Chapter Fourteen

Finian MacLachor held the sleeping child in his arms. The young girl had cried for most of the afternoon until she'd fallen into an exhausted stupor. He drew his cloak over her for warmth and stared at the fortress that lay ahead. More than anything, he wished he could turn back. But his time had already run out, and he was afraid of what had happened to Iliana.

He walked forward through the gates, still carrying Adaira in his arms with the cloak wrapped around her. The soldiers watched him as he entered, their weapons held in readiness, though there was no need. Two soldiers crossed in front of him, and Finian eyed the men. "I've brought Lord Harkirk a hostage in exchange for my daughter."

There was doubt upon their faces, but they led him toward the main tower. Inside the fortress, he saw men dressed in rags, laying stones atop one another to form walls to reinforce the keep. One sent him a grim expression, silently damning Fi12nian for what he was about to do. Aye, this girl was an innocent. And though he hated himself for handing her over to the enemy, he could see no other choice. He hadn't enough men to save Iliana. He could only hope that Harkirk would trade one daughter for another.

The soldiers led him into a room where Harkirk was speaking with a group of men. The baron wore chainmail armor and a conical helm, as though he'd recently come from a battle. When he saw Finian, his gaze turned interested. "What have you brought me?"

"The MacKinloch chief's youngest daughter. In return, I want Iliana back."

The man gave a thin smile. "So, you think to bargain for her. Why would you believe I kept her alive after all this time?"

"Because you want the MacKinlochs dead. And they will fight for this child. They will come to you . . . all of them."

The baron sent him an amused smile. To one of the soldiers, he said, "Take her."

Out of instinct, Finian's hands tightened around Adaira. The motion awakened the child and when the soldier seized her, she started wailing again. Harkirk gestured to the man and the soldier disappeared with the baby. The young girl's cries would haunt him, for he'd now done the unthinkable—handing over an innocent to the devil himself.

"The child could belong to anyone," Harkirk said. "You've no proof that she's a MacKinloch."

"She is. I swear it." His courage ran cold, for he now realized he'd made a fatal mistake. He'd believed that Harkirk would accept the hostage exchange, and he'd get Iliana back. Now, it was clear that Harkirk had no intention of honoring such a bargain.

"Put him with the others," Harkirk ordered. "And we'll see if anyone comes for the child."

Four men seized him, the cold metal of their armor biting into his arms. Finian struggled to free himself, but his strength was no match for the others. "What about my daughter?" he shouted as the men started to drag him away.

"She's already dead."

"Harkirk's men attacked us a sennight after they burned Glen Arrin," Brochain said. "They took Finian's daughter, and in return, they wanted your heads."

Alex tossed a peat brick upon the fire, understanding what the baron had intended. "If Harkirk hired you to kill us, then he'd keep his hands clean."

"Aye." Brochain's gaze tightened. "He's nearly annihilated our clan. We've hardly any men left at all." Bitterness lined his tone when he added, "My brother took a group of the others, planning to attack Harkirk's forces and rescue his daughter. He was the only survivor."

Alex took a sip of ale from the drinking horn he'd brought with him and passed it to Brochain. The tánaiste hesitated a moment—for drinking from it would signify an alliance between them. But eventually he drank, passing it on to each of his men.

"Do the other clans know about the bounty?"

Brochain shrugged. "I don't know. And now I may not see my brother alive again." He nodded at the others, who numbered fewer than a dozen. "We can't attempt another rescue. It would be suicide."

Alex settled back to think. "Have you spoken to the other clans?"

"They refused to help us." Brochain rested his wrist upon his knee, staring into the fire. "I fear our only chance of surviving this is to let Finian go." His hand clenched into a fist. "But he's my brother."

"We'll help you get them back," Bram spoke up. He eyed Alex and said, "I swore I'd free Harkirk's remaining prisoners." He raised his wrists, showing Brochain the scars that remained from the chains he'd worn for seven years. "But we won't attack them directly. We'll have to get inside another way."

Alex read his brother's mind. "You want the MacLachors to take us in as their prisoners?"

"No. We'll get help from Nairna's father." The chief of the MacPhersons had formed a fragile truce with Harkirk, but it was wearing thin.

Alex began outlining his idea, drawing in the sand. Brochain added his own information that Finian had gathered from his two encounters with Harkirk. They spent hours discussing their plans, and when it was done, Alex felt a sense of satisfaction. If they freed Harkirk's prisoners, it would diminish his power. Not only that, but when those men returned to their own clans, it would help solidify stronger alliances.

After they finished an evening meal prepared by Brochain's sister, they heard the sounds of horses approaching. Alex stood, reaching for his shield and weapons as he left the shelter. Outside, the sun was sinking below the horizon and he saw Callum, Laren and two other MacKinloch men approaching.

From the distraught look upon his wife's face, he knew something terrible had happened.

"What are you doing here?" he demanded.

Her cheeks were ghostly pale and her lips trembled as she spoke. "Adaira was taken hostage by the MacLachors. She's gone."

Laren stared in shock as Alex grabbed one of the MacLachors by his tunic, choking off the man's air. "You said nothing about seizing my daughter, Brochain."

Her husband had tightened his grip, hardly caring that his enemy couldn't answer. Laren dismounted and ran to his side. "Alex. We need answers from him."

At last he let go and Brochain's face went from blue to red. He coughed heavily, bending over as he struggled to breathe. "Finian," was all he could say.

The fury on Alex's face didn't diminish, and Laren wrapped her arms around his waist. She held on for a moment as if she could steady the rage.

He took the man by his arm and forced him up. "Did you know about this?"

MacLachor shook his head. "No. But . . . when we attacked Glen Arrin, Finian wanted a hostage. It didn't work then, but he must have returned." He sat down, reaching for a cup of ale to clear his throat. "I suppose he thought to trade one daughter for another."

Laren gripped Alex's arm for support. A hostage? Her baby? The tenuous thread she had on her own anger was ready to snap. Baron Harkirk was heartless, an Englishman who kept Scots as slaves and worshipped silver. To even imagine her own daughter in the same vicinity as such a monster . . . it made her feel sick to her stomach.

Callum stood next to Bram, and a ruthless air of fury emanated from him. He knew, full well, what Adaira would face in Harkirk's stronghold. Though his outer scars were healing, no one knew what horrors Callum had witnessed. Though he'd helped the others with the rebuilding, Laren could see the hollowness that haunted him.

"We'll get her back," Brochain said. "Finian wasn't thinking clearly." He eyed Alex, rubbing his throat. "We'll leave at dawn."

Alex took Laren inside one of the abandoned homes and started a fire in the hearth. Laren's fingers were trembling, her face filled with worry. Alex stood beside her and rested his arm around her. "I'll find Adaira. I swear it."

"We will find her," she corrected. "I'll not be left behind while my daughter is in the hands of that monster."

Alex took her hand. "If you think I'll allow you to endanger yourself, bringing you into Harkirk's fortress, you're mistaken." He brought his hand to her swelling womb. "Or have you forgotten that there's another child who must be kept safe?"

"I won't go back without her," she insisted. Her eyes filled up with tears. "What kind of a man would take a baby and hand her over to the enemy?"

"One whose daughter was already taken," he answered. He kept his voice emotionless and it seemed to set off her temper.

"How can you be so calm about this?"

He ignored the question, for he couldn't let himself think of anything happening to Adaira. Right now, he needed to focus on what needed to be done, keeping his personal feelings locked away. "Tomorrow, I'm sending you home with your escorts. Callum will stay with us."

She lowered her head, her fingers clenching her side. "I don't understand you. You act as if you're going off to battle. As if nothing's wrong."

He stared at the fire, but it did nothing to warm the coldness inside of him. "I am going off to battle, Laren."

"Don't you care at all? This is our daughter."

Of course, he cared. But blind rage and recklessness wouldn't save her. He needed a cool head and a sound plan. "I know well enough what's at stake, Laren." He didn't need her to remind him that their baby's life lay in his hands. If he made a mistake, Adaira could die because of it.

Laren shook her head, backing away from him. "You were like this when David died. It was as if his life didn't matter."

"It mattered to me." The words were emotionless, but beneath them, he felt the shadow of loss. The more she dwelled upon the past, the more it dug into him like a dull blade. "Right now, I have to think of how we're going to get inside Harkirk's fortress. And how we'll free her." He used a heavy staff to poke at the fire, sending up a shower of sparks.

"You never mourned for David, did you?" she murmured. "You visited his grave . . . but that was all."

The accusation sliced through the shell surrounding his heart. He caught her wrists and held them in front of her. "Don't ever accuse me of not loving our son. I mourned for him, aye."

He was holding her too harshly and released her, feeling the frustration rising higher. "But I'm the chief of this clan. I can't let anyone see what's inside of me. Not them. And not you."

Every word she spoke was grinding against him. Couldn't she see that he felt pain as deeply as she, even if he could never show it?

"I'm your wife, Alex," she whispered, her eyes filled with tears. "If you don't confide in me, who else is there?"

When her hands moved up to his face, he gripped her hard, lowering his face to her hair. "We won't lose another child. I swear it to you."

Despite his efforts to block the memory of his daughter, he saw Adaira's face in his mind. He remembered the sweetness of her smile and the way she would skip and gallop instead of walk. He'd surrender every last drop of his blood for her.

Just as he would for his wife. In her eyes, he saw the disappointment. He didn't know what she wanted from him. Dwelling on the past wouldn't change it.

But perhaps . . . by holding back his thoughts, he was hurting her more.

"When we lost our son, there was nothing I could do to comfort you," he said at last. "Nothing I could say to take away your pain."

"I was afraid to reach out to you," she admitted. "You never spoke of it."

"It was the worst moment of my life. I'd wanted a son so badly . . . and then to lose him so soon—" The only thing worse than losing David was losing his wife.

She reached up to take his face in her hands. "We will have another son one day. And he'll grow up to be as strong as his father."

He kissed her. "One day, perhaps."

Laren reached for his hand and brought it to rest upon her womb. She remained still and he moved his fingers in a circular motion. "Have you felt the bairn move within you yet?"

She shook her head. "But I'm feeling a little better. Not as tired or sick."

For a time, he rested his hand there, as if willing their unborn child to be safe. "I won't fail you, Laren," he vowed. "I'll bring Adaira home."

She drew him to lie down beside her, but he remained protective of her body. He smoothed her hair back from her temple and she twined her legs with his. The future was too uncertain right now. He didn't know what threats awaited them or what had already happened to their daughter.

Laren was staring at him, her blue eyes filled with unspoken emotions. He cradled her face, as if he could hold the image in his mind for ever. God above, he loved her.

He kissed her mouth, drifting lower to her throat. Though the layer of her gown separated him from her bare skin, he kissed her ribs, the swell of her hip, then he laid his mouth upon their unborn baby.

"You're going to live," he whispered to the child, "and grow strong. I promise you."

No matter what happens to me.

His wife reached down to him and guided him back up to look at her. "You speak as if you're not coming back."

He couldn't lie to her about this. Instead, he caressed her cheek, looking steadily into her eyes. "I will do anything to send her back to you."

"Don't make me choose," she ordered. "Don't ever make me choose between your life or Adaira's." Her voice was trembling, and she closed her eyes, pressing her mouth to his palm.

"It won't come to that." Especially if there was no choice to be made. Any father would willingly sacrifice himself for his child. Just as Tavin had surrendered his own life for Bram.

When he was a boy, he hadn't understood it. He'd been the one to find his mother raging over her husband's body. He'd looked into his father's sightless eyes, unable to understand why Tavin had taken the sword that was meant for his brother.

Now he did. And though he planned to do everything possible to survive this, he understood the risk.

"Do you think she's alive?" The torment upon Laren's face carved itself into his heart. He held her close, not wanting to see her anguish.

"She's alive. Harkirk will use her to get to us." But he didn't doubt that Harkirk would relish the opportunity to kill Adaira in front of him. The thought numbed his heart while Laren's tears dampened his tunic.

"Be careful." Her words were below a whisper, hardly there at all. Then she was kissing him with desperation.

He tasted the salt of her tears, trying to be the strength she needed right now. She touched his tongue with hers, seeking him, her hands moving beneath his clothing.

As she drew back the layers that separated them, he helped her until they both lay skin to skin. He felt the transformation in her body, the lushness and beauty of her. Though her waist held only a slight bump, her breasts were fuller.

Her arms wound around his neck, and he rubbed his hands down her spine, to her lower back. "You give me a reason to come back, a ghràidh."

And when she pulled him down to love her, he savored every touch, every moment. Knowing it might be their last night together.

Laren's eyes were dry after Alex rode away from Glen Arrin. He had taken her back home this morn, but it was impossible to get through the day, when her heart was with her husband and daughter. She wished now that she'd sent Adaira with Mairin to be fostered—at least then her baby would be safe. Her desire to have a little more time with Adaira had resulted in a terrible nightmare.

She couldn't even work with her glass anymore. Though it had once been an escape, she'd lost her desire to create. Laren spent the first day inside the keep, going through the motions of her duties. When she sat at the wooden trestle table, blue and gold lights shone upon her hands. She looked up and saw that Ross had arranged for one of her windows to be mounted within the keep. The image of the Madonna and Child rested high above them, the sunlight spilling through the colors. The emptiness was sinking deeper, the despair shadowing every aspect of her life.

Nairna came to spend time with her later that afternoon, and from the happiness on her face, Laren guessed what the woman was going to say. It made her more determined not to upset her by revealing where Bram and Alex had gone.

"It's been nearly two months," Nairna said, her voice holding excitement. She rested a hand over her middle, the fervent hope giving her smile a warm glow. "But I haven't been sick at all. Do you think I could be wrong?"

"Some women aren't ill," Laren said. "You may be one of the fortunate ones." She rested her hand upon her own swelling womb, understanding Nairna's joy. "But I think, yes, you'll be holding a bairn in your arms, come the winter."

Nairna burst into tears and hugged her. Laren moved over on the bench, unable to stand up to return the embrace. "It's all right. I know you've wanted this for a long time."

"I can't seem to stop crying," Nairna wailed. "And I know I should be happy."

"It doesn't take much to make a pregnant woman cry." Her own eyes dimmed with tears, the worry rising up. She wanted to be with Alex right now, despite the danger. Though he had men of his own and the MacLachors, it wasn't enough. He'd known it when he'd spent their last night together.

Something snapped inside of her. Why was she sitting here, waiting for them to die? She'd always hung back, letting others make decisions for her. And if she did nothing, they weren't going to come back.

A sudden fire pushed through her. She didn't have to stay here. They did have other allies. And though she didn't know the other clans that well, she had silver pieces left over from the window she'd sold.

She could hire men to help Alex and the others. A surge of energy pushed through her and she rose to her feet. She would start by traveling to speak with Kameron MacKinnon, Lord of Locharr. He'd been a friend and ally in the past. Surely he could grant her a dozen men to help Alex.

"What's wrong?" Nairna asked. "Are you feeling all right?

Laren ventured a smile. "Aye." She had a purpose now, to secure defenses for the men and help them. All she had to do was assume her true role as Lady of Glen Arrin, lifting her courage to do what had to be done.

"I need to speak with Grizel." The older matron had a special friendship with Kameron MacKinnon. It was likely that she would go with Laren to speak with the Baron.

Nairna sent her a worried look. "If you're wanting to speak with Grizel, then clearly you're not feeling well at all."

Laren only smiled.

Four days later

The Baron of Harkirk had added to his holdings, but the fortress was still constructed primarily of wood. With a high tower house and several outbuildings surrounded by a wooden palisade, Alex knew it would be difficult to infiltrate.

They had made their camp at the top of a large hill, allowing them to look down inside the fortress. Groups of soldiers trained within the walls while smoke rose from outdoor fires.

Bram had gone to recruit help from Nairna's father, Hamish MacPherson, while Callum stared at the walls, his thoughts unreadable.

"Did they cut out his tongue?" Brochain MacLachor asked. "Can't he tell us anything about their defenses?"

Callum said nothing, but his fingers curled over his bow. Alex made no demands, but he knew his brother understood their words. He put up a hand, shaking his head at the others as he approached his brother. Callum had turned his back and Alex walked up beside him. "How many soldiers did Harkirk have, when you were a captive? Two dozen?"

Callum held up four fingers. Nearly fifty, then.

"How many dozens of slaves?"

His brother held up only one finger, then signaled a little more.

Alex rested his hand on Callum's shoulder, in silent thanks for the information. Callum sat down, adjusting some of his arrows. The black-feathered tips were distinctive and he checked to be sure that his weapons were ready.

But was it reasonable to ask his brother to return to the fortress where he'd been held prisoner? He didn't believe it was a good idea at all.

"I want you to stay behind with your bow," he said. Callum stiffened, his face transforming with anger. "Not because I don't think you're capable of fighting," he amended. "But I don't trust Harkirk. If we're taken captive, we need someone on the outside to get us out again."

When Callum shook his head in refusal, Alex continued, "You need that distance for your arrows."

In reply, Callum reached out and seized Alex's sword, unsheathing it. Though his arms were thin, there was a tight strength there. Alex saw the ruthless determination, the blood vengeance on his brother's face.

"If I were in your place, I'd feel the same," Alex said. He held out his palm for his sword hilt. Callum held the weapon a moment longer before returning it. "But unless you can speak to us, you can't come."

A furious resentment lined Callum's face, his eyes filled with rage, but still he held his silence.

"If you were in trouble, you couldn't call out to us," Alex pointed out. "And you can't tell me what I need to know about the fortress and its defenses."

Callum pointed in the direction where Bram had traveled, to the MacPherson holdings. And he understood what his brother meant. Nairna's father would know about Harkirk's weaknesses, well enough.

His brother turned his attention back to his arrows, refusal evident from his posture. There wasn't any argument Alex could make that would convince Callum to remain behind. With no other choice, he returned to their camp and sat down.

Brochain came close and sat across from him. "When do you want to confront Harkirk?"

"When it's dark, we'll go below into the valley and spread out around the fortress. We need to know if Adaira and Finian are there."

"What about Iliana?" Brochain pointed out.

"If she's alive, we'll do what we can to get her out," Alex said. "But if your chief tries to sacrifice my daughter for his, rest assured, I will find him. And he won't come back alive."

Alex adjusted the conical helm and gripped his spear as he entered Harkirk's fortress. Brochain's men had killed an English soldier who had spied them, and Alex had stripped the dead man of his armor. The disguise would allow him to infiltrate the fortress without being recognized, as long as he kept his head down and behaved like one of the others.

Bram had returned with a few of the MacPherson men, and they formed a perimeter around Harkirk's fortress, searching for Adaira. Alex moved inside, his eyes adjusting to the light from the torches.

It was nearing midnight, he guessed, from the moon's position in the sky. There were about a dozen men patrolling the walls, while inside, he saw a large tower that likely housed Harkirk's quarters. Had the MacLachor chief brought Adaira here? Or had he turned back?

Alex silently walked through the grounds, keeping to the shadows as best he could. Often, he joined other soldiers, obeying orders when they sent him to patrol another section of the wall.

When he reached the interior portion of the fortress, he heard a man gasping for air. In the shadowed corner, he saw a bound prisoner, bleeding upon the stones. His back was raw with lash marks, and he shivered from the winter cold.

It was the chief, Finian MacLachor. Alex recognized the man who had disguised himself as Father Stephen. His first instinct was to leave the man there to bleed. He deserved death for what he'd done, but he was his best hope for answers. With reluctance, Alex came closer and dropped down on one knee. "MacLachor."

The man raised his head, and recognition dawned in his eyes before he started to lose consciousness. "She's dead."

Alex's hand tightened on MacLachor's throat, a rush of fear and fury filling up inside. "Adaira?"

"No. My daughter, Iliana. Harkirk has your child," the chief said.

Alex didn't know whether to be thankful Adaira was still alive or furious that she was now Harkirk's prisoner. "Where is she?"

Finian's eyes raised up to the tower, where a lone window overlooked the fortress. "Lady Harkirk has her." Alex hadn't known that Harkirk had brought a woman here. It meant that the English intended to settle in Scotland, not as an outpost, but as a permanent location.

The window was shuttered tight and Alex could see no parapets or battlements nearby to reach the tower. The only way was through the keep or by climbing up. He dismissed the latter idea, for it would only make him an easy, visible target.

Alex walked past MacLachor, leaving him there. When he reached the tower, he listened hard, but there came no sound. He knew the other clansmen had surrounded the fortress, but he didn't dare go inside the tower. Not unless an opportunity presented itself.

Alex spent the next few hours patrolling the fortress with the other soldiers, listening and hoping to catch a glimpse of Adaira. It occurred to him that, without seeing her for himself, he didn't know if she was truly here. The chief might have been lying, trying to lure him into staying. But then, if that were true, he would have alerted Harkirk's men to Alex's presence. Instead, he'd held his silence.

Alex stared back at the man and, in Finian's broken posture, he saw the mirrored grief he'd felt at David's death. The chief looked as though he had no desire to live, nor did he care any more.,

Although he was going to regret this, Alex crossed the fortress and unsheathed his knife. "You may want to die, but I'll not grant that wish yet. You're going to help me get Adaira back." He sawed at MacLachor's ropes, but the man didn't move, his head hanging down.

"You took an innocent child away from her family and it was all for nothing." Alex gripped the man's wrist, dragging him up. "Your daughter may be dead, but mine isn't. Honor Iliana's memory by righting the wrong you committed."

Finian's gaze was empty. "There's nothing I can do."

"Find her. And bring her back to me," Alex ordered.

The chief stared up at the tower, as if trying to form a decision. "There's one staircase. You'd have a better chance of getting inside than me, with your armor."

Before Alex could say another word, one of the captains in the distance barked out a command. "Get away from the prisoner and attend your duties!"

With his face averted, Alex obeyed. MacLachor had fallen to his knees, pretending to still be bound. It was too soon to make a move, not until he'd learned more about his surroundings and the layout of the fortress. But the longer he waited, the greater his chance of being caught.

Laren retreated into the forest, hardly able to see at all. The moon cast a faint glow, but the clouds veiled it from time to time. She'd ordered Lord Locharr's men to remain behind until she learned what Alex's plans were. Using her glass and the silver pieces as payment, she'd hired over three dozen soldiers to help them. She took a single escort with her, Sion MacKinnon, one of Lord Locharr's most trusted men.

Laren lowered her hood, for her red hair might help Alex's men recognize her from a distance. They used no torch as they climbed up the hillside.

"How do you know where we'll find them?" she'd asked Sion.

He nodded toward the top of the hill. "They'll be using the high ground to scout out Harkirk's defenses."

They climbed in silence and, as the incline grew steeper, Laren struggled. Though she was only a few months' pregnant, the physical walk was starting to hurt. Sion helped her, and when they reached the clearing, an arrow struck the ground at her feet.

Sion pulled her back, reaching for the arrow. "That was a warning." When he studied it, Laren saw the familiar black feathers.

"Callum?" she called out.

Within seconds, the young man emerged from the trees, his bow gripped in his palm. Laren crossed the space, embracing him. He appeared startled by her appearance and pointed to Sion, a question in his eyes.

"We brought reinforcements," she told him. "Lord Locharr has several of his men, and I've recruited more fighters." She introduced him to Sion and asked, "Where is Alex?"

Callum pointed to the fortress below and her nerves tightened. "What about the others?"

He spread out his hands, gesturing that they had surrounded the fortress.

"Will you lead the other soldiers to join with Alex?" she whispered. "He'll need them."

Callum hesitated, reaching out and pointing to her.

"I'll be all right," she whispered. "It's dark and no one will see me here. I'll stay out of the way."

He brought her to sit down and built a low fire behind a small pile of stones. Her heart softened at his kindness. When the flames offered a warmth, she removed her gloves and held out her hands before the heat.

Callum set his hand upon her shoulder and motioned that he would take Sion and the others below. Then he pointed to himself and to her.

"You don't have to return for me," she said. "I know you want to join them."

His expression grew tight, and he shook his head. It was then that she noticed something gripped in his other hand. Laren reached out and gently opened his palm. Inside, she saw a blue silken ribbon.

"This was Lady Marguerite's, wasn't it?" she asked.

He gave a single nod, curling his fingers around it once more. The stony resignation on his face was of a man who knew he could never have the woman he wanted. As the third son, he had nothing to call his own. Never could he marry the daughter of a duke, no matter what his heart wanted.

Laren's throat ached, for she knew exactly how he felt. She'd believed herself beneath Alex for so long, that being with him seemed an impossibility. Their worlds were so far apart . . . and yet he had never cared about her family's poverty, not the way she had.

As she stared at Harkirk's stronghold, she thought of how hard Alex had worked for Glen Arrin. He believed it was worth rebuilding. He'd seen beyond the ruins, knowing that it could be something beautiful beneath the desolate exterior.

The way he'd seen beneath her family's circumstances, fighting for her.

He loves me, she realized. And she'd hidden herself from the people, never believing she was worthy of his love.

But I am worthy, she thought. A strong resolution flooded through her, for she wasn't going to let Alex die. Not while she breathed.

A new truth had surfaced, while she'd gone to visit the clans. Being Lady of Glen Arrin wasn't about giving orders to the people or putting on a false confidence. It was about taking care of her loved ones—something she'd always known how to do. Something that had always been inside of her.

The clan needed Alex, just as she did. And she wouldn't hesitate to fight for the man she loved.

She reached out to Callum and curled his fingers over the ribbon once more. "Lady Marguerite cares for you," she told him. "Find her, when this is over. Tell her what's in your heart."

A look of regret crossed his face, and he shook his head. With one finger, he touched his lips, reminding her that he'd lost the ability to speak.

"That doesn't matter to her, and you know it." She reached out and took his hand in hers. "You're hurting by being apart from her, aren't you?" She offered him a tentative smile. "Surely she would find it romantic if you were to steal her away, taking her back with you."

Callum sent her a look of disbelief before drawing a line across his throat.

"Aye, her father might kill you." She sent him a wide smile. "But you'd die a happy man."

A guttural laugh broke forth from Callum. The unexpected sound took her aback, and he touched his throat as though he couldn't believe it had come out.

"You'll speak again," Laren predicted. "And I think you'll have a stronger reason to, if you find her."

Callum met her gaze. In his eyes, she saw the mirror of the person she had been before. Someone who didn't believe it was possible to be loved.

He took her hand and pressed the ribbon into it. A moment later, he disappeared into the darkness, with Sion at his side.