Page 14 of The Heather Wife
Years had passed since her brothers first pressed a bow and sword into her hands after the raid that stole her mother. Yet she could still summon the stink of smoke, the crackle of burning thatch, and the weight of a scavenged blade in her fist as she drove it into the man who had struck her mother down. From that night on, the lessons from her father and brothers became both shield and salvation. Now, with every pull of the bowstring or swing of her sword, she carried memory and vowalike—that none under her care would ever suffer as she had.
But the gossip spread, like wildfire caught on dry brush. Elspeth—slippery and cruel—having seen Sorcha leave the keep one night—had taken to whispering in corners, planting seeds of doubt among the keep’s folk.
“Did ye see her leave again last night?” a servant murmured, voice thick with suspicion.
“Where might the Lady be wanderin’ so late?” another fretted.
And so the glances grew colder, the tongues sharper, as the people wondered what business their Lady kept beyond the keep’s walls in the dark hours.
Sorcha heard the murmurs but bore them silent. It was a burden worn deep in her bones—and one she would carry to her last breath.
Then came the night the horns shattered the stillness—clamorous calls that set the keep to alarm and battle.
Raiders had come upon Glenbrae.
The clang of armor and hurried footsteps filled the stone halls, voices shouting orders and prayers alike.
Sorcha, who had been returning to the keep after practicing her skills heard the horns and ran toward her clan, shedding her cloak as she came. She carried a longbow on her shoulder, a quiver on her back, and a sword at her hip—the tools of a warrior born not of rank, but of fire and hardship.
“To arms!” she called, voice steady and clear. “Hold the gates! Protect the stores! None shall pass this night!”
With many of their warriors fighting battles away from the keep, hands that once tended grain now grasped weapons, faces once cold now looked to her for strength.
She moved among them like the wild wind, steadying the fearful, rallying the fighters.
Steel met steel beneath the moonlight, but Sorcha’sheart was iron.
Coming up behind a dark shadow preparing to strike one of the kitchen maidens, Sorcha drew her bow and loosed an arrow. The shaft struck true, piercing the raider’s neck and sending him crashing to the ground. She waited only a moment to ensure he was dead before turning to the frightened lass. Meeting her wide eyes, she urged, “Get inside the keep—now.”
Without hesitation, Sorcha sprinted back into the fray. The clash of steel, the stench of fear and smoke, the cries of her people around her—it all threatened to drag her back to the raid of her childhood, when she had sat at her mother’s side, half listening to gentle lessons on what it meant to be Lady of the clan. But this time she was no bairn clutching a rusted blade, no frightened girl left to fate. The bow at her shoulder and the sword at her hip were hers by vow and by skill, hard-won through blood and loss. For all the whispers and scorn, in this moment she was no mere Lady. She was Strathloch’s true shield.
Chapter Eight
Elspeth Dunn- Age Five and Twenty years
She had begged him not to do it, using every charm that had ever worked before—a tear on her cheek, a hand at his sleeve, soft-spoken lies wrapped in sweetness.
The memory clung like a thorn in her chest—her voice trembling, Calum's expression resolute.
"Run away with me," she had whispered. "We'll find a new life, one not shackled by your title or duty."
But he had refused. Said that, as his father's only child, he could never shame the MacRae name or turn his back on Strathloch.
Of course, Elspeth had known Calum was betrothed—he had been promised for eight long years—but so long as the wedding remained a distant promise, she could pretend it wasn't real.
When the date for the wedding was finally set, it felt as though someone had slammed a heavy door—and locked it tight behind her.
From that moment on, something in Elspeth curdled. Bitter and sharp, like cream soured in the sun.
So when Calum—sweet, soft-headed Calum—offered her a chance to make Sorcha's new life as Lady MacRaeunbearable, Elspeth smiled sweetly and accepted.
He had even said, "If ye need to get your own back for what she's taken from ye, I won't stand in your way."
So she did.
And Elspeth began to carve her revenge with a whisper and a lie.
She took credit for Sorcha's work, turned her quiet acts of care into twisted tales of ambition, and sowed seeds of doubt among the servants.
