Chapter 30
Amara dabbed gently at Mabel’s cheek with a cloth, her own hands trembling as she pulled it away and saw blood—not Mabel’s, but someone else’s. The older woman sat slumped on a stool in the corner of the shelter, her once-pristine apron soaked through and her eyes red from weeping.
“Mabel,” Amara said softly, “I ken ye meant no harm.”
Mabel flinched like the words themselves hurt more than the wounds she’d treated all day. “I did,” she rasped, voice hoarse from smoke and shouting. “I should have spoken sooner. I should have—”
“Ye were used,” Amara interrupted gently. “As I was. As so many were. But ye helped save lives today. That counts for somethin’.”
Mabel’s bottom lip trembled. “I never thought it would come to this.”
“I did,” came a voice from the doorway.
Amara’s head whipped around.
Rhys.
Covered in blood, bruised across his jaw, hair mussed from the wind. His broad shoulders filled the doorframe like a shield. The moment their eyes met, the chaos outside melted away.
“I knew it would come to this, eventually,” he murmured. “I just hoped it would come after I’d built a better world for ye.”
He stepped forward, and Amara launched herself into his arms.
The embrace was tight, grounding. Her body folded into his, and for the first time since the flames rose behind them, she let herself breathe.
Rhys kissed the top of her head, lingering there. “Ye're safe. Thank God.”
A new voice—smaller, higher—broke the moment.
“Papa!”
Amara turned just in time to see Daisy barrel across the stone floor of the shelter. Her curls flew behind her, her cheeks smudged with ash.
Rhys dropped to one knee and caught her, lifting her into his arms with a choked sound that might have been a sob.
“Oh, mo chridhe,” he whispered into her hair. “Are ye hurt? Are ye alright?”
“I’m fine!” she chirped. “Mabel and Nina kept me in the cellar. But it was loud. I was brave.”
“Aye, I know ye were.”
Amara watched them, hand to her chest. She felt the tears threaten, but didn’t let them fall. Instead, she reached forward and tucked a strand of hair behind Daisy’s ear.
“Papa came back,” Daisy said, glancing between the two of them. “And ye came back too.”
“Aye,” Amara smiled, voice catching. “We all came back.”
Rhys lowered Daisy, and she went to find Mabel again, proudly announcing she had to help.
He turned to Amara. “Have ye seen Leighton?”
“Aye,” she said. “He’s here. But he’s hurt.”
Rhys’s face changed instantly. “Where?”
Amara led him past the cots and the injured, toward a shadowed corner where Leighton lay with a wrap across his ribs and bruising from cheek to collar.
The older man stirred when they approached.
“Rhys,” he rasped.
“Leighton.” Rhys kneeled down beside him, his hand resting lightly on the man’s arm. “I… I owe ye an apology.”
Leighton’s brows twitched together. “That so?”
“I questioned yer loyalty,” Rhys said plainly. “I let lies twist around me, and for that… I’m sorry.”
Leighton coughed, but he chuckled softly afterward. “Ye’re not the first to be caught in that boy’s storm. Finn had a gift for makin' trouble seem like a clever idea.”
Amara glanced between them, her hand curling around Rhys’s.
Robert appeared just then, his tunic torn at the hem, a long gash scabbing over his brow. “We’ve cleared the southern wall. Myles is patrolling the northern side. We’ll need to secure the outer grounds by nightfall.”
“Aye,” Rhys said, standing. He turned back to Leighton and nodded. “Rest. We’ll sort the rest.”
“I’m nae dead yet,” Leighton muttered, and Robert laughed as he helped him up from the cot.
As they disappeared down the hall, Amara caught sight of Daisy again, perched beside Mabel with a cup of broth.
The girl was smiling.
Amara blinked back tears for the second time that day.
“We’ll rebuild,” Rhys said beside her. “I swear it.”
She turned toward him. “Together?”
His answer was a kiss, deep and slow, filled with promise.
The world felt quieter now. Not healed—no, not yet—but hushed, like the wind itself was catching its breath after all that had happened.
Amara stepped out into the courtyard beside Rhys, her hand tucked into the crook of his arm. The sun was rising, shy and golden, as if peeking in to see what was left.
She looked around at the devastation. Smoke curled from the outer wall. Ash and mud stained every stone path, every rooftop. Soot still hung faint in the air. Yet amidst the wreckage, she could see movement—men clearing rubble, women handing out bread, children cautiously peeking from cellar doors.
It wasn’t gone. It wasn’t over. It was… surviving.
“I dinnae think we ever planned a remodel,” Amara said lightly, bumping his shoulder.
Rhys barked a laugh. “Aye, well. I suppose the draught problem is solved. Half the bloody roof’s missin’.”
She smiled, leaning her head against his shoulder for a moment as they passed a shattered archway. “I always thought yer keep was a bit too pristine anyway.”
“Pristine? That’s insultin’, lass. This keep’s older than me grandfaither’s scowl.”
They rounded a corner where Daisy was perched on a low stone wall, legs swinging. The girl beamed at the sight of them and ran forward with arms wide.
Rhys scooped her up and hoisted her high onto his shoulders.
“Papa! Guess what?”
“What’s that, love?”
“Lady Amara said she’ll never leave us again!”
Amara’s breath caught.
Daisy peeked down from her perch. “Dinnae ye say that, me lady? At the shelter?”
“I…” Amara’s cheeks flamed. “I may have said somethin’ to that effect.”
Rhys turned slightly, eyebrow raised. “Is that so?”
She shrugged, fiddling with the ribbon on her sleeve. “Why would I leave now?”
He looked up at Daisy, then gently lowered her down from his shoulders.
“Run ahead, mo chridhe,” he said. “Go tell Mabel we’re takin’ a walk around the grounds.”
Daisy nodded and darted off, humming to herself.
Rhys turned back to Amara, his expression unreadable.
She blinked. “What?”
He stepped closer. “Never?”
Her heart skipped. “How can I?”
The look in his eyes stole the rest of her breath.
Rhys reached into the pocket of his doublet and pulled something small and glinting in the morning light. A ring.
A thick silver band with a single polished moonstone set in its center.
“Me faither gave this to me maither before they ever wed. Said she reminded him of the moon—bright, soft, but impossible to ignore.” He held it out to her now, the stone flashing pale in the sun. “I always meant to give it to someone I couldnae forget.”
Amara’s throat went tight. “Rhys…”
He took her hand, slid the ring onto her finger without ceremony. “Will ye marry me?”
She stared at the ring, then up at him, stunned. “Are ye serious?”
He blinked, startled. “Aye? That was the idea.”
“I’m standin’ here in a soot-stained dress. Ye're covered in bruises. The keep’s fallin’ down around our ears.”
He grinned. “And yet I cannae think of a better time.”
Her heart swelled until it hurt.
A laugh bubbled from her lips—half disbelief, half relief. “Aye,” she whispered. “Yes.”
His hands came up to cradle her face and his kiss was both a promise and a sigh of homecoming.
Behind them, a familiar screech echoed from the wall.
“I knew it!” Daisy shrieked. “I told ye, Mabel! He’s gonna marry her!”
Rhys laughed against her mouth.
Amara pulled back, cheeks burning. “Well, that’s one way to spread the news.”
“She’s louder than the bells in the chapel,” Rhys muttered, smirking.
“She’s yer daughter.”
“Exactly.”
They turned to see Mabel standing with Daisy on her hip, beaming from ear to ear. “Do I need to start sewin' gowns, then?”
“Not just yet,” Amara said, but Rhys turned to her and whispered in her ear:
“I’ll marry ye today if I can find a priest.”
She chuckled, resting her forehead against his chest. “Let’s at least clean up first.”
As Mabel carried Daisy off to share the news with every breathing soul in the castle, Amara looked up once more into Rhys’s face.
Hope had returned to his eyes. Faint but burning.
She knew hers mirrored it.
They would rebuild.
Together.
3 weeks later
The war table had never seen such chaos.
Where once it had held maps and battle plans, it now bore scraps of fabric, handwritten guest lists, bits of twine, two half-eaten scones, and what looked suspiciously like a candied apple that no one was admitting to having brought inside.
Amara stood at its center like a general in her element, sleeves rolled up, curls pinned loosely, eyes bright with purpose.
Mabel hovered to one side, nodding in approval as she stitched a small sampler to keep her hands busy.
On the other, Daisy was elbow-deep in a pile of lace, declaring each piece either “perfect” or “itchy.”
“Why is there lace at all?” William asked, sprawled in one of the armchairs like he owned it. “Ye said ‘simple affair’, did ye nae?”
“She meant ‘simple’ the way a storm means ‘a little wind’,” Myles muttered from the window, where he was carving initials into the wood frame with a butter knife. “Ye havenae learnt?”
“I can hear ye both,” Amara said, not looking up from the list she was writing. “And if I remember correctly, ye offered to help.”
“Aye, but I dinnae ken that would involve bein’ dragged into arguments about parchment color and oatcakes versus shortbread.”
“That is a valid debate,” Mabel added, lifting her eyes briefly.
“Mabel.” Myles groaned, and threw his arm across his eyes dramatically. “Nae ye too.”
Rhys watched them from the far edge of the room, arms crossed over his chest, heart fuller than he knew how to hold. The keep was quiet now, mostly. The bodies were buried, the wounded healing, and the smoke had cleared from the last of the broken halls.
The O’Donnell banner flew again, stitched with a golden thread by Daisy’s own hands.
He still bore bruises from the battle. A cut along his side had reopened twice that week. But nothing stung worse than the betrayal of his kin.
But now, looking at the woman he loved, the daughter who had never left his side, and the friends who filled the room with warmth again, he felt whole.
At least until Tomil arrived.
The knock came soft. Hesitant.
Before Rhys could speak, the door creaked open and the steward stepped in, messaging tray in hand.
“Beggin’ yer pardon, me lord,” he said, nodding toward Amara. “Me lady. I’ve somethin’ that was brought for ye.”
Rhys stepped forward and took the folded parchment from her. “Who brought it?”
“Messenger on horseback. Said it was urgent. Came from the north road. He’s gone now.”
“Thank ye, Tomil.”
The man dipped his head and set the tray down, and backed away toward the door.
Rhys turned the parchment over in his hand. It bore the Murdoch seal. He stared at it for a beat longer.
“Please leave us,” Rhys said, softly, and the room cleared of everyone but Amara. She stood in her spot, and without another word, he turned the letter over, broke the seal, and read.
His eyes scanned quickly, shoulders tightening with every line.
“Lady Amara
I write not as a father in search of forgiveness, as I know I’ve not earned it.
In recent days, truths have come to light that I could not even dream to be true, and I have come to understand that I was wrong. About many things. Chiefly among them, you and your mother.
I won’t dress it in false kindness or sentimental words. I see now that the choices I made, the bitterness I held — none of it justified the way I treated you. I know that now.
If there is room for it, I would speak with you. Not to mend what’s broken. Perhaps only to say aloud what this letter fails to do.
— Callan Murdoch
When he reached the end, Rhys’s eyes connected with Amara’s.
She floated toward him, her joy plain on her face, and Rhys suddenly felt a strong urge to protect her from this letter. Protect her peace. But he knew she had a right to know. It was addressed to her.
Amara picked up the parchment and then began to read, but she didn’t finish it.
Not past the first line, surely, she stopped, eyes rolled to the back of her head. Her face slowly emptied of emotion.
“Lass?” Rhys asked softly.
She nodded once. Twice. And then a third time as she exhaled slowly. The entire study had fallen silent. Then she set the page down with care, as if touching it any longer might poison her.
“I daenae want to read it,” she said.
“He claims he regrets —”
“I daenae care, Rhys. It’s done.”
Her voice was calm. Final.
Rhys stepped forward. “Ye daenae have to decide right now.”
“But I have.” Her fingers curled slightly on the edge of the table. “He made his choice. And now, he can live with it until his dyin’ breath.”
Rhys reached for her hand, rubbing his thumb over her knuckles. “I’m proud of ye, lass.”
She looked up, those green eyes meeting his with something softer than defiance, and stronger than pain. “Ye always say that.”
“Because it’s always true.”
He leaned in and kissed her forehead, and she leaned into it like it was home.
That might’ve been the moment they kissed properly again, until a sudden BANG shook the door.
“Do ye really need more than five minutes, Rhys?” came Myles’s dramatic whine from the other side of the study door. “Some of us are witherin’ away out here!”
Snickering followed. William’s unmistakable cackle. Even Mabel’s sigh carried amusement.
Amara chuckled into Rhys’s shoulder. “Should we let them in?”
“I’m tempted to lock the door and move the war table in front of it,” Rhys muttered.
More knocking. Then Daisy’s small voice, “Papa?”
He sighed. “Well, we cannae say nay to that one.”
He opened the door and in tumbled Billy and Myles like overgrown children, with Daisy darting between them and climbing onto a bench at the table.
Mabel passed through next, “Alright, all of ye. If I’m to finish this hem before sundown, someone needs to pour me another cup of tea.”
“I’ll do it!” Daisy squeaked, already running for the kettle.
Myles plopped beside her, elbowing William. “Told ye this would happen. Weddin' madness. Should’ve fled while we had the chance.”
“Ye love it,” William grunted, snatching the last candied apple from the table.
As the laughter picked up again, Rhys stood back once more and watched it all unfold.
His family.
Strange. Messy. Loud. Loyal.
He turned to Amara, who was watching them too, a slow smile blooming on her face.
He leaned close and whispered, “Told ye it’d all be worth it.”
She glanced at him, teasing. “Even the lace?”
“Even the lace.”
Then, as if fate itself agreed, Daisy returned with the tea sloshing a little over the edge but grinning with pride.
And Rhys thought, Aye. This is what we fought for.