another reminder that Selene was still in England, but Halvard couldn’t make his way to her until they had heard from the king.
This was the letter they had all been waiting for, the one thing that would finally decide if he was a wanted man, if he was to face the gallows, or if he was free to roam English soil without fearing for his life or the lives of those who accompanied him.
Breaking the seal felt like splitting bone.
He unfolded the parchment and read in silence, his expression hardening line by line. Sten leaned closer, impatience written plainly across his face as he tried to read the parchment over Halvard’s shoulder.
“Well?” he demanded. “Does the king come with chains or blessings?”
Halvard exhaled slowly and began to read aloud.
Laird MacLeod,
Word of the death of Earl Bowen Harcourt has reached our court, along with your accounting of the events that led to it.
The accusations laid against the earl are grave, and though the Crown does not condone bloodshed between its own lords, neither does it turn a blind eye to treachery, conspiracy, or unlawful violence.
We are told Earl Harcourt acted without sanction, engaging mercenaries, setting fires, and orchestrating attacks that threatened both our peace and your lands.
If these claims are true, and we believe them to be, as they were verified by Thomas Redfern himself, then his end, though regrettable, may yet prove unavoidable.
As far as the Crown is concerned, you acted in self-defense and we cannot fault you for this.
It has also come to our attention that your wife, an English noblewoman, was the target of Earl Harcourt’s attack.
Considering the circumstances, the Crown believes you innocent.
Nevertheless, we must caution you. The killing of an English earl, even under provocation, carries consequence. The Crown has little patience for those who solve their disputes with steel.
The words sat heavy in the air.
“Well,” said Sten with a heavy sigh, breaking the suffocating silence. “I suppose that is as much pardon as we might get from the Crown.”
Elsie huffed out a humorless laugh, shaking her head. “What does he mean to say? He claims you are innocent as far as he is concerned, but then cautions you to be careful? What kind of warning is this?”
“And more importantly,” said Sten, “why daes he consider it necessary tae give it?”
“Because he thinks me a savage,” said Halvard with a laugh that was half-bitter and half-amused.
He had the nickname for a reason, after all.
Everyone who had heard of him thought of him as a savage, and so it was no surprise that the king would think the same.
The man surely feared what Halvard might do now that he had killed an earl, and so did those around him.
If he took a wrong step, they would take the first chance they could to keep him restrained.
“There’s more,” Halvard said, and continued to read the rest of the letter.
Your marriage to the Lady Elsie MacLeod has been noted and acknowledged. You have our blessings. You will both present yourselves at court when summoned. Until such time, I expect no further disturbances from Raasay.
Halvard folded the letter slowly and silence fell around him as Sten and Elsie took in the information. Sooner or later, Halvard knew they would be summoned and they would have to show their faces at court, but until then, they were finally safe.
“He wants ye tae go tae court? Both o’ ye?” Sten said at last, crossing his arms. “He’s leavin’ ye standin’ on the edge o’ a knife.”
Halvard let out a soft chuckle, turning to look at Sten. “Dae ye think so? Surely, he cannae dae much tae us in his own court.”
“I’m afraid that is precisely the place where he might try,” said Sten.
“But he gave us his blessin’,” Halvard pointed out.
“Aye, well… a Sassenach’s blessin’ an’ a Sassenach’s promise are worth as much as a bucket o’ shite tae me,” said Sten, and then, after a moment of contemplation, his eyes widened as he turned to Elsie. “Nae offence. It is nae ye I’m talkin’ about.”
“I know you’re suspicious of the English,” said Elsie with a small shrug.
“Suspicious?” asked Halvard with a chuckle. “More like paranoid.”
“Aye, ye go around trustin’ Protestants an’ see what happens,” Sten grumbled as he turned on his heel and stormed off, leaving Halvard alone with Elsie by the door of the great hall.
For a moment, they stared at his retreating back in silence, before Halvard glanced at her from the corner of his eye—
And they both dissolved into laughter.
“A Catholic man, then?” Elsie asked, raising a curious eyebrow. “I thought you, too, were Protestants.”
“Nae the MacLeods o’ Raasay,” said Halvard. “Well, at least nae all o’ us. Some are more sympathetic tae the Protestants than others, though.”
“Is that so?” Elsie asked, a small smile dancing on her lips as she turned to him and placed a hand on his chest. “And you? Which way are you leaning?”
“Me?” Halvard asked, the corner of his mouth ticking up into an amused smirk. “Och, but I cannae stand them, can I?”
“Then perhaps I should leave your halls,” Elsie suggested, taking a few steps back as if to leave. But Halvard was quick to grab her hand, pulling her close again.
“I suppose me wife is the exception,” he said. “But only me wife.”
For a moment, neither of them spoke. But the more that silence stretched between them, the more Halvard’s mind kept drifting back to that letter, to the king, to Harcourt.
It must have shown on his face—some change in his expression, a darkening of his gaze—as Elsie frowned as she looked up at him, her hand moving up to cradle his cheek ever so gently.
“Harcourt chose his path. He chose to act outside the law. You defended your wife.”
Halvard looked at her then—at the woman who had changed the course of his life with courage alone.
“I would dae it again,” he said. “Without hesitation.”
Elsie nodded. “I know. The king knows it too. That’s why this letter smells of caution instead of threat.”
Halvard stared back toward the sea through the window. The calm still held, at least for now.
“The Crown will watch us,” he said. “They will look fer any excuse.”
“Then we give them none,” Elsie replied. “We rebuild. We rule well. We stay visible.”
Halvard smiled faintly. “A laird and his lady. The Isles could do worse.” He slipped the letter into the fire, watching the edges curl and blacken. “Let the king hope,” he said quietly. “We will endure.”
And beside him, Elsie’s hand remained warm and unyielding—an anchor stronger than any crown.
The fire had burned down to a deep, steady glow by the time the great hall emptied.
Only Halvard and Elsie remained near the hearth, the vast stone chamber softened by shadow and quiet.
Outside, the wind moved gently along the walls of Brochel Castle, no longer a threat but a presence, familiar and watchful.
The sea beyond the cliffs breathed slow and even, as though it, too, had settled.
Halvard sat back in his chair, one arm resting along the table, watching Elsie as she stood by the fire. She held a cup of wine she had long since forgotten to drink, her gaze distant, thoughtful.
“Yer sister,” Halvard said at last, breaking the silence. “We should speak o’ her.”
Elsie turned at once, the change in her immediate. Worry flared first—quick and instinctive—then hope followed close behind.
“Selene,” she breathed. “Yes.”
He rose and joined her by the hearth. “I promised ye I would bring her here, tae Raasay. An’ I dinnae forget me promises.”
He had been thinking about it ever since they had returned. Though Elsie hadn’t mentioned it, Halvard knew with utmost certainty that she wanted nothing more than to see her sister again.
And now it was time.
Her fingers tightened around the cup. “You truly mean it? Soon?”
“Aye,” he said. “Now that Harcourt’s shadow is gone an’ the king has chosen tae watch rather than strike, there is nay reason tae delay.”
Elsie set the cup aside and stepped closer, her eyes brightening in a way that made something warm and fierce bloom in his chest.
“She’s never seen the Highlands,” she said, her words tumbling over one another now. “She used to tell me she imagined them all mist and wild green hills. She’ll love it here, Halvard. I know she will.”
He smiled at her—an expression still rare enough to feel like a gift. “Anyone with sense would.”
Elsie laughed softly. “She’s strong. Stronger than she looks. She’ll fit in better than you think. And she won’t be afraid of you.”
He raised a brow. “Is that so?”
“She’ll see you the way I do,” Elsie said simply. “As a good man who pretends to be savage.”
The warmth spread deeper at that, reaching every part of him.
It was not often that someone described him as a good man.
Savage was the only epithet that anyone had given him in a long time, and though he had done much to deserve it, he wanted nothing more than to be the kind of man who deserved to be called good by someone as kind and as luminous as Elsie.
“How soon would we go?” she asked, barely containing her excitement now. “We’d need a ship, of course, and letters… oh, and I must warn her in advance.”
Halvard chuckled, low and genuine.
Elsie grinned at him, a real, bright smile that seemed to light up her entire face, and the sight of it made his chest ache in the best way.
“We’ll sail as soon as the weather allows,” he said. “Sten will come with us. A small escort, enough tae make a statement without stirring the Crown.”
Her eyes shone. “You’re serious.”
“I am,” he said. “She is yer blood. That makes her mine as well.”
Elsie stared at him for a moment, then surged forward and wrapped her arms around him. The embrace was fierce, sudden, unguarded. Halvard stiffened in surprise before his arms closed around her, holding her close.
“Thank you,” she whispered into his chest. “You don’t know what this means to me.”
“I think I dae,” he said, pressing his lips to her hair. “An’ I am glad fer it.”
Elsie pulled back just enough to look up at him, her face alight with anticipation. “I’ll show her the cliffs. And the sea. And the hall where you sit in judgment like some ancient king.”
“Careful,” he said dryly. “Ye’ll give her the wrong idea.”
Elsie laughed again, the sound bright and unburdened, and Halvard found himself laughing with her.
For the first time since inheriting his father’s title, since blood and duty had shaped every breath he took, Halvard felt something else settle alongside them—a future, one that stretched not in conquest or war, but in shared plans, excited voices, and the promise of family crossing the sea to stand beside them.
And for a man long accustomed to surviving rather than hoping, it was the sweetest victory of all.
“It still feels strange,” Elsie said softly. “Thinking beyond tomorrow.”
Halvard lowered his head, his cheek brushing her hair. “Aye. I spent years plannin’ only as far as the next battle.”
“And now?” she asked.
“Now I think about winters,” he said quietly. “About how the castle feels full when ye’re in it. About voices at the table that arenae raised in anger.”
She smiled at that, a small, thoughtful smile. “Selene will bring noise,” she said. “She always does.”
“I welcome it,” he replied. “I’d welcome a dozen such disturbances.”
Elsie tilted her head back to look at him, her eyes warm and searching. “And after that?”
Halvard’s thumb brushed her jaw, gentle despite its strength. “After that,” he said, “we make a life. One that belongs tae us.”
The words settled between them, simple and profound. Elsie rose onto her toes then, her hands curling into his tunic, and kissed him.
It was not hurried or desperate. It was a kiss full of promise—slow and sure, as though they were testing the shape of the future together. Halvard bent to her willingly, his hand cradling the back of her head, holding her as though he had nowhere else he wished to be.
When they parted, their foreheads remained pressed together.
“We’ll face whatever comes,” Elsie whispered.
“Aye,” he said, a smile ghosting across his mouth. “Taegether.”
One month later, peace returns to Raasay—but their story is far from over.
Follow Halvard and Elsie to England, where long-lost sisters reunite, new promises are made, and the Savage of the Highlands finally finds what he never thought he’d have… a home.