Chapter Thirty-Seven
Brynja
Two days later, Brynja knocked softly on the chamber door, a bowl of venison stew balanced in one hand. Sela had asked her to bring it because Connor was finally eating again, and he needed to keep his strength up.
“Come,” Connor’s voice called, stronger than she’d expected.
She pushed the door open. Connor sat propped against pillows, still pale but no longer bearing that gray, death-touched look from a few days ago.
The wound on his side had healed, thanks to Lia, as the tale was told.
She still had a difficult time believing that it had been her hands intertwined with Hagen’s that had healed that horrible wound.
“Sela said you need to eat,” Brynja said, crossing to set the bowl on the table beside his bed.
The old warrior’s coloring was the opposite of Hagen’s, dark hair peppered with gray strands, but the blue eyes were the same, calculating and always alert.
His hair fell to his shoulders, like most men in the clan instead of like Hagen’s hair that fell well past his shoulders.
It fit Hagen. She thought of Hagen’s father as an old warrior, but he appeared only a bit older than her mother had been. Old was not a word she’d ever use to describe Sela.
“My wife is a tyrant.” But Connor’s smile was fond. “My thanks to you, lass. Will you sit with me for a moment? Or do you have somewhere else to be?”
Brynja hesitated. She’d expected to leave the bowl and go. She wasn’t comfortable with the easy intimacy of the Grant family, wasn’t sure where she fit among them. But Connor’s eyes were kind, and there was something in his expression that made refusing seem rude.
“I can stay,” she said, settling into the chair by his bedside.
Connor reached for the stew, his movements careful. “You were there, on Tiree. When I was wounded.”
“Aye.” She watched him taste the stew. “You fought well.”
“I got stabbed. That’s not fighting well.” His mouth quirked. “But I’m alive, so I suppose it could have been worse.”
“Much worse,” Brynja said quietly. She’d seen the wound, seen how close he’d come to dying, felt his blood on her hands. Another finger to the left and the blade would have found something vital.
Connor studied her over the rim of his bowl. “Sholto got away. How does it feel?”
“I don’t know,” she admitted. “Different than I expected. I’m angry, but there were too many for us. I don’t think I could have done any better, so I’m upset, but I have faith I’ll get the chance again. I will still stick my blade in his neck someday.”
Connor nodded slowly, unsurprised. “I would wager you will. Vengeance has a way of sticking with you.”
“You sound like you speak from experience.”
“I do.” He set the bowl aside, his expression turning distant. “I’ve killed men for vengeance, lass. More than I care to count. Some deserved it. Some… well. Battle makes monsters of us all, if we let it.”
Brynja leaned forward. “Did it help? Killing them?”
“Sometimes. For a moment.” He met her eyes. “And then the moment passed, and I was still left with whatever I’d lost. Still left with the hole in my chest where someone used to be.”
“But you kept doing it. Kept fighting.”
“Aye. Because sometimes vengeance isn’t about filling holes.
It’s about making sure the bastards who hurt you can’t hurt anyone else.
It’s about drawing a line and saying this far and no farther.
” He shifted against his pillows, wincing slightly.
“But there’s a difference between necessary vengeance and poison. ”
“What’s the difference?”
“One you can walk away from when it’s done. The other consumes you until there’s nothing left.” He paused. “Which one is Sholto for you?”
Brynja opened her mouth to answer, then closed it.
She’d thought she knew. She’d spent days convinced that killing Sholto was necessary, that it was justice, that it would set her free.
And now she knew that Dugan was the man who had killed her mother.
That fact would forever haunt her if he continued on his villainous ways.
“I don’t know,” she said finally. “I guess I won’t know until I see the light leave his eyes. Hagen thinks revenge is always wrong.”
Connor snorted. “My son is young and idealistic. He’ll learn.”
“Learn what?”
“That the world isn’t black and white. That sometimes you have to do dark things to protect the people you love.
That vengeance isn’t always wrong, it’s just complicated.
” He looked at her steadily. “You have the right to kill Dugan, lass. He murdered your mother. He would have sold you and your cousin. Justice won’t come from any magistrate or lord, so you became justice yourself.
There’s no shame in that, and there’s no one in the land who would say you were wrong. ”
Something in Brynja’s chest loosened. She hadn’t realized how much she’d needed to hear that from someone she trusted, that her choice was understandable, even justified. Not wrong. Not shameful. Just… complicated.
“But?” she prompted, because she could hear the unspoken word in his tone.
“But then you’ll have to decide who you are after vengeance.” Connor’s expression was serious. “You’ve spent four moons being the girl who would kill Dugan. Then you met Sholto and have had to deal with his cruelty. When the two are finally dead, what will you do with your life?”
The question hit harder than it should have. Because she didn’t know. Her entire identity since that day on Tiree had been wrapped up in her need for revenge. It had shaped every decision, every thought, every nightmare. Without that consuming purpose, who was she?
“I’m not sure yet,” she whispered, thinking of how she’d answered Hildi and Hagen.
“Then that’s what you need to determine.
” He reached out, his hand covering hers.
His grip was weak but warm. “You’re not just vengeance, Brynja.
You’re also the woman who learned to ride a warhorse.
Who can use a spear and a dagger and is now learning archery.
Who makes my son smile in ways I haven’t seen in years.
Who brought me stew when she could be anywhere else. That’s who you are too.”
Tears stung her eyes. “What if that’s not enough?”
“It’s more than enough.” His voice was firm. “But you have to believe it. You have to choose to be more than what was done to you.”
“I don’t know how.” Her voice came out in such a whisper, she wondered if he heard her.
“One day at a time. One choice at a time.” He squeezed her hand. “You wake up in the morning, and you choose not to let the past define your present. You choose to build something instead of just tearing down. You choose love over hate, even when hate feels easier.”
“Is that what you did?”
“Eventually. After a long, dark time of not doing it.” His smile was sad.
“I’ve made a lot of mistakes, lass. Hurt people I loved because I was too consumed by my own pain to see theirs.
It took me longer than it should have to learn that vengeance isn’t the same as healing.
That you can get your revenge and still be broken. ”
“But you’re not broken now.”
“Nay. Because I chose to build a life instead of just destroying my enemies. I chose Sela. I chose my children and grandchildren. I chose to be more than my rage.” He met her eyes.
“And that’s what I’m telling you to do. Not to forget what happened.
Not to forgive Sholto or Dugan, they won’t live much longer anyway.
But to choose what comes next. To choose the life you want instead of just reacting to the life you were given. ”
Brynja sat with that for a long moment. Outside the window, she could hear the sounds of the castle, voices calling, horses whinnying, the clang of metal on metal from the lists. Life continuing, heedless of her internal struggle.
“Hagen wants me to stay,” she said quietly. “Here. With him. Build a life together.”
“And what do you want?”
“I want…” She paused, searching for the truth. “I want to stop being afraid. I want to sleep through the night without nightmares. I want to wake up and not immediately reach for a weapon. I want to feel safe. And I wish to be happy again.”
“And do you think staying with Hagen will give you that?”
“Mayhap. I don’t know.” She looked down at their joined hands. “He keeps my horse saddled at night. In case I need to run. He doesn’t try to fix me or make me be something I’m not. He just… accepts me.”
Connor’s expression softened. “That’s love, lass. Real love. Not the kind the bards sing about, but the kind that shows up every day and does the work. The kind that saddles horses and holds you when you wake up screaming and doesn’t ask you to be anything other than what you are.”
“I don’t know if I can be what he needs.”
“What does he need?”
“Someone whole. Someone who isn’t broken by her past.”
“Brynja.” Connor’s voice turned stern. “Listen to me. We’re all broken.
Every single one of us. I’m broken by the wars I’ve fought and the people I’ve lost. Sela’s broken by what was done to her before we met.
My wife still has occasional nightmares.
Hagen’s broken by the weight of expectations he can never quite meet.
Being broken isn’t the problem. The problem is thinking you have to be perfect to deserve love. ”
“But—”
“No buts. If Hagen wanted someone perfect, he’d have chosen someone else. He chose you. Nightmares and all. Rage and all. Past and all.” He squeezed her hand again. “Don’t insult him by deciding for him what he can handle.”
A watery laugh escaped her. “You’re quite blunt.”
“I’m older and I nearly died. I don’t have time for pretty words.” But his smile was kind. “Besides, you need someone to be blunt with you. You’ve been living with pain for too long, making up stories about what you deserve and what you don’t. Time to stop thinking and start living.”
“Just like that?”
“Just like that. One choice at a time. Today, you choose to stay instead of run. On the morrow, you choose to let yourself be happy even though it feels dangerous. The day after that, you choose to trust that Hagen means what he says when he tells you he loves you.” Connor’s expression grew serious.
“And eventually, if you keep choosing, you’ll look back and realize you’ve built a life.
Not the life you thought you’d have. Not the life without pain. But a life worth living anyway.”
Brynja sat with his words, feeling the truth of them settle into her bones. Sholto would be dead. Her mother’s murderer would be dead too. She would see to it. The revenge she’d spent months pursuing would be done. She’d made that vow to herself and would see it through.
But what then?
Not the girl who watched her mother die.
Not the woman consumed by vengeance.
But perhaps the woman who learned to ride and laugh and love despite everything. The woman who kept a dagger under her pillow but didn’t let that be all she was. The woman who had been broken and chose to build something new from the pieces.
“My thanks to you, my lord,” she said softly.
“For what? Lecturing you after you brought me stew?” Connor’s eyes twinkled. “You’re welcome. Come back on the morrow with more food and I’ll lecture you again.”
Despite everything, Brynja smiled. “I’ll consider it.”
“Good.” He released her hand and reached for his stew again. “Now go find my son and tell him you’re staying. Put the poor lad out of his misery. He’s been moping around like a kicked puppy for days.”
“He has?”
“He has. Trust me, I know what Grant men look like when they’re in love and terrified.” Connor’s expression turned knowing. “I looked the same way when I met Sela. Like I’d been hit in the head with a mallet and couldn’t quite remember my own name.”
Brynja stood, smoothing her tunic. “I’ll think about it.”
“Don’t think too long. Life’s short. I just learned that lesson again, rather painfully.” He gestured to his wounded side. “Don’t wait for a sword to the gut to figure out what matters.”
“Wise words from a man who nearly died.”
“The best wisdom usually comes after near-death experiences. Makes you focus on what’s important.” He settled back against his pillows. “Now go. Let an old man rest.”
Brynja moved to the door, then paused. “Connor?”
“Aye?”
“Do you ever regret it? The vengeance you took? The men you killed?”
He was quiet for a long moment. “Some of them, aye. The ones who didn’t need killing.
The ones I killed out of rage instead of necessity.
” He met her eyes. “But the ones who hurt people I loved? The ones who would have kept hurting if I’d let them?
Those I don’t regret. I’d kill them again if I had to. ”
“So vengeance isn’t always wrong.”
“Nay. It’s just not always right either.
It’s like anything else in life, complicated.
Messy. Sometimes necessary. Sometimes poison.
The trick is knowing which one you’re dealing with.
” He smiled faintly. “And you, lass? You are dealing with the necessary kind. So stop second-guessing yourself and start living.”
Brynja nodded, something settling in her chest. Not peace, exactly. But perhaps the beginning of it.
“I’ll see you on the morrow,” she said.
“With more stew?”
“Or porridge,” she agreed.
She slipped out into the hall, closing the door softly behind her. The castle hummed with afternoon life around her, and for the first time since Tiree, she felt like she might actually be part of it. Not just a guest. Not just a visitor waiting to leave.
But someone who belonged at Duart Castle.
She went to find Hagen.