Chapter 35
Ada couldn't stop staring at the body.
Her father— Laird Conall MacTavish, the man who'd given her life—lay crumpled in the dirt like discarded refuse. His eyes were still open, staring sightlessly at the smoke-filled sky. Blood had pooled beneath him, dark and spreading, soaking into the earth.
He was really dead.
The man who'd raised her, who'd controlled every aspect of her life for twenty-four years, who'd haunted her dreams and shaped her fears—gone. Just like that.
Ada's breath came shallow and rapid. Her hands trembled at her sides. She should feel something, shouldn't she? Grief. Horror. Some kind of daughterly sorrow.
But all she felt was... empty. Hollow. Like someone had scooped out her insides and left nothing but a shell.
"Ada."
Magnus's voice seemed to come from very far away. She blinked, tried to focus, but her gaze kept returning to that still form on the ground.
He'd really been going to kill her. His own daughter. The child he'd brought into this world.
She'd seen it in his eyes in those final moments—not regret or hesitation, but cold calculation. She was a problem to be solved, a liability to be eliminated. Nothing more.
How long had he felt that way? Years? Since she was born? Had there ever been a moment when he'd looked at her and seen a person rather than a tool?
"Ada, look at me." Magnus's hands were on her shoulders now, warm and solid. Real. She forced herself to lift her gaze from her father's body to his face.
Magnus looked terrible. Blood spattered his face and hair, his armor was dented and torn, and exhaustion lined every feature. But his eyes, his hazel eyes were clear and steady and full of concern for her.
"It's over," he said quietly. "He cannae hurt ye anymore."
Ada's lips moved but no sound came out at first. When her voice finally worked, it was barely a whisper. "He was really goin' tae dae it."
"Aye."
Ada's voice cracked. "He looked at me and all he saw was—was something that needed to be destroyed. Like I was nothing. Like I never mattered at all."
Magnus's hands tightened on her shoulders. "Ye matter. Tae me. Tae everyone on Barra who's come tae care about ye. His blindness daesnae change yer worth."
"But he was me faither." The words came out broken now, tears spilling over despite Ada's best efforts to hold them back. "He was supposed tae…faithers are supposed tae…"
She couldn't finish. Couldn't articulate the fundamental wrongness of it all. That the man who should have protected her had threatened her life. That the person who should have loved her most had seen her as nothing more than property.
The first sob caught her by surprise, tearing from her throat before she could stop it. Then another. And another. Until she was crying in earnest, her whole body shaking with it.
Magnus pulled her close, wrapped his arms around her despite the blood and smoke and chaos still surrounding them. "I ken," he murmured into her hair. "I ken it hurts."
"It shouldnae," Ada gasped between sobs. "He was terrible. Cruel. He tried tae kill me. I should be relieved he's dead but I just—I just—"
"Ye're mournin' the faither ye should have had. The one ye deserved but never got." Magnus's hand moved soothingly up and down her back. "That's nae the same as mournin' him."
The words hit something deep inside Ada, unlocked something she hadn't known was locked.
He was right. She wasn't grieving for Conall MacTavish, the man who lay dead at her feet. She was grieving the phantom father she'd invented as a child—the one who would someday love her if she was just good enough, obedient enough, useful enough.
That father who had never existed. Had never been real.
The one she'd spent her whole life chasing anyway.
"Some men are too lost tae save," Magnus said quietly. "Too twisted by their own ambition and cruelty tae ever be what they should be. Yer faither was one of them. And I'm sorry fer that, Ada. Sorry that ye didnae get the faither ye deserved."
"I thought—" Ada's voice was muffled against his chest. "I thought maybe if I tried hard enough, he might love me."
"Nay. Naething ye could have done would have changed him. This wasnae yer failure. It was his." Magnus pulled back enough to tilt her face up, his thumb brushing away tears. "Dae ye understand that? Ye did nothing wrong. The fault was always his."
Ada nodded, though part of her still struggled to believe it. Years of conditioning didn't vanish in a moment, no matter how much she wished it would.
Around them, the camp was growing quieter. The last of the fighting had ended, the surviving enemy soldiers either captured or fled.
Magnus's men moved through the wreckage, securing weapons, tending to the wounded. The fires had been mostly contained, reduced to smoldering embers that sent thin streams of smoke into the lightening sky.
Dawn was coming. Ada could see it in the purple-gray tinge to the eastern horizon.
They'd survived the night. Both of them.
"Ye're nae alone anymore," Magnus said, and his voice held a fierceness that made Ada focus on him completely.
"Dae ye hear me, Ada? Ye're nae that frightened girl runnin' from her faither anymore.
Ye're Lady of Barra. Ye're me wife. Ye're part of a family that chose ye—that wants ye—nae because of what ye can dae fer them, but because of who ye are. "
"Family," Ada repeated softly. The word felt foreign on her tongue. She'd never really had that before. Never had people who cared about her wellbeing simply because she existed.
"Aye. Family." Magnus's expression softened.
"Me. Torvald. Mairi. The villagers who call ye their lady.
The people ye saved. Every person on Barra who's seen yer kindness and strength and chosen tae care about ye.
" His hands framed her face gently. "That's what family is, Ada.
Nae blood. Nae obligation. Just choice. And we all choose ye. "
Something in Ada's chest shifted. Not the grief—that was still there, still raw and painful. But beside it, something else began to grow. Something warm and steady and real.
She'd spent her whole life believing that family meant blood, meant duty, meant trying desperately to earn love.
But Magnus was right. Family was about choice. About showing up. About fighting for each other not because you had to, but because you wanted to.
And she'd found that there. On that cold, rocky island, with those strange people who spoke a different language and followed different customs she'd found what she'd been searching for all along.
Home.
Ada looked up at Magnus—the man who'd saved her life more times than she could count, who'd believed in her even when she couldn't believe in herself, who'd given her everything her father never had.
"I choose ye too," she whispered. "Ye're me family now. Me home. And I'm nae goin' anywhere."
Magnus's expression crumpled slightly, emotion breaking through his usual control. He pulled her close again, held her like she was the most precious thing in the world.
"I love ye," he said, his voice rough. "God, Ada, I love ye more than I thought I was capable of lovin' anyone."
"I love ye too." Ada closed her eyes, let herself rest against him. Let herself finally, truly believe that this was real. That she was safe. That she was wanted.
They stood like that for a long moment, holding each other as dawn broke over the smoldering camp. Around them, life continued—men calling to each other, horses stamping, the crackle of dying flames. But in their small bubble, there was peace.
Finally, Magnus pulled back. "We should go. Get ye home. Get ye clean and fed and rested."
"Aye." Ada glanced one last time at her father's body, then deliberately turned away. She didn't look back.
That part of her life was over. The girl who'd spent years desperate for her father's approval was dead. The woman who remained had chosen her own family, her own path, her own future.
And she was never going back.
Magnus called for horses. Within minutes, Ada was mounted, Magnus beside her on his stallion. The other jarls gathered around—Erik, Harald, Ragnar, Ivar—their faces grim but satisfied.
"It's done then," Erik said, his gaze finding the body. "MacTavish is dead. His men scattered or captured."
"Aye." Magnus's hand found Ada's, squeezed gently. "It's done."
"What about the survivors?" Harald asked. "The ones we captured?"
"Take them back to Barra. Lock them in the dungeons until we can question them properly. Find out if there are more of MacTavish's people hidin' on the island." Magnus's jaw tightened. "I want every last one of them found and dealt with. Nay more threats. Nay more attacks."
"And Donnan?" Torvald's voice held particular venom. "What about that traitorous bastard?"
"He'll face justice. Public justice." Magnus's voice was cold. "Let everyone see what happens tae those who betray their laird's hospitality. Who put innocent people at risk fer their own gain."
Ada shivered slightly but didn't object. Donnan had made his choices. Had been willing to sacrifice everyone on Barra for his own ambitions and twisted desires. He deserved whatever came to him.
They began the ride back to Dun Barra as the sun finally crested the horizon, painting the sky in shades of pink and gold. The camp fell away behind them, left to smolder and fade into memory.
Ada rode in silence, Magnus never far from her side. She could feel his gaze on her periodically, checking, making sure she was holding together. She appreciated it more than she could say.
The others gave her space, seemed to understand that she needed time to process. To grieve. To accept.
It wasn't until they crested the final ridge and saw Dun Barra spread out before them—solid and strong and home—that Ada felt something inside her finally settle.
That was where she belonged. There. On that island. With those people who'd chosen to care about her.
With Magnus, who'd saved her in more ways than one.
"Are ye all right?" Magnus asked quietly as they approached the gates.
Ada considered the question. Was she all right? Her father was dead by her husband's hand. She'd been betrayed by people she'd thought were allies. She'd walked into a camp full of armed men and barely escaped with her life.
But she was alive. She was safe. She was with people who actually valued her.
"I will be," Ada said finally. "Aye, I think I'm all right."
Magnus's smile was small but genuine. "Good. Because we have a life tae build together. And I want ye here fer all of it."
"I'm nae goin' anywhere," Ada promised. And meant it.
They rode through the gates of Dun Barra as the keep came alive with morning activity. People emerged from buildings, saw the returning warriors, and began to cheer. Word of the victory had clearly spread.
Ada saw Mairi running toward them, her face bright with relief. Saw Isla and other servants gathering in the courtyard. Saw villagers who'd come up from the hamlets, wanting to know what had happened.
They all looked at her—not with pity or judgment, but with genuine concern and welcome.
This was family. This strange, cobbled-together collection of Norsemen and Highlanders and everyone in between was home.
Magnus helped her dismount, kept his arm around her waist as people pressed close, asking questions, expressing relief that she was safe.
"Let her breathe," Magnus said, his voice carrying across the courtyard. "She's exhausted. We all are. There'll be time fer explanations later."
He guided her toward the keep, toward their chamber, toward safety. And Ada went willingly, ready to leave the horrors of the night behind.
Ready to start building the life she'd always wanted but never dared to hope for.
As they climbed the stairs, Ada glanced back one last time at the assembled people. Her people. Her family.
She smiled—small and tired, but real—and turned back toward the future.
Toward Magnus. Toward home. Toward everything she'd ever wanted.
And she never looked back again.