Chapter Nine
A biting wind cut through the village square. The kind of wind that sliced between cloak folds and settled deep in yer bone. Ailith drew her cloak tighter, the wool coarse beneath her fingers, but grateful for anything to anchor her against the chill, the one in the air, and the one inside her.
She hadn’t meant to come. Hadn’t planned to watch men be led to their deaths.
But when Erin’s husband came to fetch her, she hadn’t refused.
She couldn’t. Not because she hungered for justice, or vengeance, or the grim finality of the gallows, but because she needed distraction.
She needed something, anything to drown out the storm inside her chest.
Sleep had been a stranger. All through the night, she’d tossed and turned, her thoughts tangled in the bitter words exchanged with Hendry. Each syllable he’d spoken had landed like a blade. Clean cutting and impossibly precise. He had not shouted. Not raged. But, oh, how it had hurt.
And worse… he’d been right.
She stood now beside her sister’s family, half-listening to the whispered prayers, and the murmurs of the gathered crowd. But her mind was far away, replaying again the fury in Hendry’s eyes, the crack in his voice when he’d asked why she hadn’t waited.
How had it come to this?
What she and Hendry had was rare, a true love.
But she’d been so foolish. The moment Brant whispered doubt into her ear, wrapped it in calm logic and gentle hands, she’d let it burrow in.
She hadn’t questioned him. Hadn’t fought against his words.
Instead, she’d clung to the searing pain of her broken heart and convinced herself that Hendry had betrayed her in every way that mattered.
And it had all been lies.
Brant had been clever, too clever. He hadn’t stormed in with accusations. No, he’d been patient. Gentle. He’d soothed her tears and offered comfort when Hendry’s absence grew long.
She saw it all now, in agonizing clarity. Brant had spun his lies carefully. Like a spider luring prey into a web she hadn’t even realized she’d walked into.
Her sister had known. Erin had warned her, tearfully begging her to wait.
To give Hendry the chance to explain when he returned.
But Ailith had refused. Blinded by grief and fear, she’d hardened her heart and rushed into a marriage meant to heal the wound Hendry left behind. Instead, it had deepened it.
Their marriage had been a prison of silence and suspicion. Slowly, subtly, he’d isolated her. Urged her to stay near the cottage. Offered to run her errands. Encouraged her to rest, to trust him. And in doing so, he’d kept her from the village, from the other warriors. From the truth.
Brant had driven a wedge between her and her family.
Erin’s visits had grown less frequent. Each one more uncomfortable than the last, until finally they stopped altogether.
Ailith remembered those afternoons, when she and Erin sat down to talk, how Brant would sit in his chair like a warden.
Arms crossed, eyes narrowed, saying little but hearing everything.
No warmth. No joy. Just cold possession.
And through it all, she had defended him. Made excuses. Convinced herself that this was her life now, and she would bear it as women must, without complaint.
But standing here now, watching the gallows rise, a grim structure against the grey sky, Ailith couldn’t lie to herself anymore.
She had wronged Hendry.
She had condemned him in her heart without proof, without question, and now… she’d lost him forever.
Her throat tightened. Her eyes burned with tears of shame.
And the unbearable truth that she would never have the chance to make it right.
“Look,” Erin whispered, breaking Ailith from the swirl of regret and memory. “The guard has arrived.”
The thunder of hooves preceded them. Twelve mounted warriors riding two by two into the village square, their warhorses immense, their breath misting the cold morning air.
The ground trembled beneath their weight, each hoof falling like a warning.
The crowd instinctively parted, forming a narrow corridor.
The guards came first, their chainmail catching what little light bled from the grey sky. Then came the prisoners.
Three men.
Each sat atop a horse, flanked by a warrior. Shackled. Broken.
Two hung their heads, shoulders slumped in resignation, their very postures weighted with defeat. The third was unraveling before their eyes, sobbing openly, his tear-streaked face scanning the crowd with unhinged desperation.
“Help me!” he cried, his voice cracking with desperation. “Please, someone, help!”
Ailith turned away.
She couldn’t bear it. She couldn’t allow pity to crack through. These men had committed terrible crimes. Had beaten and killed innocent people without mercy. How dare that one ask for help. For the one thing he denied those who were left dying or dead in his wake.
Her gaze drifted, searching for a safer anchor. And then she found him.
Two more horsemen approached at a slower, deliberate pace. One was Laird Alexander Ross, regal and unyielding. His very presence cloaked in the authority of his station. But it was the man beside him who stole her breath.
Hendry.
He looked every inch the warrior he’d always been, broad-shouldered, battle-hardened, silent. But something was different now. The way he sat his horse, so still, so composed, like a beautiful statue. Almost as if he was hollow inside.
His face was unreadable. No anger. No satisfaction. Then she noticed it, he was devoid of emotion. The hard line of his jaw and the dead calm in his eyes were the epitome of a hardened warrior.
When the laird and Hendry reached the front, both men reined in their mounts and turned to face the gathered crowd.
Behind them, the prisoners were yanked from their horses like sacks of grain.
The laird’s warriors moved with brutal efficiency, dragging the condemned toward the gallows.
Their struggles pathetic against men trained for war.
Ailith flinched as one of the prisoners was hauled up by the arms, his feet scraping against the wooden steps of the platform. The air grew heavier with every moment, the hush spreading like a blanket over the villagers.
Laird Ross raised a hand, and the murmurs stilled.
“Today,” he said, voice carrying over the heads of the crowd, “justice will be served.”
Ailith felt her sister tense beside her.
“These men,” the laird continued, “attacked the innocent. Defenseless. They killed without mercy, and now they will receive none in return.”
A wave of murmured approval swept through the crowd like a breeze, though it was tinged with sorrow, not triumph. Some cheered. Others cried.
The laird lifted his hand again. Silence returned like a breath held tight.
“The punishment will be named by my warrior, Hendry McNichol, who was left for dead by these very men.”
The prisoners turned in unison, three broken faces staring at the man who now held their fate. But Hendry didn’t meet their eyes.
He sat motionless, as if carved from stone.
No flicker of emotion crossed his face. No sign of hesitation.
“Death by hanging,” Hendry called out, in a deep flat tone.
A ripple of sound followed, cries of relief, of grief, of anguish. Some wept for the lives lost. Others, perhaps, for the ones about to be hung.
The nooses were lowered. The man who had cried out moments earlier sagged, his legs giving way. Whether from fear or unconsciousness, Ailith couldn’t tell.
She looked away.
She couldn’t watch death unfold, even if it was deserved. She had seen enough sorrow. Enough pain. Her heart was already fraying at the edges.
Beside her, Erin let out a soft gasp. In her arms, the bairn cooed. A gurgling sound that didn’t belong in a place like this, so pure, so unaffected by the violence of the world.
Ailith reached over and gently touched the child’s cheek, soft and dewy with the cold. The baby blinked up at her and then curled its tiny fingers around hers.
Ailith smiled, though it trembled on her lips. In the shadow of gallows and grief, life clung fiercely to the edges.
Ailith and Erin made their way toward her sister’s home. Ailith took the bairn so that Erin could duck into the bakery to purchase bread for their last meal. Teller trailed behind, in hopes of getting scraps of fresh bread.
The dog exited first, a hunk of crusty bread in his mouth.
“Elias is always so kind to ye,” she said to the dog, who chewed the treat.
She looked to the village square where the gallows still loomed.
After lingering to watch the now dead men being lowered and placed on the back of wagons, the crowd had begun to drift away in slow waves, some subdued, others weeping.
Ailith stood unmoving, her gaze fixed on the earth beneath her boots.
“Ailith?” Erin asked gently, reaching to touch her arm. “What is the matter?”
Ailith didn’t answer at first. She swallowed hard, eyes misting. Then she lifted her head and looked at her sister, her voice hoarse from everything she hadn’t said.
“I should have listened to ye.”
Erin blinked, brows rising. “What do ye mean?”
Ailith let out a shaky breath, brushing wind-tangled hair back from her face.
“Back then… when Brant came to me with his lies and his false concern. When he told me Hendry had betrayed me, that he he’d lain with women the entire time of our relationship and I believed him.
I let the shock and grief blind me. And ye…
ye told me to wait. To speak with Hendry when he returned. But I didn’t.”
Erin’s expression softened, her eyes already glistening. “Ailith…”
“I married Brant not out of love,” Ailith pressed on, her voice cracking. “But out of hurt. I wanted to erase Hendry. I wanted to prove that I didn’t need him. That I could move on. But I couldn’t. Not really.”
She let out a shaky breath, twisting the hem of her cloak in her hands.
“He came to my cottage yesterday. We spoke.” Her lips trembled.