Page 32 of The Heather Wife
He set his jaw and moved forward, his boots striking the packed earth of the courtyard until he reached the dais. The murmurs rose—surprise, uncertainty, maybe even respect—but he kept his gaze forward. Whatever judgment Sorcha passed this day would be hers alone. His place here was not to guide her, but to stand with her—to show her, and their people, that she would not face it without him.
“Bring the marauders forth,” Sorcha called into the hushed courtyard.
Six guards moved to obey, vanishing through the keep doors. A few breaths later they returned, boots scraping against the stones as they dragged prisoners in their wake—mud-streaked, hollow-eyed, and beaten.
Calum did not know thesemen’s faces from Adam. These raiders had invaded his clan, pillaging and murdering five of his kinfor the promise of supplies and coin in exchange for his wife’s death.
A heaviness settled in his chest as he looked upon them. Once, he might have pitied them—called them desperate men driven by hunger and lies. But not now. He had learned that mercy, when given without wisdom,only weakens those who offer it.
The guards forced the raiders to their knees before the dais. The crowd pressed closer, breath held, the weight ofvengeance hanging thick as fog.
Calum set his jaw, steadying himself. He would not speak, not unless asked. Today was hers to command. But when Sorcha's shoulders drew inward, tightening under some silent unseen burden, he shifted closer, enough that she would feel his strength at her side.
Sorcha looked over the prisoners, then to the gathered crowd. Her voice did not tremble.
“You came upon our lands with promises of coin and plunder in exchange for my death,” she said, her voice carrying clear across the courtyard. “Instead, you brought devastation. You spared no blade, chose no victim. Men, women, and children fell beneath your hands. You broke the laws of men, and the laws of honour. You burned our homes, bled our kin, and filled our nights with fear.”
She paused then, letting the silence stretch, her gaze cold as iron. “The blood spilled here is on your hands. The lives taken will not return. And the punishment for such greed and betrayal…”—her tone fell to a low, steady finality—“…is death.”
Her words struck the crowd like a blow—no cheers, no dissent. Only the grim silence of agreement.
The guards moved forward, dragging the condemned to the gallows. Ropes were fixed and tightened around each neck, the rough hemp creaking in the cold air. A single order was given. Boxes were kicked away.
The sound—wood striking stone, rope snapping taut—echoed through the courtyard. A crow startled from the wall, its harsh cry lost to the wind as the bodies swayed, boots dangling above the stones.
He let out a long, steady breath when it was done.Sorcha did not flinch. Her eyes swept the gathered crowdonce, then shifted back to the doors of the keep—where eight guards now stood at attention, waiting.
The air thickened again.
His chest constricted.
He knew who would be called next.
Chapter 27
Sorcha
The gallows groaned as the boxes beneath the criminals’ feet were kicked away. Three bodies dropped, ropes creaking, and a gasp broke from the clansfolk. The sound of their necks snapping—the last breath wrenched away—echoed like a chill in Sorcha’s bones.
For a moment, silence blanketed the square. Then voices rose like a tide. Some wept openly, some whispered prayers and crossed themselves, others nodded grimly to one another. Relief softened worn faces, for two long months those men had rotted in Strathloch’s cells, a festering reminder of blood and loss. At last, justice had been seen. Perhaps healing could begin.
Her gaze swept the crowd once more before she turned to the keep’s great doors. Eight guards stood ready now instead of six, their eyes keen on the crowd as they awaited her next orders. She drew her plaid closer, chin lifting against the sharp wind.
“Bring forth the remaining prisoners.”
At her side came the sharp intake of breath—Calum. His presence beside herunsettled her still, a weight she couldnot quite shake.He had avoided her as doggedly since his return as she had him. Even after she had declared before all that she would hear his counsel on the fate of the prisoners—his old friends, his beloved—he had not come to her. And yet here he stood, stiff at her side, his jaw tight. She could not read his thoughts, but the strain in his face told her he would rather have been anywhere else.
A metallic rattle split the air, followed by the scrape of boots. The crowd’s murmur swelled, heads craning as the first prisoner appeared.
Elspeth.
Her hair hung in greasy tangles, her gown torn and soiled. The chains at her wrists and ankles clanked with each thrash of her limbs as the guards half-dragged, half-carried her into the light. Her scream pierced the courtyard, shrill and frantic, as her eyes fell upon the swaying bodies already at the gallows.
Behind her came Liam and Niall, heads bent, their steps dragging. Thin, pale, gaunt with hunger and confinement—both bore the hollow look of men who had spent too long in darkness. Sorcha’s gut twisted. Their judgement should have come months ago. Had Calum done his duty, they need not have rotted so long in the cells.His neglect had become her burden—and now, her task to finish.
Chains clinked like grim music as they were walked forward.
Last came John. His booming voice carried over the square, drowning even his daughter’s cries. “Release my children! Release me, damn ye all! She’s a witch! She’ll curse this clan!” He bucked against the guards, nearly throwing them aside.
