Page 21 of The Heather Wife
Even if she had no idea what tomorrow might bring.
Chapter 12
Elspeth
She wasn't sure how long she'd been locked in this damp, stinking cell. Days? Weeks? Time had blurred into one endless stretch of cold stone and the drip of water from the eaves. The air tasted of mildew and sweat; even the straw in her pallet had gone sour. She was filthy, her dress ruined, her hair tangled, and she longed for her bed—longed for home. Where was Calum? Had he not returned from Glenbrae yet? Why had he no' come for her?
She refused to speak whenever Elder MacRae came to question her. Let the auld man glower and spit his disapproval; she'd give him naught but silence.Silence could be a weapon if wielded right—let him rage into the quiet and wear himself out.
Her brother sat in the cell beside her, the traitor having sung like a lark the first chance he got. She wouldn't be forgetting that betrayal any time soon. She watched him sometimes in the dim, the way his shoulders curled in guilt and fear; it made her blood run colder than the stone. And in the next was Niall, the guard who she'd paid to abandon his post—and he had done the same, turning coat the moment the elder had pressed him.
When a guard escorted a lass with a trencher to her cell a few times a day, not a word passed between them. She kent the women and girls who came—they'd been her friends once, whisperin' over the looms and laughing on market days.Now their eyes slid past her like rain on a window; even their hands trembled when they set down the food. They wouldna even meet her gaze. Aye, the whole of Strathloch kent well enough what she'd been accused of... what she was guilty of.
She had overheard that a few of their clansfolk had perished in the attack. That hadn't been part of her plan. She'd told the raiders clear as day that no harm was to come to the folk of Strathloch—only Sorcha. But how could she prove such a thing now? Blood had been spilled that should ne'er have touched the earth, and the weight of it gnawed at her, though she kept telling herself it wasna her fault.
Three more cells were filled with the surviving raiders—the men she had allowed to tear into her clan like wolves. They would all stay locked down here until Calum returned. Elder MacRae had made that much clear. Then, the criminals would speak their truths before the laird himself.
And when that day came... well, she couldn't let it end with a noose around her neck.
She lay awake on the hard stone, plotting and twisting words in her mind. Mayhap she'd tell Calum the raiders had threatened her, forced her hand under pain o' death. Or that Sorcha had bribed her brother and the guard herself, setting poor Elspeth up to take the fall.She practiced the wet, trembling voice of a woman ruined by fear; she practiced the look of someone broken by violence. A tearful tale of fear and helplessness might do the trick... aye, Calum had ever been soft for a weeping lass.
Or better still, she could say Sorcha had arranged thewhole bloody attack to play the hero, knowing the folk would fall at her feet for it. Aye, that sounded clever. All she had to do was plant the seed, play the poor, broken-hearted victim... and Calum would believe her. He always believed her.
She clung to that thought like a drowning woman to driftwood. If she spun the right lie, if she cried the right tears, she might still have him. She might still keep her place. And Sorcha—the interloping MacAlasdair stray—would be cast out like the mongrel she was.
Night after night she rehearsed the lines, turning the lies until they felt believable even to her own mouth. In the dark, the cold stone seemed to listen, and she told it the story until it was slick and ready.
And when that day came, Elspeth swore she'd not be the one the noose claimed.
Chapter 13
Calum
The road home stretched long and narrow before them, a ribbon of packed earth winding through the Highland hills. Two months gone, and every mile weighed heavier than the last. Calum rode at the head of his men, the weight of his sword and the ache in his bones a reminder that even victory demanded its price.
When the MacAlasdair rider had thundered into Strathloch's yard with Glenbrae's crest snapping on his cloak, Calum hadn't hesitated. War on Glenbrae's borders meant allies were bound to rise—that had been the whole purpose of his father's treaty, the very reason he'd wed Sorcha MacAlasdair. The pact between their clans wasn't just words on parchment; it was meant to hold firm in blood and steel when the call came.
And come it had.
The border feud had turned bloody fast, spilling like wildfire across Glenbrae's lands. Weeks of long nights, bitter skirmishes, and steel clashing under gray skies had driven the invaders back. By some mercy, none of his or Glenbrae's men had fallen, though blood had run in the fields where strangers dared cross their borders.
Now the land behind them lay quiet once more,Glenbrae's hold secure. Peace, hard-won and fragile, settled over the hills as Strathloch's banners came into sight.
Calum's chest tightened. He told himself it was relief, the ache of longing for home. He looked forward to seeing Elspeth, his father, his own folk. Though two months felt long, in truth it wasn't so much time—short enough a time that he expected to ride into his courtyard and find all as it had ever been: his father steady in his place, his people thriving, the keep unchanged.
At the first of Strathloch's gates, the guards spotted them, swinging the timber wide. They gave a quick nod and wave before letting the party through. Calum noticed the lack of cheer but shoved the thought aside, eager to set eyes on his kin again.
When they reached the heart of the village, folk emerged from doorways, gathering slowly. They had known the returning party would be home before sunset, but not exactly when, so some came running late to greet them. Faces lit with joy as wives and mothers and others spotted their kin—but Calum noted, with a twinge, that a few of his warriors had no loved ones waiting where once there had been.
He searched the crowd for Elspeth. For his father. For Sorcha. But only his clansfolk's familiar faces met his gaze—not the ones he longed to see—and none stepped forward to greet him.
Dismounting, Calum handed his reins to a stable lad who ran forward without a word. It was then he noticed it—scorch marks blackening the stone of one of the nearby homes. His eyes swept the courtyard. Another building with a notably new thatch roof. More subtle signs of recent repairs caught his attention, and a silent weight settled in his chest. Something ill had passed through here.
At last, his father strode toward him, slower than Calum remembered, but his spine was still straight, his presence still commanding. The old laird clapped his son's shoulder with his good hand.
"By the saints, lad, 'tis a blessing to see ye hale and whole," his father said, voice rough but steady.
"And you as well, Da," Calum replied, his unease sharpening as his gaze lingered on the quiet scars of violence past. "God's truth, what's happened here? It looks as though Strathloch's seen misfortune in my absence."
