Chapter 41
Tòrr strode forward with Liliane at his side, Michael and ten warriors flanking them, weapons still drawn.
The remaining Munro men clustered near the entrance to the great hall, their faces pale and uncertain. They'd watched their laird die, watched Campbell flee. Now they stood like men caught between two tides, unsure which way would drown them.
"Where's yer commander?" Tòrr's voice carried across the courtyard, hard as steel.
An older warrior stepped forward, his sword held loosely at his side. "Dead, me laird. Fell in the first charge." His eyes flicked to Tòrr's blood-stained clothes, to Liliane standing beside him in men's garb. "We... we've nay orders. Nay laird tae follow."
"Then I'll give ye orders." Tòrr moved closer, and the Munro men instinctively stepped back.
"Roderick Munro lies dead by me hand. His first daughter stands beside me as me wife.
The second daughter, Nessa, is under me protection now.
Anyone who has a problem with that can step forward and we'll settle it with steel. "
Silence. The Munro warriors exchanged uneasy glances, weapons wavering in uncertain hands.
"Or," Tòrr continued, his tone slightly less harsh, "ye can lay down yer weapons, tend tae yer wounded, and consider what happens next. Because Campbell and Munro are gone. And I've no quarrel with men who were just followin' orders."
"What about the keep?" another warrior asked. "Our families, our homes, what happens tae them now?"
"That's fer yer clan tae decide." Michael spoke up, his hand still on his sword hilt.
"Choose a new laird, swear whatever oaths ye need to swear.
But ken this—if ye come after the MacDonalds, if ye seek revenge fer what happened here today, ye'll find us ready.
And we willnae be as merciful a second time. "
One by one, the weapons clattered to the ground. The Munro men didn't kneel, didn't surrender formally, but their resistance had broken. They were leaderless warriors watching their world reshape itself before their eyes.
"Where's the lass?" Tòrr demanded. "Nessa Munro. Where are her chambers?"
"North tower," the older warrior said quietly. "Third floor, door at the end of the corridor. She's got two handmaids with her, but they're unarmed."
“I ken where tae go,” Liliane murmured.
"Good." Tòrr turned to Michael. "Stay here. Keep watch in case anyone tries anythin'."
"I'll handle it." Michael's expression was grim. "Go get the girl. The sooner we're away from this cursed place, the better."
Tòrr nodded and started toward the keep, Liliane hurrying to keep pace. Her heart hammered against her ribs as they entered the castle proper, climbing stone stairs that spiraled upward into shadow.
"Are ye alright?" Tòrr asked quietly as they reached the second landing.
"Aye." Her voice came out steadier than she felt. "Just... it's strange, bein' back here. In his house." She swallowed hard. "Kennin' he's dead and cannae hurt anyone anymore."
His hand found hers, squeezing briefly. "Ye never have tae come back here again. After today, this place holds no power over ye or yer sister."
They climbed the final flight of stairs. The corridor stretched before them, torches burning in iron sconces along the walls. At the far end stood a heavy wooden door, barred from the outside.
"Christ," Tòrr muttered, seeing the bar. "He locked her in?"
"Probably tae keep her from runnin'." Liliane's throat tightened. "Or tae make sure she couldnae interfere with whatever he had planned."
Tòrr lifted the bar and set it aside with more force than necessary. Then he stepped back, giving Liliane space. "Go on. She needs tae see ye first."
Liliane's hand trembled as she reached for the door handle. For weeks, she'd imagined this moment, finding Nessa, bringing her to safety. But now that it was there, fear gripped her. What if Nessa blamed her for leaving? What if their father had poisoned her sister against her?
She pushed the door open.
The chamber beyond was smaller than she'd remembered, the furnishings sparse but comfortable. A narrow bed stood against one wall, a writing desk beneath a window that overlooked the courtyard. Two women sat near the hearth, their faces startled as the door swung wide.
And there, standing by the window with her back to the door, was Nessa. Her dark hair, so like their father's, hung in a braid down her back.
"I told ye," Nessa said without turning, her voice tight with suppressed fear, "I willnae go quietly. Ye can tell Faither that I'll fight whoever he's sold me tae. I'll make sure it’s nae peaceful."
"Nessa."
The name came out as barely a whisper, but it was enough. Nessa spun around, her eyes going wide. For a heartbeat, neither of them moved. Then recognition blazed across her sister's face.
"Lily?"
"Aye." Tears were already streaming down Liliane's face. "Aye, it's me."
Nessa crossed the room in three running steps and threw herself into Liliane's arms with enough force to make them both stumble. Her sister was sobbing, her fingers clutching at Liliane's bloodstained clothes as if afraid she might disappear.
"I thought ye'd forgotten about me," Nessa choked out. "I thought ye'd married yer Highland laird and forgotten all about yer little sister."
"Never." Liliane held her tighter, one hand stroking through her sister's hair the way she used to when Nessa had nightmares. "I could never forget ye. I've been plannin' this since the day I left. I promised I'd come back fer ye, and I kept that promise."
"But Faither, he said," Nessa pulled back enough to look at her, and Liliane saw the fear still lurking in her sister's eyes. "He said ye betrayed us. That ye chose yer new clan over yer family. That ye didnae care what happened tae me."
"He lied." Liliane cupped her sister's face, thumbs brushing away tears. "About that and so many other things. I've never stopped carin' about ye. Never stopped fightin' tae take ye somewhere safe."
"Where is he now?" Nessa's voice dropped to something small and frightened. "Will he let me go?"
Liliane opened her mouth, unsure how to answer. How did you tell your fourteen-year-old sister that your father was dead? That he'd died on the end of a sword, his blood soaking into the ground of his own courtyard?
"Yer faither's dead, lass."
Tòrr's voice came from the doorway, gentle but firm. Liliane had almost forgotten he was there, giving them privacy for their reunion. Now he stepped forward, his presence filling the small chamber.
Nessa's eyes went wide, her body going rigid in Liliane's arms. "Who... who are ye?"
"Tòrr MacDonald. Yer sister's husband." He kept his distance, clearly not wanting to spook her. "And the man who killed Roderick Munro not long ago."
The handmaids gasped. Nessa just stared, her face cycling through shock, disbelief, and something that might have been relief.
"Ye killed Faither?" Her voice was barely audible.
"Aye. In combat, outside the walls. He ambushed us when we came tae get ye, and he died fer it." Tòrr's expression was unreadable. "I'll nae apologize fer it. He was a threat tae me wife and tae ye, and I dealt with that threat the only way he'd allow."
Nessa looked at Liliane, questions written all over her face. "Is that true? Faither's really gone?"
"Aye." Liliane swallowed hard. "He's gone. And ye never have tae be afraid of him again. Ye never have tae worry about bein' sold or married off tae some stranger. Ye're free now, Nessa. Truly free."
"Free." Nessa repeated the word like she didn't quite understand its meaning.
Then, to Liliane's shock, her sister started laughing.
It was a broken, slightly hysterical sound, but there was genuine relief underneath it.
"He's dead. He's actually dead. I thought.
.. when he came tae me chamber this mornin', told me tae prepare meself because I'd be wed within the month.
.. I thought that was it. That me life was over before it really began. "
"It's nae over." Liliane pulled her close again. "It's just beginning. Ye're comin' with us. Back tae Keppoch, tae me home. Ye'll be safe there. Protected. Nay one will force ye intae anythin' ye dinnae want."