Page 37 of The Heather Wife
A grim smile ghosted his father’s mouth, with no mirth in it. “Then ye earn it. Day upon day. Mistake upon mistake. And if she never does forgive, ye’ll still have done what’s right by her—and by Strathloch.”
From the yard came the steady ring of hammer on iron, the new blacksmith at his work. The rhythm echoed through the stone, each blow falling like judgment. Calum flinched at the sound. Sorcha’s words came back to him: To kill Niall would have been like killing you.
He bowed his head, his father’s counsel settling on him like a brand seared deep. The past couldna be undone. But mayhap—just mayhap—he could yet forge something new.
Chapter 32
Sorcha
She had grown used to it now—Calum’s shadow dogging her steps through the keep. If she went to the kitchens, he appeared soon after. When she returned from the healer’s hut, there he was crossing the yard. And in the great hall, she need only lift her eyes from her trencher to find his gaze fixed on her from a distance.
At first it had unsettled her, a reminder of old wounds and broken trust. But as the days passed, she learned to steady herself against it. If he would linger like a ghost, she would give him flesh and form.
This morn, she decided to turn the game.
Instead of taking her usual place near the hearth, Sorcha walked the length of the hall and set herself down at the bench where Calum already sat. A hush rippled over those nearby; she felt it but did not flinch. She folded her skirts neatly and reached for the oatcakes, her movements calm, measured, as though this had been her habit all along.
Calum stiffened, though he said nothing. He looked at her as though she had laid a blade between them rather than a trencher of bread.
“Good morn,” she said evenly, breaking her fast as ifnothing were amiss.
“Aye,” he answered, cautious. “Morn.”
They ate in silence for a time, the murmur of the hall swelling around them. At last Sorcha set her knife aside and turned to him.
“There is something I would ask of ye.”
He straightened, wary. “Ye dinna need my leave. You are Regent now. The ground is as much yours as mine.”
She held his gaze, steady. “Aye, I am Regent. But I’ve no wish to make a war between us, Calum. We are wed, whether ye would have it or no. I’d rather we stand shoulder to shoulder than snap at each other’s heels.”
Something flickered across his face—regret, raw and unguarded. His voice dropped low. “Then let me say plain what I’ve not had the courage to before. I wish to ken you, Sorcha. I wish to take back the harm I’ve done, the scorn I laid upon you. I would not see us enemies.”
Her throat tightened, but she forced herself to meet him without flinching. “Since our first meeting years ago I believed you no better than my own people at Glenbrae—folk who looked at me and saw only what I might give them. Skill, service, obedience. Never once did they think to grant me kindness in return, or treat me as more than Lady Glenbrae. I am more than my duty, and I’ll not be unseen again, Calum. Not by you, nor by any other.”
He bowed his head, shame stark on his face. “Then tell me how to begin.”
She drew in a slow breath. “I learned to battle out of necessity, and others here feel the same need. Begin with this. The women of Strathloch have come to me—Katherine the laundress, Morag from the kitchens, the miller’s daughters, and at least ten others. They remember too well the raid, when the warriors were away at Glenbrae and they were left vulnerableto attack. They’ll not be left so again. They’ve asked me to teach them—to use the longbow, the blade, thestave(staff). I’ve trained them as I could, in my own space, but it isna enough. They need space. Order. And they need you to stand beside them.”
Calum’s brows lifted. “Me? You’ve more skill than most of my men.”
“Aye, but they need to see their laird, too,” Sorcha pressed, her voice firm. “Let them ken he stands with them, that he sees their worth no less than the men who march to battle. Teach them swordsmanship if you will. Or only stand in the yard and lend your weight to what I do. But show them you are theirs. That is how you begin.”
Her pulse quickened even as she said it. This was the test—whether he would rise or turn away again.
Silence stretched between them, heavy with all that had not yet been said. At last Calum nodded, slow and deliberate.
“Then I will stand with ye.”
Sorcha inclined her head, though her chest remained tight. “Good. Then let us show them together.”
She rose then, smoothing her skirts, and left him at the bench. His words had sounded true, but words alone had never been enough. As she crossed the hall, she felt the weight of eyes upon her and wondered—not for the first time—if Calum would truly follow through. Or if come the morrow, she would stand in the yard alone.
Chapter 33
Calum
The council chamber still smelled of steel and sweat from the morning’s drills. Calum sat at the long table with Duncan and two of his other seasoned warriors, men he trusted to speak plain. A map of the glen lay spread between them, though his thoughts were not on raids or patrols this day.
