Page 29 of Desiring the Highland Laird (Highland Destiny #1)

T he following day, the group of them rode out to the abbey not far from the keep where Hamish would be laid to rest next to his wife and daughter in the churchyard cemetery.

The plot was an area thick with trees. It was a somber affair with the local bishop conducting the ceremony which he spoke in Latin.

Evie didn’t understand a word of it but caught the sentiment.

Tears welled in her eyes as she watched them place his shrouded body in the grave.

Callum had given her the option to remain behind in the keep but she decided she didn’t want to miss it. Her mother often told her funerals were not for the dead, but for the living left behind. Even though she didn’t belong in this world, she wanted to make sure she was there for Callum.

Evie stood off to the side, her hands clasped in front of her as she tried to huddle into the warmth of the cloak. The wind was brisk and cold, the weather like every other day in the Highlands which was a marked difference from what she was used to—fiery hot summers and moderate winters.

She eyed Callum, who stood tall and silent next to the bishop, his face blank.

Malcolm stood next to him with fists clenched at his side, devoid of all expression.

Jamie was on his other side, his hands clasped in front of him, and his head bowed in reverence.

Dougal comforted Roslyn with his arm around her shoulders while she wiped her eyes with a handkerchief, her grief apparent.

Their uncle, Argyle, was also in attendance.

His face was impassive as he stood with his hands clasped in front of him.

When it was all over, and Hamish was deep in the ground, the bishop said something low and quiet to each of the brothers and then walked back to the church.

Roslyn and Dougal slowly filed away to head back to their mounts and return to the keep.

Evie hesitated, wanting to stay for Callum and yet at the same time flee.

She told herself she should follow Roslyn and Dougal and ride back with them, but she couldn’t make her feet move.

Malcolm turned to his brother before he walked away. Lines of anger were etched on his face.

“He will be avenged,” he said to Callum.

Callum’s face remained impassive as his gaze flickered to his brother. “You willna do anything rash.” It was not a question, but more of a warning. His tone was hard and unforgiving.

Though Malcolm said nothing, he stalked away with Jamie on his heels.

Evie shifted from one foot to the other, wishing she had left with the others and not witnessed the exchange between the two brothers.

Argyle stood next to Callum, watching the younger men stalk away.

“The lad is grieving same as ye are,” Argyle said to Callum.

“Aye, but we cannae have more fighting between our clans. It serves no purpose.” Callum’s eyes were still pinned on his brothers’ retreating backs.

“’Tis up to ye to as laird now to keep them in check.” He clasped his nephew on the shoulder. “And ’tis time for me to take my leave.”

Callum’s head snapped toward his uncle. “Yer leaving us?”

“Aye. I left unfinished business behind. I ken ye’ll be a good laird. Take care of the lads.”

They shook hands and bid each other goodbye. Argyle walked across the churchyard to say farewell to the others. Callum started to turn from the grave when he spotted her. She stiffened as their eyes met and she worried he would be angry with her for lingering behind.

He wasn’t, though. His face softened as he looked at her. She moved closer to him, pausing next to him to peer down at the other two graves next to the fresh one. His mother and sister.

“You didna have to come,” he said, his voice soft and low.

She merely gave a nod, managing a faint smile. “I didn’t want to miss it.”

They stood there in awkward silence, the wind whipping around them as she decided what to say next.

“I ken ye heard Malcolm—”

“You don’t have to explain,” she said, placing a comforting hand on his arm.

He glanced down at her hand and then did something that surprised her. He placed his over hers, gave a light squeeze, then released her. She dropped her hand to her side, her heart doing a funny thud in her chest.

“He’s angry,” she said into the silence, both peering down at the graves.

“Aye,” he said.

“And so are you,” she added.

He cut her a glance, his head tipping down to meet her gaze. There was a moment between them where he seemed to want to object, but then gave a quick nod in agreement.

“Aye,” he whispered.

“I wish there was something I could do.”

“Ye have done it, lass.” He smiled down at her, lighting a fire deep inside her. “Yer here, are ye no?”

“I am.” And she wouldn’t have it any other way. She turned her attention to the grave. One freshly dug. The other two mounds covered in grass. No headstone marking them.

“I’m sorry about your mother and sister, too,” she said.

“My mam died birthing Jamie,” he said. “Abigail died last winter, succumbing to her sickness.”

A pang of sorrow went through her, but she said nothing. She had never lost a sibling to death, but she imagined it would be as horrible a losing her parents.

“Ye told me once yer parents passed,” he said, surprising her. She merely nodded. “I’m sorry for yer loss, too, lass.”

Their eyes met, and in that silent exchange, an unspoken understanding flowed between them.

She felt the weight of it, like a tangible presence in the air.

Her heart swelled, a mixture of love and sorrow tightening her chest, making it hard to breathe.

The room seemed to fall away, leaving the two of them standing there, shrouded in their shared grief—his sadness reflected in the deep lines of his face, hers a quiet ache beneath her skin.

“It was a long time ago, but thank you,” she finally said. She was proud her voice didn’t wobble with the unshed tears stinging the backs of her eyes.

His gaze lifted, bright blue eyes sweeping over the landscape as if drinking it in.

The churchyard lay eerily still, the silence so heavy it pressed against her ears.

The soft swish of the wind stirred the air, cool and faintly carrying the scent of damp earth and weathered stone.

In the distance, the abbey loomed, its towering gothic arches standing in solemn defiance against the sky.

Shadows stretched long and dark across the cemetery, their edges sharp, like the touch of old memories too close for comfort.

The place felt ancient, as if it had seen more than either of them ever could.

“Will you walk with me?” he asked, surprising her.

Despite her coldness, she nodded, not wanting to pass up a moment to be with him, especially since it seemed to please him.

They started down the well-worn path, their footsteps soft against the packed earth.

The ground felt uneven beneath her shoes, each step in sync with his.

She sensed the quiet longing in his posture, the way his shoulders were slightly slumped, as if he craved the comfort of another presence but not the weight of conversation.

So, she stayed silent, letting the air between them hum with unspoken understanding.

As they passed rows of graves, she glanced at the headstones—some weathered and cracked, names barely visible, others left unmarked, swallowed by time. The faint scent of damp moss and old flowers lingered in the cool breeze, and for a moment, it felt as though the past was walking alongside them.

“My brother thinks we should take action against them. That we should retaliate,” he said, as if more to himself than her.

“And what do you think?”

He tipped his head down to look at her. “Retaliation will cause more strife.”

“And you wish to avoid that,” she said.

He nodded.

She didn’t know much about what was going on between the two clans, but she wanted to show him she empathized. She understood he did not want to cause more strife between the two clans with an ongoing war.

“On the morrow, I will ride out to meet with Ian MacLeod,” he said, his gaze fixed on some distant object.

“The clan chieftain?” she asked.

“Aye.”

“And you still wish me to ride with you?”

He stopped walking, turning to her and taking her cold hands in his.

Her heart skipped a beat at the warmth coursing through her.

She marveled at that, wondering how he managed to have so much body heat against the treacherous wind.

He wore his plaid wrapped around his shoulders. How was he not freezing like she was?

“I should tell ye what I mean to do.”

Oh, she didn’t like where this was going. She forced herself to remain still and allow him to hold her hands despite her impulse to want to jerk them out of his grasp.

“What is that?”

“I mean to ask him for help in this fight with the MacDonalds in the hopes we can settle it once and for all.”

“Peace,” she said. “You want peace from them.”

“Aye, lass, ye have the right of it. And I mean to see to that.”

“Do you think he’ll help?” She tried hard to keep her teeth from chattering.

“I dinnae ken.” He pulled her closer, perhaps sensing her shivering. His body heat radiated outward from him, sending delicious tendrils through her. “There is something else I wish to tell him.”

The hot pulse of fear flashed through her. She blinked up at him. “And what is that?”

“I intend to tell him about the prophecy.”

She stared at him for a long moment in silence. “To what end? What will that accomplish?”

“He’s MacLeod. He will tell me if he’s heard of it.”

And thus, confirming in Callum’s mind the prophecy was real. Standing in front of him as a flesh and blood woman didn’t seem to count. She understood and she wanted to bite out a retort, but she held her tongue. It wouldn’t do to fight with him on the day his father was buried.

“I see,” was all she said and nothing more. She tugged her hands free of his grasp and clutched her elbows. “Thanks for the walk but I think I’ll be heading back now to the keep. I’m freezing.”

He seemed to understand and fell in step beside her.

The silence was heavy between them and she was unsure what to say or how to feel.

Hamish had told her she was the one who could convince him the truth of their situation.

She felt, deep within her bones, that telling the clan chieftain of the prophecy was a mistake.

Or was it?

What was it Hamish had said? Something about the secret being within the MacLeod bloodline and then something else about a warrior’s heart and a maiden’s grace. Perhaps the chieftain of MacLeod would have words of wisdom to add to the prophecy.

Evie couldn’t understand why he was having such a difficult time believing. She had to come up with some way to convince him before they left in the morning.

“I should warn ye, lass, ’tis a two day ride,” he said, breaking the silence.

Her head snapped up at him. “Two days?”

She had barely mastered the saddle. How was she supposed to ride for two days straight?

“I ken I ask much of ye,” he said, his voice low and soft. “But I need ye with me.”

The way he said it made her heart skip a beat. It sounded like a heartfelt sentiment.

“There’s an inn on the road we can stop at for the night.”

Heat washed over her despite the chill in the air. All she imagined was spending a night alone with him at an inn. Her mouth went dry at the thought.

“Is that…proper?” she asked.

“Proper?”

“For us to travel together. Alone.”

He gave her an odd look as if he didn’t understand what she meant.

She hadn’t a clue what was proper in these times, but she suspected by the way he was looking at her that she needn’t worry.

“Aye,” he said slowly.

As they returned to their horses outside the churchyard, she merely nodded. But her hands were shaking when she took the reins and hoisted herself into the saddle. How would she survive two days on the road, alone, with Callum? It was going to be a long trip, indeed.