Chapter 5
CHAPTER FIVE
"This is it?"
Mhairi stood in the doorway of what would apparently be her chamber, taking in the space with wide eyes. It was larger than her room back home. Back at her father's keep, she corrected herself bitterly. That wasn’t home. Not anymore.
The chamber had a proper bed with thick curtains, a wardrobe that looked like it could swallow her whole, a washstand with a basin, and even a small writing desk near the window. Evening light poured through the glass, turning everything golden.
"Aye." Alpin leaned against the doorframe, watching her reaction. "Is it... all right?"
"All right?" Mhairi turned to stare at him. "It's bigger than the solar at Munro lands."
"Then ye'll have plenty of space tae avoid me when I annoy ye." His mouth twitched. "Which, accordin' ae Callum, happens approximately every ten minutes."
"Every eight," Mhairi corrected, and was rewarded with a proper smile.
They'd arrived at MacDougal Castle perhaps half an hour before, riding through gates that had opened in front of them like they were expected.
Warriors had called out greetings to Alpin as they'd passed. Servants had hurried forward to take the horses. And through it all, Alpin had kept close to her side, a steady presence as they'd navigated the unfamiliar courtyard.
He'd brought her straight to his office first—a cluttered room that smelled of leather and parchment, with maps covering nearly every surface. And there, he'd pulled out fresh paper and ink.
"We should write tae yer faither," he'd said. "Let him ken ye're safe."
Safe. She hadn’t wanted to write him at all. But she'd nodded, because, what if Graham had lied about him having sold her off at auction? Together they'd composed the letter.
Mhairi had dictated most of it, choosing her words carefully.
Father, I write tae inform ye that I am well and under the protection of Laird Alpin MacDougal. There has been a grave misunderstanding regarding me circumstances. I hope we can resolve this matter swiftly so that I might return home.
She'd stopped there, throat tight. Return home. Did she even want that anymore? After what Graham had told her, what her father had allegedly done, could she ever go back?
But Alpin had simply written what she'd said, his hand steady as he'd shaped each letter. When they'd finished, he'd sealed it with wax and his own signet ring, then called for a messenger.
"It'll reach yer faither within three days," he'd promised.
Now, standing in that beautiful chamber that was apparently hers, Mhairi felt the weight of everything pressing down on her shoulders.
"The wardrobe has some spare clothes," Alpin was saying, pushing away from the doorframe. "They'll be too large, but at least they're clean. I'll have the seamstress fit them tomorrow."
"Ye dinnae have tae."
"Mhairi." He waited until she looked at him. "Ye arrived here with naethin' but the clothes on yer back and a fair amount of dirt. Let me provide the basics. Please."
The 'please' did it. She nodded, suddenly too tired to argue.
"Good." Alpin moved toward the door. "I'll send someone tae help ye settle. If ye need anything—anything at all—just ask. One of the servants will find me."
"Thank ye." The words felt inadequate for everything he'd done, but they were all she had.
He paused in the doorway, glancing back. "Get some rest. Ye've had a hell of a few days."
Then he was gone, his bootsteps fading down the corridor.
Mhairi stood alone in the center of the room, suddenly aware of just how exhausted she was. Her legs ached from riding. Her wrists still burned where the ropes had dug in. And beneath it all was a bone-deep weariness that had nothing to do with physical exertion.
She was just considering whether she had the energy to investigate the wardrobe when a sharp knock sounded at the door.
"Come in," Mhairi called, expecting a servant.
The woman who entered was perhaps a few years older than Mhairi, with fair hair braided back from her face and bright, curious eyes. She carried an armload of folded blankets and wore the practical dress of a castle maid—but there was nothing servile about the way she smiled.
"Ye must be Mhairi," the woman said cheerfully, kicking the door shut behind her with one foot. "I'm Freya. The laird sent me tae make sure ye dinnae collapse from exhaustion before ye get yer boots off."
Despite herself, Mhairi felt her mouth twitch. "Did he actually say that?"
"Near enough." Freya dumped the blankets onto the bed and turned to survey Mhairi with frank assessment. "Christ, ye look like ye've been dragged through a hedge backwards. Multiple hedges. Possibly on fire."
"That's..." Mhairi blinked. "Surprisingly accurate."
"Well, let's get ye sorted then." Freya moved toward her with the kind of brisk efficiency that suggested she'd done this a hundred times before. "Turn around."
"What?"
"Yer dress, lass. It's filthy and probably three days past burnin'. Turn around so I can get it off ye."
Mhairi hesitated, then obeyed. Within moments, Freya had unlaced the back of her gown, tutting at the state of the fabric.
"This'll need a proper scrubbin' before it's fit fer anythin' except kindlin'." Freya tossed it aside and reached for a clean shift from the pile on the wardrobe. "Here. This'll dae fer now."
The shift was indeed too large—the sleeves hung past Mhairi's fingertips and the hem pooled around her feet—but it was clean and soft, and that was enough to make her throat tight with gratitude.
"Better?" Freya asked, already moving to the washstand to pour water into the basin.
"Much." Mhairi sat gingerly on the edge of the bed. "Thank ye."
"Dinnae mention it." Freya brought the basin over, along with a cloth. "Here. Ye'll want tae wash yer face at least. Ye've got dirt in places I didnae ken dirt could reach."
Mhairi took the cloth and began scrubbing at her face and hands. The water turned brown almost immediately, but the cool wetness felt like heaven against her skin.
"So," Freya said, perching on the edge of the desk and watching her with unabashed interest. "Ye're the lass the laird rescued from that bastard Englishman."
Mhairi's hands stilled. "How did ye ken?"
"Word travels fast in a castle this size. Especially when the laird rides in with a strange lass and immediately sends fer his best chamber tae be prepared." Freya's smile was knowing. "The servants have been speculatin' since ye arrived about who ye are and why ye're here."
Heat crept up Mhairi's neck. "What are they sayin'?"
"Everythin' from 'long-lost cousin' tae 'secret wife' tae 'mysterious princess in disguise." Freya laughed at Mhairi's expression. "Dinnae worry. I set them straight. Told them ye were a lass in trouble who needed help, and that the laird was daein' what any decent laird would dae."
"Is that..." Mhairi hesitated. "Is that what people think? That he's just bein' decent?"
"Some dae." Freya tilted her head, studying Mhairi more closely. "Others are wonderin' if there's more tae it."
"There isnae," Mhairi said quickly. "He just... he helped me. That's all."
"Mmm." Freya didnae sound convinced, but she let it drop. "Well, decent or not, ye're lucky it was Alpin who found ye. He's a good man, our laird. Better than most."
Mhairi set down the cloth, suddenly curious. "What's he like? As a laird, I mean."
"Complicated." Freya grinned. "Smart as a whip, tough as nails when he needs tae be, but fair. He actually listens when people talk tae him, which is rarer than ye'd think. And he cares about his clan, really cares. It's nae just duty fer him."
"I’ve noticed that," Mhairi said quietly, thinking of how his men had responded to him on the road. "His warriors trust him completely."
"They dae. Because he's earned it." Freya stood and moved to the wardrobe, pulling out a simple dress. "Here. This'll fit better than that shift. Let me help ye."
"So the laird told ye why he went tae the auction, then?" Freya asked as she helped her into the dress, lacing it up the back and adjusting the fit,
"Aye. He said girls from yer clan lands had been goin' missing." Mhairi's voice softened. "Three of them?"
"Three that we ken of." Freya's hands paused briefly. "It's been eatin' at him fer months. Every search party that came back empty-handed, every dead end—ye could see it weighin' on him."
"He blames himself."
"Of course he daes. He's the laird. He thinks it's his duty tae protect everyone." Freya resumed her work, pulling the clean dress over Mhairi's head. "The Council tried tae talk him out of goin' tae that auction himself. Too dangerous, they said. But once he gets somethin' in his head..."
"He's stubborn," Mhairi finished.
"Stubborn as a mule. But it comes from carin', ye ken? Those lasses were his people. His responsibility." Freya's voice held a note of pride. "He wasnae about tae sit in his castle while they were out there somewhere, afraid and alone."
Mhairi felt something tighten in her chest. She'd thought Alpin had saved her out of simple decency. But it was more than that. It was personal.
"He didnae find them, though," she said quietly.
"Nay. They'd already been sold and moved on." Freya met her eyes. "But he found ye. And he brought ye home safe. That counts fer somethin'."
It did. It counted for more than Mhairi could put into words.
"I wish he could've saved us all," Mhairi whispered.
"So daes he." Freya moved back to the pile of blankets, sorting through them.
Mhairi found herself wondering who looked after the laird when he was so busy looking after everyone else.
"Here." Freya held up a thick shawl. "It gets cold at night, even in summer. Ye'll want this."
"Thank ye." Mhairi accepted it, wrapping it around her shoulders. The wool was soft and warm, smelling faintly of lavender.
"Ye need food and rest, in that order." She moved toward the door. "I'll have somethin' sent up from the kitchens. Anythin' ye particularly like? Or particularly hate?"
"I'm nae picky."
"Good answer. Though between ye and me, avoid the mutton pie on Thursdays. Cook's been makin' it the same way for thirty years and she's gotten worse at it every single time."
Despite everything, Mhairi laughed. "Noted."
Freya paused at the door, her expression turning serious again.
"Me lady? I dinnae ken what happened tae ye before the laird found ye, and I willnae pry.
But I want ye tae ken, ye're safe here. Everyone in this castle will make sure of it.
Because if Alpin's taken ye under his protection, that means somethin'. It means ye're one of us now."
Mhairi's vision blurred. "Thank ye."
"Get some rest." Freya's smile was gentle now. "And if ye need anythin’, ye just ask fer me. I'm usually in the kitchens makin' trouble or in the servants' quarters avoidin' work."
Then she was gone, leaving Mhairi alone once more.
She moved to the window and looked out over the courtyard below.
The sun was setting now, painting the sky in shades of orange and pink.
Torches were being lit along the walls. Somewhere in the distance, she could hear voices—warriors calling out greetings, servants laughing as they finished their day's work.
Life. Normal, ordinary life.
For so long, Mhairi had thought that was lost to her forever. That she'd never again experience anything beyond fear and helplessness.
But standing there now, wrapped in borrowed clothes and surrounded by the sounds of a castle settling in for the night, she felt hope.
It was fragile. Tentative. But it was there.
And as Mhairi turned away from the window and moved toward the bed, she let herself believe that maybe, everything would be all right.