Page 59 of The Heather Wife
Calum arched a brow. “Aye?”
“Katherine,” he admitted. “The one Sorcha trained with the bow. She’s fierce as a hawk and twice as beautiful. I’d never thought to want a woman who could best me at every argument, but saints help me, I do.”
Calum chuckled — a low sound that pulled at his stitches but felt worth it. “Ye’ve a taste for trouble, then.”
Duncan grinned. “Mayhap. Or sense enough to admire a woman who speaks her mind.”
Calum’s expression softened. “That’s a rare wisdom, Duncan. Hold to it.”
Duncan blinked, half-laughing. “What’s this? Advice from my laird?”
Calum smiled faintly, then winced as pain lanced through his chest. “Aye. And now I’ll give ye another task before I start soundin’ like an old man tellin’ tales.”
“Name it.”
“I need a letter sent to Glenbrae — to Laird Eoin MacAlasdair himself.”
Duncan’s brows rose. “Sorcha’s father?”
Calum nodded. “Aye. There are still raiders unaccounted for — those that fled the field. They’ll no’ vanish into the hills without leavin’ sign. I want Glenbrae to keep watch and send word if any pass their borders.”
Duncan shifted, uncertain. “Ye’d have me write it?”
“My hand’s not fit for quill work yet,” Calum said dryly. “I’d trust ye to take it down clean.”
The man reached for the parchment on the healer’s table. “Then tell me what to say.”
Calum leaned back, closing his eyes briefly before beginning. His words came slow but steady:
“To Laird Eoin MacAlasdair of Glenbrae — greetings from Calum MacRae of Strathloch.
Raiders from the northern border attacked our lands four nights past. Some were slain, others fled. We’ve reason to believe a few crossed southward, perhaps through your glens.
Be wary — they bear no colors but carry steel enough to do harm.
Should they pass near Glenbrae, I beg you send word, that we might hunt them together and see the borders kept.
Strathloch stands ready to aid Glenbrae, as we know Glenbrae would aid us.”
Duncan looked up. “And how would ye have me sign it?”
Calum hesitated a moment, then said quietly, “Add this — tell him that though he’s sent no word since our marriage, his daughter lives, and fought bravely. She was the first to sound the alarm that saved the keep.”
Duncan’s eyes warmed. “He’ll take pride in that.”
“Aye,” Calum said. “He should. She deserves to be seen for what she is.”
When Duncan finished, he sanded the ink and folded the parchment, sealing it with wax. “I’ll see it sent before nightfall.”
“Thank ye,” Calum said. “And Duncan—”
“Aye?”
Calum’s voice dropped. “What ye said before — about Katherine. She’s a fine woman. If she makes ye happy, don’t waste time second-guessin’ it.”
Duncan smiled wryly. “Ye sound like a man speakin’ from experience.”
Calum’s gaze drifted toward the door, where the faintest echo of Sorcha’s laughter carried back from the hall — a rare, tired sound, but real. “Aye,” he said quietly. “Maybe I am.”
