Chapter 1

Brandon made his way down the bustling streets around the MacInnes castle, trying to remember where Marion and Logan’s house was. He hadn’t been there since he and Logan had left for battle almost two years prior; in quiet moments, he could admit to himself that it had been too difficult for him to watch them building a happy family together. The throbbing of the injury in his back was distracting him, but he welcomed it—he didn’t want to think about the jealousy that had kept him away for so long, or the bleak news that he was returning with.

Eventually, he found his way to the humble little house. The windows were warmly lit, and smoke puffed cheerfully from the chimney. It looked exactly like the kind of place that Marion would have made her home, and that thought made him ache. He made it to the threshold before he had to stop and take a deep breath. He hadn’t seen Marion for many years, and the news that he had to bring her was not exactly the type of reunion that he would have hoped for. But she was Logan’s wife, and she deserved to know what had happened to him. It was his duty to tell her, and so he knocked on the door. When she answered, his heart leaped into his throat.

 “Brandon? Is that ye?” she opened the door wider, revealing the cozy little home behind her.

She was just as stunning as he remembered her being—even with the strands of gray winding through her long reddish-brown hair, even with the ghosts of smile lines creeping up around her eyes, she was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen—his memory of her as clear as the truth which now stood before him.

“Hello Marion,” he managed to choke out.

She looked so happy to see him—it was going to break his heart to crush that in the way that he had to. The moment dragged out just a little longer than was comfortable before a distraction appeared. A small blonde head peered out from behind Marion’s skirt.

“Are ye a warrior?” the small boy asked him, looking up at him with eyes that were the spitting image of Marion’s endless green gaze.

Marion chuckled, reaching down to run her fingers through the boy’s hair.

 “This is Brandon. He’s a warrior alongside yer father. Say hello like a gentleman,” she chided him.

The boy stepped out from behind his mother and offered Brandon his impossibly tiny hand.

“Hello, my name is Evander. Pleased to meet ye,” he intoned, a comically serious expression furrowing his brow.

Brandon suppressed his laugh, reaching down to shake the boy’s hand.

“Tis’ a pleasure to meet ye, Evander. You’re a sight bigger than I remember ye! May I have a word with yer mother?” His gaze flicked back up to Marion, asking her permission.

“Evander, why don’t ye go next door and see if Angus wants to play for a while?” she said.

“Alright, mother!” the boy scampered out the door, winding around Brandon’s legs with speed that reminded him of Logan.

“May I come in?” he asked Marion.

“Of course,” she replied, stepping away from the door to allow him inside.

He removed his cloak, and she took it from him to hang near the fire. He sat down in a chair near the hearth, even though his back was screaming at him in pain. She sat on a small stool across from him, knotting her hands in her lap.

“What brings ye back home? I was nae expectin’ ye for some months yet. Dae ye have news of Logan?” she asked him, though there was something in her eyes which seemed expectant of what he was about to say.

He took a deep breath, wondering how to break the news.

“Marion… he’s gone. I’m so sorry,” he blurted out.

He had practiced these words dozens of times on the long ride back from the border, but now, faced with the woman he was now to make a widow, those practiced words seemed as nothing. The pause seemed to go on forever—Marion just sat there, the color draining from her face.

“How…” was the only word she could manage as tears ran down her cheeks.

She keeled forward on her stool, and Brandon had to lunge to catch her, holding her in his arms as she sank onto the rug in front of the hearth. He eased her into a sitting position, wrapping himself around her to give her whatever meagre comfort he could offer.

“What are we going to do now?” she asked through anguished sobs. The realization struck him like lightning—she was alone now.

Life was uncertain for widows in the clanoman alone had little prospect of work, and Marion had her son to care for, too. She felt helpless, alone, and in that moment, a gulf of despair opened before her, as she felt unable to face the uncertain future ahead.

“It… it will be alright in the end, lass. I’ll do what I can to help,” he promised.

Marion was dear to him in ways that he didn’t often want to admit, and he could not let her face the hardships of losing Logan alone. He would protect her—both for Logan’s sake and for his own. I’ll care for her, old friend. I won’t let her drown in her sorrows.

“What state is he in? When will I get him back?” she asked, still clutching his shirt as her tears flowed freely.

Cold slithered into his belly—they had never found a body. The English were savages, and there was no telling what parts of Logan had even been left for the wild beasts to pick over.

“Look, Marion, I’m so sorry, lass. The English… a lot of men will nae be coming home to us,” he said.

She looked up at him, beautiful eyes bloodshot and filled with agony.

“How am I going to tell Evander that his father is nae coming home? And that we will nae even have a grave to visit?” She started to sob again, burying her face in his shoulder.

He held her for a long time, knowing that his presence probably was not enough, feeling inadequate in his comfort, but wishing only to be close to her.

“He seems like a strong little lad. I’m sure he… he has ye to take care of him. Yer such a strong woman, Marion, you’ll get through this,” he reassured her.

His words felt hollow, but he knew she needed something from him in that moment. She kept sobbing, and he held her until her tears slowly morphed into sniffles.

“Brandon, I, oh…, I’m such a mess. I’m sorry for keeping ye. A warrior’s wife must be prepared for such a thing. I knew the dangers when ye all went troopin’ off across the moorlands,” she said, wiping her face with the sleeve of her dress.

When she looked back at him, he was struck by how lovely she was, even in the face of devastation. He wanted to tell her he would be there whenever she needed him, but something about the statement felt improper. After all, she was Logan’s widow.

“I’ll help you and little Evander in any way I can, lass,” he said instead.

She took his hand, and his heart thumped loudly against his chest.

“Yer a good man, Brandon. Thank ye,” she said.

The door opened abruptly, and Evander ran into the house. He plopped down next to his mother, and Brandon noticed just how much he looked like Logan.

“Angus was nae at home, but Sir Brandon, there is a man outside who said he’s looking for ye!” he said, looking pleased to have been entrusted with such a message.

Marion wrapped her arms around him, no doubt thinking about how the boy was her last figment of Logan, the one memory left for her to cling to.

“Ye’d best see who wants ye. Evander and I have to… talk for a while.” She looked up at him as he stood, taking his cloak from where she’d hung it.

He tried not to let on to how much his back screamed at him after sitting on the floor for so long.

“Daenae be a stranger?” she said.

It seemed like pleasantry on the surface, but underneath he could tell it was more of a plea. Don’t leave us alone without him. He nodded, trying to impart that he would be there whenever she needed him. He left the warmth of the house as Marion settled Evander in her lap, no doubt dreading giving the boy the bad news.

XXX

“Where have you been, lad? I have been looking everywhere for ye!” Alec was waiting for him in the square near Marion’s home, looking so annoyed that Brandon was sure he would never hear the end of it.

They had gotten to know one another on the battlefield, and Brandon counted him as a friend and fellow warrior, but he hadn’t expected to see him in the streets around the keep so soon.

“I had to go and inform Marion that we lost Logan on the battlefield,” Brandon explained. Alec wilted a little, folding his hands in front of him.

 “Ah. I suppose ye can be forgiven, then. But the council wants ye at the keep—they insisted,” he said.

Brandon had only been to a few council meetings in his time as a warrior for Clan MacInnes, and his presence had never been insisted upon before.

“What are they meeting about?” he asked, as they made their way toward the keep.

“I daenae know, but I think tis’ about the lairdship,” Alec replied, shrugging.

Brandon bowed his head—Laird MacInnes had died in the same battle which had claimed Logan, and the clan was still mourning his loss.

When they arrived at the great hall in MacInnes Keep, the entire council had gathered. Elders and warriors jostled for room around the large table as Oren, the clan’s high elder, called for order.

“Settle down, all of ye! As ye all know, Laird MacInnes has left this world. He will be sorely missed.” The council stood silent for a moment, mourning their fallen laird.

“But the fact remains—the clan must be led, and for that we need a new laird. Laird MacInnes left no suitable heirs behind, so we must elect someone best suited for the position.” Oren’s pale blue eyes scanned the room, touching upon each man in turn. “Nominations?”

Shouts resounded throughout the large room—men stepped forward, eager to prove themselves worthy of the lairdship. Brandon decided to stay put for the time being—he was not sure if he was suitable for the responsibility of being laird, and he could think of a dozen more men who would come before him.

“I’d be honored to take up the mantle o’ laird.” An elderly man stepped forward, his soft, measured voice echoing even in the noise of the room.

Brandon glanced over to see Gregory, his mentor, standing at the edge of the table. The man caught his eye and winked.

“But what happens when ye pass on, old man? We should have a young laird to ensure the safety of the clan for the next few decades!” someone called out. Gregory nodded, conceding this point.

“Tis’ true, I’m not the young man I once was. Perhaps we should have a younger laird. Let me see…” Gregory tapped his chin, mischief dancing in his black eyes. “What about young Brandon?”

Brandon felt all eyes in the room fall on him. He exchanged a glance with Gregory, who just looked on with a proud expression on his face. Murmurs rippled through the crowd, quickly building into calls of agreement.

“Brandon would make a good laird! He was noble in the battle against the English! He could protect us!” The calls built into a crescendo, only falling silent when Oren raised his hand for silence.

“Well then. It seems we have a solid nomination. Let’s have a vote, shall we? All in favor of Brandon as the new laird?” he asked.

Brandon looked over the crowd—he saw one hand go up, followed by another, then another. The number of votes startled him—surely there were better candidates. A bubble of panic swelled up in his chest, but he pushed it down. Oren stood silent, mouthing numbers as he counted the votes.

“Majority rules! Brandon, will ye accept the position as new laird of Clan MacInnes?” The old man’s eyes rested squarely on him. Brandon took a deep breath—there was no turning back after this.

He had never sought such responsibility, never courted the favor of the clan for his own ends. His only ambition had been to serve the MacInnes and do his duty. That was all he wanted. He was no leader, or so he told himself, and the thought of such a position filled him with dread. It was with the sword that Brandon commanded others, not with words, and now his heart sank at the sight of so many acclaiming him for a life he had never wished for.

“I’m honored by yer faith in me, and I hope to dae Clan MacInnes justice. I accept,” he replied. The room erupted in cheers. Gregory pushed his way through the crowd to slap Brandon on the back.

“Well done, lad! Ye’ll make a fine laird,” his mentor crowed. Brandon only managed a stiff smile, enduring the congratulations while his mind spun. What had he gotten himself into?

XXX

After the warriors and elders left the keep, Brandon found himself leaning against the wall in one of the hallways, trying to catch his breath. The lairdship… he still could not believe it. He heard the echo of a walking stick coming down the hall and looked up in time to see Gregory and Oren coming toward him.

“Ah, our new laird! How are ye holding up, lad? Excited?” Gregory asked, coming up to clap him on the shoulder.

Oren stood a bit further away, leaning on his stick and watching Brandon with his piercing gaze. They were each old, wizened, and gray, yet in their youth, each had been great and noble warriors. Gregory, the most skilled swordsman the clan had ever known, and Oren, an archer, feared across the land. Brandon was in awe of them, and he knew that despite their age, it was their counsel he would trust above all others.

“A bit overwhelmed, to be honest. Thank ye for yer faith, Councilman Oren.” Brandon nodded at the older man with respect, and Oren returned the gesture.

“Tis’ a big responsibility, the lairdship. Ye’ll be charged with keeping the clan in line. I think ye can dae it. But ask for help if yer struggling, understand? No man is an island,” Oren chided him. Brandon nodded, feeling a bit of the tension leave his shoulders.

“Thank ye, councilman. I’ll be in yer debt,” he reached out to shake the elder’s hand. Oren accepted the gesture before turning to Gregory.

“I’ll be taking my leave now. Keep an eye on our new laird, Gregory. And daenae get him into too much trouble, understand? I’ll have yer head.” The threat came off with a good-natured tone, and Gregory laughed, waving his friend off as he left the keep.

“Yer making yer way up in the world, lad. Laird of the clan! I cannae believe it!” Gregory said, continuing his jubilance as they took a walk around the keep.

Brandon observed his new home, trying not to be intimidated by the looming silhouette of the keep.

“Dae ye really think I can be what is needed, Gregory? After all, I’m nae a man of politics. I just fight for my clan,” Brandon admitted.

It was a strange sensation—he was more comfortable on the battlefield, facing a sea of Englishmen than he was at the thought of his coming responsibilities. Gregory stopped, turning to face his Brandon with a mixture of pride and determination in his expression.

“Now ye listen to me, lad. Ye are a fine warrior, and an even finer man. And I’m nae the only one that thinks so. We’ve elected ye as our laird, and we would nae have made that decision if we thought ye were unworthy of the position.” The older man wrapped a rickety arm around Brandon’s shoulders, strong and steady in his comfort.

Brandon sighed, breathing in the cool night air, and feeling his chest open fully for the first time since the council meeting.

“Thank ye, Gregory. I know ye’ll be of help to me should I need ye,” Brandon said, wrapping an arm around his mentor and squeezing him before letting go. Gregory grinned.

“And maybe we’ll finally be able to find ye a wife, ye eternal bachelor,” he teased. Brandon’s mind flicked immediately to Marion, and he blushed.

Chapter 2

Widow. The new title felt like a damp wool blanket around her shoulders—heavy, but lacking comfort. Evander had been unusually reserved since she’d broken the news to him; he hadn’t known his father very well, but he’d always admired him. He’d slept in her bed that night, curled close to her back with his thumb in his mouth. She hoped he would recover from this; though, she should probably be more worried about herself. What was she going to do now?

The morning after Brandon’s visit, she sent Evander to play at the neighbor’s house for a while so that she could think. She wrapped herself in a blanket and settled near the window. If she was honest with herself, she’d never been in love with Logan. He was a good husband, a good provider, but there had never been any sort of spark between them. She’d cared for him, true—he had been good to her and helped her bring her beautiful boy into the world. He’d made her feel safe, and as though the world had a place for her by his side. But the problem now was that they were unprotected. She knew how uncertain life could be for widows in the clan, and she worried about how she was going to continue caring for herself and Evander. Should she move? She could go back to her family’s farm in the outer clan lands, but she knew that they wouldn’t exactly be thrilled to see her.

As she got lost in her worries, a knock sounded at her door. She contemplated not answering it—surely, a grieving widow could be forgiven for not wanting visitors. She craned her neck toward the window, trying to see who it was before they knocked again.

“Marion?” Brandon’s voice rang out from her doorstep. Marion shot up from her chair, faster than she would rather admit.

She ran her hands through her mussed hair and opened the door.

“Good morning, Brandon. What brings ye round?” she asked.

He leaned on the doorframe, clearly favoring some injury that he’d gotten on the battlefield.

“Good morning. How are ye holdin’ up?” he asked, looking down at her with concern furrowing his brow.

She pulled the blanket further around her shoulders, suddenly aware of the morning chill.

“It was a hard night, I’ll admit. I’m just trying to figure out what we’re going to dae next,” she said. “Would ye like to come in?”

“Please. It’s freezin’ out here,” Brandon admitted.

She suppressed her smile as she stepped aside to let him in. He collapsed gratefully into the chair near the fire, and she went to bring him some warm milk.

“Where’s Evander gotten off to this morning?” he asked, looking around the small house for the boy.

“I sent him to Maren’s next door to play. He needs distractions from losing Logan, I think, a lad needs a father, tis’ a tragedy for him,” she replied.

“The poor little lad. It’ll take time, but he is strong, as was his father. I hope he’ll recover well enough,” Brandon mused, reaching for the fire poker to stoke the flames beneath the milk pan without being asked.

She watched him from the corner of her eye as she ladled out the milk from the pan, wondering what had brought him back so soon.

“I might have to go back and live with my parents for a while—they’ll be able to help with Evander while we rebuild our lives,” she admitted.

Was it shameful for her to wonder how he’d react to that? If he’d be sad to see her leave?
“Actually, that’s what I came to speak to ye about,” Brandon said.

She turned toward him, leaning against the counter to hear what he had to say.

“The council elected me for the lairdship last night.” Brandon looked a bit embarrassed to admit it, as if he hadn’t just been appointed to the highest position in the clan.

“Goodness, tis’ quite an honor, and ye so young, too. Congratulations! Ye’ll be a great laird, I’m sure,” Marion said, though something twisted in her stomach.

Surely, he’d be too busy for these visits soon… perhaps he’d even find himself a pretty, young wife now that he was laird. Brandon let out a soft laugh, almost as though he didn’t believe her.

“Thank ye, lass. I’m just hoping I daenae muck the whole clan up. But that is nae what I came to speak to ye about. I want ye to move into the keep with my family,” he said.

Marion stopped; she could not quite believe what she’d just heard. What was he asking of her?

“I… I mean, that’s truly kind o’ ye, Brandon, but what use would I be to ye?” she asked, studying his face for evidence of his intentions. Her heart beating irregularly in her chest.

“My mother is getting into her old age, and she needs a bit o’ help in her day-to-day life. I’d like to hire ye as her personal maid,” he said, looking up at her with a furrowed brow to see her reaction.

Marion tried to hide the way her heart felt—of course, he was not asking what she had hoped he would ask. She was Logan’s widow, and it was incredibly improper for her to even think about such things. Still, his offer was generous—being employed in the keep would ensure a good life for her son and protect them from the hardships that were befalling the clan. It was better than the alternative: to return to the moorlands and live with her parents, whose way of life she had long left behind in favor of the village, where she had lived since her youth, when she had come there seeking work, and found it in the bakery, kneading bread, and baking pies.

“Thank ye, Brandon. I’d love to be of help if I can,” she said, bowing her head. He stood up from his chair and approached her, reaching out to pat her shoulder.

“Well, I told Logan that I’d take care of ye and yer lad, and this arrangement should suit both of us,” he said, gracing her with his shy smile.

She put her hand on his arm; it felt like an age since she had been close to him, and it wrenched her heart in strange directions.

“I’ll be forever grateful for yer kindness, Brandon. Thank ye, truly,” she said. He nodded, smiling at her.

“I’ll have some men come to bring yer possessions to the keep in a few days,” he said, smiling at her again before taking his leave, refusing the offer of refreshment now his message had been imparted.

She watched him leave, trying to sort her tangled feelings. He was such a good man, but he’d made it clear that he was helping her because of a promise to Logan. He’d never see her as anything other than Logan’s widow, and she would just have to be happy with that.

XXX

“Daenae forget this, Mama!” Evander ran around the house, bringing her various items that he deemed important for them to bring to their new home.

She smiled, watching him apply his boundless energy to their move. It was good to keep him distracted from their grief; he was certainly handling it better than she was. She finished folding the blanket that she and Logan had been given on their wedding night, tucking it into the bottom of her trunk with a sigh. She tried to focus on the new days ahead, rather than dwelling on the past, but it was hard not to feel pangs of Logan’s absence. It was so strange—he’d left to wage war against the English almost two years before, but she’d never missed him as much as she did right then.

Evander appeared on the other side of the bed, regarding her with a furrowed brow.

“Mother, is Sir Brandon still going to visit us when we move to the keep?” he asked. I hope so, she thought, though she only smiled and nodded to her son, who gazed eagerly up at her.

“I daenae know, my darling. He’s the laird now, so he might be too busy for us for a little while,” she said.

She hoped that she’d see more of Brandon now that she would be caring for his mother, but she didn’t expect him to make special time for her.

“I hope he does. I want him to show me how to use a sword! Dae ye think he’d teach me if I asked polite?” Evander asked. She laughed, picturing her tiny boy trying to lift one of Brandon’s swords.

“I daenae know, but ye can ask him when we see him next,” she reached out to him, and he came to sit in her lap so that she could kiss the top of his head.

He was quiet for a while, watching her sort their clothing and fold it into their trunk. Occasionally, he’d ask her one of his incredibly important questions: were there frogs at the keep? What were the walls made of? Did moving into the keep make them nobles? She tickled him under the ribs, relishing in his perfect little laugh.

“I daenae know where ye get all these questions, lad. Off with ye now, go an’ pack yer things. The helpers will be here soon,” she stood him back on his feet and sent him off toward his cot, where he kept all of his most precious possessions.

She looked down and realized that she’d gotten to the bottom of their clothing basket—the only things left inside were Logan’s. Her pulse stilled for a moment; fresh grief washed over her. She could not imagine what it would have been like if he’d been the love of her life—missing him now was hard enough. She smoothed her hands over the neatly folded shirts and trousers and then moved them to pull out Logan’s old winter cloak. She’d made it for him before their wedding – she’d woven the deep blue cloth herself and embroidered the patterns along the hems. It had taken her months to finish it, but he’d only worn it a few times. She wrapped it around her shoulders—she was her family’s protector now, she supposed.

“Are ye ready, lass?” She started—Brandon was standing in the open doorway with another man behind him. She closed the clothing basket and stood up.

“As I’ll ever be. I thought ye’d be too busy to see us off,” she admitted, blushing. He smiled at her, making her heart strike her breastbone like a church bell.

“What kind of gentleman lets his oldest friend move by herself?” he teased, stepping into the house. She returned his smile as Evander ran up to him, tugging on the hem of his cloak.

“’Excuse me, Sir Brandon. Would ye teach me how to use a sword sometime? If yer nae too busy being laird?” he asked, tipping his little head all the way back to meet Brandon’s gaze.

Brandon kneeled to be at eye level with the boy.

“Fancy yerself a warrior, lad? Let’s see,” he wrapped his fingers around the boy’s bicep and squeezed playfully. “Well, ye seem pretty strong! I’ll tell ye what—if ye promise to be good for yer mother an’ help her with the whole move, no complain’ now, I’ll start teachin’ ye a little swordsmanship, how does that sound?”

“Really? Oh… did ye hear that, mother? Sir Brandon will teach me to use the sword, and I shall be a warrior like my father before me,” Evander said, jumping up and down in delight.

Marion smiled. He had the look of his father in his face—Logan’s wide eyes and proud forehead. He would always remind her of him.

“Ah, but ye must be a good lad, and nae disturb the laird when he is at his work. He does nae have time always for such things,” Marion said, glancing at Brandon, who smiled.

“What say, we step outside for a moment, lad, I have a few men here to help with yer mother’s things. Ye too, Marion, let the clansmen dae the work,” he said, nodding to the man he was with who summoned several others from outside.

Marion had few possessions to call her own—a trunk with their clothes in, a few sentimental items, nothing much to show for the years she had resided quietly in the cottage on the outskirts of the village. It had been a simple life, happy enough, but with the realization that she could hope for little more from life, even after Logan’s return. Now Marion had a chance for something new, and it felt like a grand adventure, both for her and for Evander.

“I want to hold yer sword,” Evander declared, as they stepped out into the sunshine.

“Now, Evander, there is a word we use when we ask for somethin’ is there nae?” Marion said, raising her eyebrows to Evander, who looked embarrassed.

“Please…” he said, and Brandon laughed.

“I think it may be too heavy for ye, but we can try,” he said, pulling out the broadsword he had at his belt and wielding it up for Evander to see.

The sight reminded Marion of those moments of bravado which she had witnessed between Logan and Brandon in the past. There had always been a friendly rivalry between them, though Brandon had always been the very model of chivalry. Now, he held out the sword to Evander, holding the flat of the blade as the boy took the hilt grip in hand.

“See, mother, I can hold it,” Evander said, and suddenly Brandon let go of the blade, Evander lurching forward and falling flat on his face.

“A little more practice, lad, but one day ye will,” Brandon said, helping him to his feet.

Marion smiled. She knew that with Logan gone, Evander would need a father-figure, someone to teach him all the things she could not. It was a vain hope, of course, for she knew that with Brandon as laird, no end of women would be seeking his favors. He would soon be married and have his own family, children to call his own. But for now, she would be content with her lot, content with the offer which Brandon had made, and which she had agreed to.

“I want to try again,” Evander said, and Brandon picked up the sword and now kneeled at his side.

“Clasp it like this,” he said, holding Evander’s hands around the hilt, and raising up the blade so it was vertical to their faces.

“See, mother, I can hold it, I can be a warrior like my father,” Evander said, sounding extremely proud of himself.

“And we shall teach ye to fire a bow and arrow, and to fight alongside the clan,” Brandon said, lowering the sword and patting Evander on the head.

“Thank ye, Sir Brandon, did ye hear that, mother?” Evander cried out, and he jumped up and down in delight as Brandon came to Marion’s side.

“Thank ye for givin’ him somethin’ else to think about than his father. Tis’ nae easy for him now, but ye have helped him—ye have helped me, too. I daenae know what we would have done if it were nae for yer offer,” she said, and Brandon blushed.

She had seen that look before. He did not care for compliments, embarrassed at being singled out for praise, and she could only imagine how bearing the wait of the lairdship now felt.

“Logan was my dearest friend, and I always vowed to him that if anythin’ happened… well, I would take care of ye and Evander. I hope he remembered that in those last moments, for surely it was ye who was on his mind,” he said.

Marion sighed. It pained her to think of it, more so because of the mystery surrounding Logan’s death. There was no body, and without a body, there could be no grave. The priest had said prayers for Logan’s soul, but Marion had felt bereft of any chance to say goodbye, her mind still filled with so many questions as to what had happened to her husband on that fateful day.

“I’m sure he did, and I’m sure he would be grateful to know what ye have done for me, Brandon… laird, I mean,” she said, blushing as he laughed.

“Please, Marion, ye daenae have to think of me as laird over ye. We have always been friends, and I am only glad that now I can help ye in yer hour of need—and the lad, too. He is a bonnie thing and make nay mistake,” he said, glancing over to where Brandon was questioning the men carrying Marion’s possessions out of the cottage.

“And ye are really warriors?” he asked, and the men laughed.

“Aye, when we are nae doing the laird’s biddin’ elsewhere,” one of them said.

“Come now, Marion, we shall return to the keep and see to yer quarters. Will ye miss the cottage?” Brandon asked, pointing along the track toward the village.

Marion glanced back at home she had made with Logan and Evander. It held many memories for her, but the sight was tinged with tragedy, too. She would never forget that it was here—at Brandon’s words—that her world was turned upside down, the death of Logan meaning her future was uncertain and bewildering. Now, it felt as though a chapter of her life was closing and a new one opening. She smiled and took his arm, shaking her head as she did so.

“I would dae if I were returnin’ to my parents’ croft, but nay, I will nae miss it. I am going to somethin’ better, and tis’ all thanks to ye,” she replied, setting her face forward, eager for what now lay ahead.

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