Page 68 of The Heather Wife
Eoin’s brow lifted. “I am not surprised to hear that, Sorcha’s always had a strong head. Always doin’ for others, though she seldom spoke for herself.”
“Aye,” Calum said quietly. “That hasn’t changed.” He took a drink, weighing his next words. “She’d no' tell ye herself, so I’ll say it plain. She’s been the strength of Strathloch this past year. When she came here, she thought she’d found her place. Instead, she was given to me as part of an agreement neither of us wanted. And ye’re no’ the only one who’s let her down. I am guilty of that as well.”
Eoin’s gaze hardened. “That was the way of things. For peace between our clans—”
“Peace at the cost of her peace,” Calum cut in, his tone calm but steady. “Did ye ever stop to think what that meant for her? After her mother died, she carried Glenbrae on her shoulders. Acted as your lady until your eldest married and another woman took the honor from her. She gave everything, and still, she was treated as duty—useful, but never essential.”
He leaned forward slightly, his voice low. “She was of worth to your clan, aye—but she’s vital to mine. That’s why I allowed your visit: so ye could see her here, see her belongin’. To see a people who love her not for what she gives, but for who she is. And to give her the chance to show ye what it cost her—to be made a duty instead of a daughter.”
Eoin’s jaw worked, pride and shame warring across his face.
Calum didn’t relent. “Ye’ll say the clan must come first—and it should. But when she gave herself to it, shedeserved to be valued by it. Ye and yours did neither. I left the choice of your welcome to her, and if she finds your words lacking, I’ll see you walked to the gate myself and left outside to think on it in the cold.”
The silence that followed was deep enough to hear the fire crackle.
At last, Eoin exhaled. “Ye think I never cared for her?”
Calum’s expression softened, though his voice stayed firm. “I think ye didn’t show it when she needed it most.”
Eoin’s hands tightened around his mug. “She was my heart,” he said quietly. “But after her mother died… I didn’t ken how to speak to her. She reminded me too much of what I’d lost. I thought she’d be better off without my shadow hangin’ over her.”
Calum’s voice gentled, though his gaze stayed fixed. “Then tell her that. She carries that silence like a wound that’s never healed—and she’ll no’ open it herself. She’d sooner bleed dry than ask for comfort.”
Eoin’s gaze drifted toward the door, as though he could see her through the walls. “Aye,” he murmured. “She always was like that. Stoic as a winter hill, heart on her sleeve for everyone but herself.”
Calum nodded slowly. “Then hear me, Laird—what she is now, she built with her own hands. She’s more than a daughter of Glenbrae. She’s the heart of Strathloch. The people love her. They follow her. And I—” he stopped, the words almost catching—“I love her too. Fiercely. I asked ye here so ye could see that with your own eyes. So she’d have the chance to be seen for the woman she’s become, not just the lass ye remember.”
Eoin stared into the fire, his face unreadable for a long time. Then, quietly, “I am glad I made the betrothal agreement with your father.”
Calum’s brow rose. “How’s that?”
“Because of you,” Eoin said quietly. “I’m glad my daughter has a champion—a man who speaks plain, but with honor. Ye said ye did her wrong once, and what man hasn’t made his share of mistakes? But I can see ye tryin’ to be better. And for that, I’m grateful.”
Calum’s jaw eased a fraction. “She’ll be joinin’ us for supper. I’d ask ye, when she does—dinnae hide behind formality. She’s no' yer duty to correct or to praise. She’s yer daughter. Let her see that.”
Eoin nodded once, slow. “Aye. I’ll do that.”
Calum rose, offering his hand. “Good. Then come, Laird. Let’s share a meal and give her a Yule worth rememberin’.”
Eoin took the hand, his grip firm despite the years. “Aye, MacRae. Lead the way.”
Chapter 49
Sorcha
The courtyard hummed with life.
Sorcha walked the familiar path toward the training grounds while children darted across her way, their laughter and the sharp clack of wooden swords echoing off the stone. She smiled, remembering Calum handing out the lot as Yuletide gifts just the day before.
Women carried baskets of barley bread and honey cakes from the kitchens, the scent of clove and cinnamon trailing after them, while a shepherd guided his small flock through the gate—their soft bleating blending with the rhythm of hammers from the smithy.
Near the edge of the yard stood Laird Eoin MacAlasdair, his gaze fixed on Duncan as he instructed a young lad and lass trading blows with wooden staves. His stance held less the air of a critic than that of a man studying what he’d long forgotten.
Sorcha paused, surprised to find him outside instead of within.
He must have heard her approach, for he turned, a faint smile ghosting his lips. “Ah, Sorcha. I was told if I waited here, I’d find ye soon enough.”
“Father,” she greeted, stepping closer. “You inquired after me?”
