Chapter 15

15

M agnus led his new bride down the winding path to the village, his long black hair stirring in the brisk Highland breeze. The village itself nestled like a slumbering beast among the rolling moors, its stone cottages bordering narrow streets that wove between them like threads in a tartan. Smoke curled lazily from chimneys, carrying the scent of peat fires and freshly baked bannocks.

Erin walked beside him, her stride confident despite the unfamiliar terrain. Her gaze lingered on the vibrant green hills and the distant purple heather, a stark contrast to her own pale beauty. She looked every bit the outsider in this rugged land, yet she possessed an independence that Magnus begrudgingly admired.

"Ye ken how to walk among sheep without startlin' them?" he quipped, the corners of his mouth twitching with the hint of a smile. It was their first venture out together since the wedding.

"Better than ye ken how to give a compliment, I wager," Erin retorted, her eyes dancing with mirth. There it was again, that spark of banter that ignited something within him he thought long dead.

As they approached, villagers paused in their daily tasks, watching the pair with open curiosity. Children halted their games, and women with aprons dusted with flour smiled warmly at Erin. To Magnus's surprise, his wife returned their greetings with a grace that belied her independent spirit. She chatted with the old weaver about the patterns in her shawl, laughed with the baker as she sampled a scone, and crouched down to whisper tales of mythic beasts to wide-eyed bairns.

"Yer wife has a way about her, Laird," old Angus, the blacksmith, commented gruffly as he clapped Magnus on the back. "A true heart for the people."

Magnus watched, a strange tightness forming in his chest. His father had been feared, not loved, but here was Erin, winning hearts with naught but her charm and a genuine interest in the lives of others. Did she not know how dangerous it was to show such openness? Yet, there was no denying the warmth that spread through the village at her presence.

His stoic facade began to crack, just a fraction, as he observed her. Perhaps she would be good for the clan, for these people who had suffered under the shadow of his father's cruelty. Maybe, just maybe, she could thaw the frost that had settled over his own soul.

"Thank ye, Angus," Magnus replied with a curt nod, unable to express the turmoil of thoughts swirling within him. It was unsettling, this feeling that crept up on him—the pride in his wife.

Magnus watched as Erin stood among his people, her eyes alight with a blend of determination and warmth that he had not anticipated from her. Her voice carried across the cluster of villagers gathered in the square, her Scottish brogue melodic yet commanding attention.

"Ye have welcomed me into yer hearts and homes," she began, her gaze sweeping over the faces before her. "And so, it is only right that I fully embrace the traditions of Clan McCormack."

A murmur of curiosity rippled through the crowd, and Magnus felt himself lean forward ever so slightly, intrigued despite himself.

"Let us celebrate our history, our strength, and the tartan that unites us," Erin continued, her hands gesturing with a passion that seemed to ignite the air itself. "I propose we hold a Tartan Day celebration, where each of ye will wear the proud colors of our clan!"

The village erupted in cheers and applause. The men slapped each other on the backs, the women's faces brightened with smiles, and children jumped excitedly at the thought of festivities. It was a scene of camaraderie that had long been absent from this place.

"Feasting, games, tales by the fire," Erin listed with enthusiasm growing. "And for those brave enough, a test of skill with the caber toss!"

Magnus could see the way their spirits lifted, how her words painted pictures of a day filled with laughter and unity—a stark contrast to the years of fear his father had instilled. It was as if Erin was weaving a spell, not just over the villagers, but over him as well.

"Will ye stand with us, Laird McCormack?" she called out to him, her blue eyes locking onto his with an intensity that sent a jolt through his core.

He wanted to respond with his usual detachment, to offer a nod and retreat into the shadows of his stoic facade. But the spark of excitement in her eyes and the genuine affection they held for her—it made his chest tighten with an unfamiliar sense of pride.

"Aye," Magnus replied, his voice low yet clear. "I will stand with ye."

Erin's smile, radiant and triumphant, was like a sunburst through the clouds. The villagers cheered once again, some already discussing plans and preparations for the feast. They were united, not just in name, but in spirit, and it was all because of the woman who'd come into their lives like a fresh Highland breeze.

As the initial excitement wore off and his people returned to their mundane tasks, Erin smiled at him, her eyes seeking his approval, which he gave in the form of a nod.

For once, he allowed himself to feel the full weight of his position—not as a laird hardened by battle and betrayal, but as a man, flawed and yearning for connection.

The late afternoon sun dipped lower, casting long shadows over the stone-laden paths as Magnus and Erin made their way back to the keep. The air was crisp, hinting at the chill of evening, yet the warmth from the villagers' reception lingered with them. They walked side by side in comfortable silence, a shared sense of accomplishment bridging the distance that had once yawned wide between them.

"Ye've done well today, lass," Magnus finally broke the silence, his voice deep and resonant in the quiet. His words were few, but they carried the weight of genuine gratitude.

Erin glanced up at him, her cheeks flushed with a rosy hue that rivaled the dying light. "Thank ye, Laird McCormack. 'Twas nothing but what any wife would do for her clan."

Magnus's gaze lingered on the blush that graced Erin's features, something stirring within him—a feeling he had no name for, as it was foreign to the battle-hardened chambers of his heart. Her independence, her fierce spirit that had intrigued him from the start, now seemed to weave itself into the very fabric of his being.

"Ye are unlike any other, Erin," he admitted, his words unintentional, slipping out like renegade soldiers from behind fortress walls. "I... I am beholden to ye."

Her eyes widened, a softness there he had not seen before. Magnus braced himself for a sharp retort, a witty comeback that would put distance between them once more. But instead, she bit her lip, a gesture that bespoke nerves rather than defiance.

"Speaking of which..." Erin began tentatively, her fingers twisting the hem of her plaid. "Would ye...help me with the preparations for the Tartan Day? There's much to be done, and?—"

"Ye wish me help?" Magnus cut in, surprise etching his features. The idea of engaging in festivities was alien to him, a frivolous use of time he would have scoffed at before. But looking at Erin now, her hopeful gaze searching his, he found himself unable to deny her anything.

"Aye, I will help ye," he agreed, the words gruff but underscored by an unspoken promise. He could refuse her nothing, it seemed—a dangerous realization for a man who prided himself on control.

A brilliant smile broke across Erin's face—the kind of smile that spoke of victories won and barriers broken. It was then that Magnus knew, despite the scars that marred his soul, he was perilously close to surrendering to something greater than duty or honor.

"Thank ye, Magnus," she said softly, her voice caressing his name like a balm.

He nodded, the corner of his mouth lifting in the ghost of a smile. And as they reached the heavy oak doors of the keep, Magnus felt the pull of an unseen force, guiding him toward a future he had never dared to imagine—one filled with laughter, warmth, and perhaps, if fate allowed, love.

But as the doors closed behind them, sealing them in the dim corridors of the ancient stronghold, Magnus couldn't shake the foreboding thought that haunted him: In opening his heart, had he also opened the gates to potential ruin? The question lingered, a silent specter in the gathering darkness, as he followed Erin into the depths of his ancestral home.