Chapter Nineteen

“W here do ye wish to have the wedding ceremony?” her mother asked, her voice brimming with excitement, her cheeks flushed with joy. “The chapel at the keep is lovely this time of year.”

Sencha exchanged a glance with Knox, who smiled faintly, his calm demeanor a stark contrast to the whirlwind of questions they’d been fielding since announcing their betrothal. Most answers had been variations of the same, “We’ve not discussed it yet,” or “We dinnae ken.”

Finally, her mother threw up her hands, a warm laugh escaping her lips. “Forgive me for pestering ye with so many questions. I’m just so happy for ye both. It’s understandable ye’ve yet to settle on the details.”

Knox reached for Sencha’s hand under the table, giving it a reassuring squeeze. Somehow, his steady presence kept her grounded while her own nerves were frayed by the sheer number of decisions looming before them.

“While I cook the meal, why do ye nae go for a wee walk?” her mother suggested, her eyes twinkling. “Clear yer heads and enjoy some time together.”

The crisp air outside greeted them as they stepped into the fading light of late afternoon. Sencha pulled her cloak tightly around her, though the chill was barely noticeable. Excitement warmed her far more than her woolen layers. Excitement for the handsome man walking beside her who was soon to be her husband.

As they strolled through the woodlands, Knox glanced at her, his hazel eyes soft. “I will begin with the question both Alex and yer parents asked,” he said. “Where do ye wish to live after we marry?”

Sencha thought for a moment, stepping over a small branch that had fallen in their path. “Since ye will continue to serve the laird, I think it makes sense to remain at the keep. Perhaps in a pair of years, once we have bairns, we can discuss building a house of our own.”

Knox nodded, a thoughtful expression crossing his face. “I agree. My own lands are midway between yer current home and the keep,” he added, gesturing in a direction that made sense. “Far enough inland to avoid the coastal winds, but close enough to either place.”

She smiled, content with the practicality of their plans. But as they continued walking, Knox suddenly stopped and turned to face her. Before she could question him he stepped closer, cupping her face in his large hands, his touch warm against her chilled cheeks. Without hesitation, he captured her lips in a kiss that left her breathless, his mouth moving over hers with a passion that stole her thoughts.

When they finally broke apart, he gazed down at her, his lips curving into a crooked smile. “I will never tire of the taste of ye.”

Sencha laughed softly, though her face burned with heat. “Knox,” she teased, swatting lightly at his arm. “We’ve decisions to make. This is nae time for flattery.”

“Flattery is it?” he murmured, leaning down as if to kiss her again. But she stepped back with a grin, steering the conversation back to practical matters.

“Should we marry at the keep or in the village?” she asked.

Knox rubbed his jaw, his brow furrowing slightly. “I think I prefer the keep. Something intimate, with only yer family and mine.”

“I agree,” Sencha said. “I will insist to Nala that she nae invite the entire clan.”

They laughed, their voices mingling in the stillness of the woods, and resumed their walk. They talked about which chambers they would occupy at the keep, how many children they hoped to have, and the nature of Knox’s duties. But as they neared her home again, Sencha’s heart grew heavy with unspoken thoughts.

Knox must have noticed her distraction. His sharp eyes darted toward her, his expression shifting. “Something bothers ye,” he said. “What is it?”

She hesitated, then blurted, “I must ask about other women.” Her cheeks flamed, but she pressed on. “I cannae marry ye if ye plan to keep lovers.”

Knox stopped, his brows lifting in surprise. Taking her by the shoulders, he turned her to face him fully. “Sencha,” he said firmly, his voice rich with sincerity. “I give ye my solemn oath never to stray. The tales of my ‘prowess’ are greatly exaggerated. But I will nae lie to ye. I was involved with a woman until just before we hunted for yer dog.”

Her breath caught, but she remained silent, watching him closely.

“I was about to be with her that day,” he admitted, his voice lowering, “but ye stumbled upon… Well, ye ken the rest.” He exhaled deeply, his hands sliding down her arms. “I’ve nae sought anyone since that day. Ye have my word.”

Sencha studied him, her gaze unwavering. “I thought there was something odd about yer horse being tethered so far from where ye were. Was it Anni?”

Knox shook his head. “Nae, someone else. I’ve never been with her.”

Her jaw tightened, but her voice was steady. “I trust ye to ensure this woman is told never to approach ye again.”

There was a stern finality in her tone, and Knox nodded solemnly. “It will be done as ye ask. I fear for anyone who betrays ye.”

Sencha giggled, the tension easing as she smiled up at him. “I cannae think of anything else to discuss.”

“There’s the matter of our wedding date,” Knox said, his tone lightening. He nudged her playfully with his shoulder. “I dinnae wish to wait long.”

“Neither do I,” Sencha replied, laughter dancing in her voice as they turned toward her home.

Hendry rode steadily along the well-worn road with five of his men, the clatter of hooves mingling with the occasional rustle of bare branches swaying in the wind. The chill of the late day bit into their faces, their breaths misting in the icy air. Weary from a long day of patrol, their expressions were grim and set, their shoulders hunched beneath their cloaks. The promise of the warm hearth and hearty meal waiting in the great hall of the keep was the only thing driving them forward.

As they neared the fork in the road that led to Ailith’s small cottage, Hendry found his thoughts drifting to the widow. She lived alone, beyond the main routes patrolled by the laird’s guards. It wasn’t part of his direct responsibility, but the thought of her isolated and vulnerable gnawed at him. He doubted anyone had stopped by to check on her recently. She wasn’t the sort to invite company, and her prickly demeanor kept most people at bay.

Hendry slowed his horse and raised a hand, signaling the others to halt. The men reined in their mounts, casting curious glances his way. “I will go to see about someone,” he said, his tone leaving no room for argument. “Continue to the keep. I shall be there shortly.”

None of the men protested. They were too eager to escape the cold and find warmth at the keep to offer to stay. With curt nods, they spurred their horses forward, their figures soon swallowed by the shadowy trees lining the road.

Turning his mount toward the woods, Hendry guided the animal along the narrow path leading to Ailith’s home. The dense trees offered some reprieve from the biting wind, their skeletal branches creaking softly overhead.

As he emerged from the trees, the small cottage came into view, nestled in a clearing. A thin trail of smoke spiraled up from the chimney, a sign that Ailith was home and keeping the cold at bay. He dismounted with a practiced ease, his boots crunching against the leaf laden ground. Leaving his horse to graze, he approached the door and knocked twice, the sound echoing in the stillness.

From inside came the sharp bark of Teller, the shaggy dog she called her own. Hendry waited, adjusting his cloak against the chill, until the door creaked open just enough to reveal Ailith’s face. She scowled at him, her dark eyes narrowing suspiciously.

“Ye may as well enter, else the air will cool my house,” she said tartly, pulling the door wider but still managing to look displeased. “There is nae a need for ye to come here.”

Her dog bounded forward, sniffing his leg with enthusiasm. After a moment, Teller’s tail wagged in recognition, but Ailith snapped her fingers sharply. The dog obeyed, retreating to the hearth and curling up. Though his watchful eyes remained fixed on Hendry.

Stepping inside, Hendry’s presence filled the small room as the door closed behind him. The warmth of the fire greeted him, a stark contrast to Ailith’s frosty demeanor. She crossed her arms, clearly unamused by the intrusion.

Apparently, whatever gratitude she might have felt when he’d helped her during her illness had vanished. She’d returned to her usual sharp dislike, her expression as cold as the air outside. Hendry brushed off her scowl, his gaze sweeping the room. The fire crackled in the hearth, and a pot hung above it, likely simmering some simple fare. The furnishings were modest and well-worn, the evidence of a life lived with little to spare.

“Will ye require chopped wood for the winter?” he asked, his voice steady and businesslike. “Is yer roof in good repair?”

She opened her mouth to reply, but he continued before she could speak. “If ye need blankets or food, the laird’s wife would like ye to ken they will be brought to ye.”

Ailith’s lips pressed into a tight line, her annoyance evident as she stared at him. She shifted her weight, looking as though she was debating whether to throw him out or respond. Hendry remained calm, waiting, his hands hanging loosely at his sides.

Her gaze flickered to the neatly stacked pile of wood by the hearth before drifting upward to the ceiling, her lips pressing into a thin line. After a moment, she shook her head and squared her shoulders. “I dinnae require anything from ye, the laird, or his wife,” she said, her voice firm and tinged with quiet anger. “What I need, I will ask my family to help with.”

Hendry studied her. He knew all too well the truth of her situation. The only family she had was her sister, married with a brood of four or five bairns underfoot. From what little he’d seen of them, they were a struggling lot themselves, barely scraping by. The notion that they could spare anything for Ailith seemed unlikely at best.

Her own means were meager—midwifery and selling herbs she foraged from the woods at the village square. A coin here. A coin there, Just enough to scrape by. Likely, it was all spent on food, with nothing left for comforts or repairs. The threadbare clothes she wore, washed thin by time and toil, spoke of winters endured without proper warmth.

Hendry’s gaze swept the room again, taking in the shabby state of the cottage. He could picture the drafts sneaking in through gaps in the walls and around the doorframe, stealing what little heat the fire offered.

He ignored her words and moved toward the hearth, his boots scuffing softly against the uneven floorboards. He crouched down and inspected the woodpile more closely, his frown deepening. “Is this all yer wood?” he asked, his tone neutral.

Ailith folded her arms across her chest and pressed her lips together in defiant silence.

Straightening, Hendry turned his attention to the ceiling. The patches of light filtering through the thatch confirmed his earlier observation. Two places were nearly bare and sure to leak with the next rain. His gaze dropped to a chair by the hearth, where a blanket was draped. It was thick enough for now, but its frayed edges and worn fabric told him it might not last another season. He imagined her huddled beneath it during the long, bitter nights of winter, the wind howling through the cracks.

“I’ll patch the roof and chop some wood,” he announced evenly, his voice carrying a note of finality.

Ailith stiffened, her face hardening as anger flared in her eyes. “I dinnae want any help from the people who allowed my husband to die,” she snapped. “He didnae have to die.”

Hendry’s jaw tightened, but his voice remained calm. “No one should have to die,” he said, meeting her gaze without flinching. “Neither Brant nor any of the others who lost their lives in battle.”

Her lips parted, but instead of responding, she turned sharply on her heel and stalked to the door. She yanked it open with a jerk, and the icy wind rushed into the cottage, swirling around them like an unwelcome guest. “Leave,” she demanded, her voice low but unyielding.

For a moment, Hendry didn’t move. The cold air bit at his face, but he held her gaze, searching for something in her expression. Then, without a word, he strode past her, his heavy footfalls echoing in the small space. He stepped out into the chill, the door swinging shut behind him with a sharp finality.

Once outside, Hendry scanned the area and spotted a ladder leaning against the side of the house. Determined to help, he hefted it into place and climbed onto the roof. The cold air whipped around him as he crouched low, carefully inspecting the weathered thatch. He found two spots where the rain had seeped through, leaving gaps that desperately needed repair.

Climbing back down, he made his way to the woods nearby. The earthy scent of damp leaves and fresh pine filled the air as he gathered enough leafy branches to use as a temporary patch. His arms soon ached from the weight of the bundle, but he pressed on, knowing the effort would be worth it. Returning to the roof, Hendry worked with quiet focus, weaving the thin branches into the existing thatch. The job required several trips up and down the ladder, each climb testing his endurance. By the time he finished, the roof had a patchwork look, but it was sturdy enough to keep out the rain. He leaned back on his heels and surveyed his handiwork, nodding in satisfaction.

The next task waited for him below. A proper woodpile was essential, but when he searched for an ax, he came up empty-handed. It seemed the widow kept it inside the house, and he wasn’t about to go knocking on her door. Undeterred, Hendry set out to collect fallen branches from the nearby woods. Armful by armful, he hauled them back to the cottage, stacking them neatly by the front door. The pile wasn’t large, but it was enough to last several days. Long enough for him to hire someone to make more permanent repairs to the roof and tend to the firewood.

By the time he mounted his horse, the sun had begun its slow descent, casting long shadows across the road. Despite the weariness he’d felt earlier, the physical labor had left him invigorated, his body buzzing with a sense of purpose. As he rode, his thoughts turned to the widow and what more he could do to ease her burden. Blankets, fabric, and food came to mind. Practical things she might need. He decided he’d arrange for everything to be delivered discreetly from the village, ensuring he’d avoid another clash with her sharp tongue.

The thought of her reaction—her annoyance, perhaps even her outrage at his meddling—made a crooked grin spread across his face. Before he knew it, Hendry was whistling a cheerful tune, the melody rising into the chilled evening air as he rode toward home.