Page 34 of The Heather Wife
Chapter 28
Elder MacRae
Elder MacRae stood with the other elders, the wind biting through his plaid as the clan crowded into the courtyard. His breath smoked in the air as he looked toward the dais, bracing for the grim work ahead. Yet what caught him first was not the gallows creaking under the weight of the dead, nor the silence of the gathered folk—it was his son.
Calum.
When the doors of the keep had opened and he first emerged, Domnhall thought his eyes deceived him. His son, who had sulked in silence and spurned Sorcha’s counsel at every turn, now strode across the courtyard to take his place beside her on the dais. A ripple of surprise passed through the crowd—some murmured, others nodded in approval—but the message was plain: the laird’s son had chosen to stand with his wife, though no word passed his lips.
His chest tightened. Pride warred with regret.Too late, lad. Too much damage done. But perhaps not beyond mending.
At his side, Elder MacFarlane leaned close, voice pitched low. “Spoke with him this morning over porridge. Told him of John’s attack on Sorcha last night—he knew nothing of it. Encouraged him to stand with her here.”
That ignorance stung him deeply. His son had been so out of touch—so willfully blind—that he hadn’t even known his own wife had been assaulted, her life nearly taken.
When Sorcha lifted her hand and the square hushed, her words rang out steady as steel. He watched the faces of the clansfolk as she passed judgement—grief eased into grim satisfaction, trust flickered where once there had been doubt. Justice had returned to Strathloch, and it wore Sorcha’s plaid.
He glanced again at Calum. The tightness in his jaw told its own tale. And when Elspeth was dragged forth, screaming, Domnhall caught the flicker of pain in his son’s eyes. He pitied him then. But he had warned him time and again: no laird’s son could tie himself to a woman of the clan. If hadn't been betrothed to Sorcha, it would have been another laird’s daughter—alliances, not affections, forged their futures. Calum had clung to a childish dream, and it had nearly cost them all.
When at last the courtyard emptied and Sorcha withdrew, He found Calum still rooted in place, staring into the distance. He moved to his son’s side.
“Son.”
Calum did not look at him. “I am quite well, Father. Or so I keep telling myself.” His breath left him slow and ragged. “I thought I would feel more when Elspeth was dragged to the noose. But I did not. I felt sorrow for my friend… but my heart remains intact. What I feel instead is the weight of my own mistakes. I have failed too many—for too long.”
Domnhall studied him quietly.
“When Elder MacFarlane told me this morning that John had attacked Sorcha,” Calum went on, “I felt something I haven’t let myself feel in years—worry. Not for the Regent of Strathloch, not for the clan’s champion… but for my wife.” At last he turned, a wry smile tugging faintly at his lips. “I’ve seen her in the woods at night. Practicing with sword and bow. I watched her more than once. She is formidable. I knew it then. I know it now.”
He laid a hand heavy on his son’s shoulder. “Do ye know why her father sought alliance through betrothal all those years ago?”
Calum shook his head.
“Glenbrae had been raided. Sorcha was ten. Her mother slain before her eyes. The lass was told to hide, but she did not. She came out when she heard her mother’s cries. She took up a blade and killed the man who slew her mother.” His voice softened, edged with awe. “Eoin told me the tale himself, grief and pride warring in his eyes. That is why she was trained by her father and brothers. That is why she is the future of Strathloch. She is strong. She is brave. She is all we will need.”
He tightened his grip, his gaze steady. “If you would stand beside her, you must earn it. She has already proven herself. Now you must do the same.”
Calum’s face was drawn, thoughtful, but he nodded. Slowly, heavily.
***
Calum
When his father left him, Calum’s steps carried him not toward the hall, but toward the stocks. The iron still gleamed where chains had been unfastened, damp with the sweat of those who had knelt there in shame. His gaze lifted, unflinching now, to the gallows where Elspeth’s body swayed in the wind.
His jaw clenched, but he did not look away.I called her the wife of my heart. I gave her power she never should have had. Had I not clung so blindly, perhaps she would never have dared reach so high—or fallen so far.
In the silence of the square, Calum bowed his head. For the first time, he shouldered the truth: her blood was not hers alone, but his as well.
And he swore he would not turn aside again.
Chapter 29
Calum
Three days had passed since the nooses had swung, and still Calum heard the gallows creak when the wind turned. The bodies were long buried beyond the walls, yet their presence clung to the courtyard like a shadow. More than once, he found himself drawn back to the place where the scaffold had stood. He told himself it was to look upon the square, to measure how the clan fared. But the truth was simpler. He came to remember—to feel the shame that should have seen him swinging beside them.
Elspeth. Liam. Even John. Their crimes were their own, aye—but Calum had given Elspeth room to scheme, had handed her his ear when all others warned him away. He had called her the wife of his heart and let that folly blind him. He wondered how many of his people held him directly responsible for the attack on their clan—and if Sorcha were not the woman she was, perhaps the rope would have been his as well, for failing to guard his folk.
