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When they finally pulled apart, Davina wiped her face with trembling hands, managing the faintest of smiles. Her eyes, though red-rimmed, held a glimmer of hope. “Please come back to the castle,” she said softly. “Both of you. This is your home.”

Rosselyn returned her smile through her tears, though the weight of her next words pressed heavy on her chest. “Thank you, Davina. I’ll let her know. But…I think I’ll be staying with Nicabar.”

Davina blinked, her brow knitting in surprise. “At the camp?”

Rosselyn glanced toward the man she loved, her lips curving into a soft, resolute smile. “We’re going to be married.”

Nicabar grinned, his arm sliding around her shoulders with quiet pride.

For the first time that night, Davina’s smile reached her eyes. She stepped forward, hugging Rosselyn once more, this time with no hesitation. “I’m so happy for you,” she whispered, her voice thick with tears. “Truly.”

When they pulled apart, Davina turned to Nicabar, her expression growing serious again. “I’ll tell Broderick what happened,” she said, her voice laced with quiet resolve.

Nicabar inclined his head solemnly. “ Sí . We will speak with Amice when we return to the camp.”

Rosselyn squeezed Davina’s hand one final time, her heart both full and heavy. “Thank you,” she murmured.

Davina offered her a small, bittersweet smile. “Nay, thank you.”

As Rosselyn and Nicabar stepped out into the forest, she felt his arm tighten around her shoulders in a protective embrace.

She leaned into him, drawing comfort from his warmth as the silence wrapped around them.

The weight of all that had unfolded pressed upon her chest, yet for the first time in months, she felt the faint stirrings of peace—a fragile ember glowing in the dark.

When they returned to the camp, the hush of night lent an air foreboding.

The caravans loomed in the shadows, their painted panels muted beneath the pale wash of moonlight.

Campfires had burned low, leaving only faint red coals flickering like watchful eyes in the gloom.

Yet one figure moved among them, pacing anxiously at the fringe of the wagons.

Amice turned at their approach, her lined face drawn tight with worry. “What happened?” she asked through her tears, clutching Rosselyn’s hands in a frail, trembling grip. “Did Veronique harm anyone? She stole from my herb basket. Please, tell me you stopped her, Rosselyn.”

“We did, thanks to you,” Rosselyn replied, gathering the old woman into her arms. Amice’s slender frame shook as she wept against her, her grief as raw as an opened wound.

“She is gone, sí ?” Nicabar’s voice was quiet, threaded with resignation.

Amice gave a slow, somber nod. “ Oui , she has fled.”

Rosselyn’s shoulders slumped beneath the crushing weight of the moment. “We’ll find her,” she said softly, though her words felt like ash on her tongue.

Nicabar drew her closer, his presence steadying her frayed resolve. “We will,” he affirmed, though the shadow of doubt lingered in his dark eyes.

And as they stood beneath the cold gleam of the moon, the night pressed in around them, thick with unspoken fears and fading hope.

∞∞ ∞

Tammus let out a long, weary sigh as his horse plodded the last few steps toward his house in Aberdeen.

Two days of hard travel had him home a day earlier than expected, but the journey left him aching and saddle-sore.

At least the business with his niece was finally settled. Saints above, what an ordeal.

His conscience had gnawed at him every step of the return.

Had he rushed Davina into a union that might not suit her?

Broderick MacDougal was no ordinary man, and Tammus knew it.

But then again, the way Broderick had looked at her—his gaze lingering as if she were the only soul in the room—it was plain as day the man was smitten.

And Davina, for all her resistance, had been just as drawn to him.

“They’ll work things out,” he muttered for the thousandth time as he dismounted. His boots struck the cobblestones with a dull thud, and he handed the reins to a stable boy before striding toward the door. He brushed the thought aside as he stepped into the house.

The rich scent of roasted meat greeted him, and his stomach growled in response. He barely had time to drop his satchels before his housekeeper hurried toward him, her face pale, and eyes wide with tension.

“Lord Tammus,” she began, wringing her hands in a nervous flutter. “There’s been…a development.”

“A what?” He frowned, rubbing the back of his neck. “Does it have anything to do with my business?”

“Well, nay, but—”

“Then give me a moment, woman. I’ve just walked through the bloody door.” He waved her off, weariness flattening his tone. “Get a hot meal on the table—something hearty—and I’ll need a bath drawn once I’ve eaten. After that, I’ll hear whatever it is you’re so concerned about.”

The housekeeper hesitated, her lips parting as if to press the matter, but she thought better of it and scurried off.

Tammus shook his head, muttering about overzealous staff as he trudged toward the dining room.

By the time he’d unloaded his belongings, the table was set, and a steaming trencher of roasted lamb and root vegetables awaited him. He dropped into his chair with a groan, savoring the first bite as it melted on his tongue.

Warmth seeped into his limbs, easing the tension wound tight in his shoulders. For the first time in days, he allowed himself to breathe—and let the quiet embrace of home settle around him like a well-worn cloak.

He was halfway through his meal when the housekeeper reappeared, wringing her hands again.

“Forgive me for interrupting, milord, but ye have a guest.”

Tammus paused mid-bite, brow furrowing. “A guest? Who?”

She leaned in closer and whispered, “This is the ‘development’ I tried to tell you about.”

Before he could respond, the sound of uneven footsteps echoed from the hall. Tammus turned just as a man limped into the room. His breath caught in his throat.

Ian Russell?

The chair scraped loudly against the floor as Tammus shot to his feet. “Good God,” he muttered, eyes wide as saucers. “Ian? Everyone thought you were dead!”

Ian attempted a smile, though it wavered beneath the weight of exhaustion. “Hello, Tammus. ”

Tammus gestured curtly to the housekeeper. “Help him to the chair! And bring another trencher. Bread and wine. Now.”

The housekeeper hurried to Ian’s side, guiding him to the chair as Tammus stood frozen, still trying to process the sight before him.

Ian slumped into the seat with a groan, his movements stiff and pained. “I almost was,” he admitted, his voice rough as gravel. He struggled to stand again, lifting his shirt to reveal jagged, mutilated scars across his ribs and side. “These wounds should’ve killed me.”

Tammus stared, unable to hide his shock. The scars were brutal, a testament to the kind of savagery Ian must have endured.

Ian eased back into the chair with a wince. “My leg looks worse. That’s why I limp.” He let out a bitter laugh that carried no real mirth. “It’s a miracle a healer found me instead of a scavenger. She saved my life, nursed me back to health. A kind soul, though not much of a cook.”

“I…” Tammus struggled for words. Ian’s return was a miracle in itself, but it also brought complications he wasn’t prepared to face. “I can hardly believe it,” he said finally.

The housekeeper returned with a trencher of food, placing it in front of Ian. He dug in eagerly, moaning in gratitude. “This is the best meal I’ve had since…well, since Stewart Glen,” he said between bites, his words thick with hunger and memory.

Tammus’s chest tightened at the mention of Stewart Glen.

“How is everyone?” Ian asked, pausing mid-chew. “Parlan? Kehr? Davina?”

The weight of the question settled heavily on Tammus’s shoulders. He cleared his throat, his voice turning grim. “Parlan and Kehr didn’t survive Flodden. ”

Ian froze, his expression darkening like a gathering storm. “I’m sorry to hear that,” he said quietly. “And Davina?”

Tammus hesitated, bracing himself. “She’s been through a great deal,” he admitted. “After you were presumed dead, Russell lands passed to your cousin Brian. Davina returned to Stewart Glen. She’s been managing the estate and…raising a bairn.”

Ian blinked and slowly chewed the food in his mouth. “A bairn?”

“Aye. A daughter. She only discovered she was with child after King James called everyone to arms.”

“It’s mine?” Ian’s eyes narrowed, flickering with suspicion, though it softened almost immediately beneath the rough edges of hope.

Tammus nodded firmly.

Ian sat back in his chair, a half-smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “A daughter,” he murmured, as if testing the weight of the words. “I’m a father.”

Tammus inclined his head. “But it’s a lass, so the estate still lacks an heir.” He cleared his throat. “Perhaps now that you’re back, that’s something you can remedy.”

Ian’s smile deepened, some of the exhaustion lifting from his face. “She’s alive,” he said softly, wonder threading through his words. “And I have a daughter. What a rare blessing.” He resumed eating with renewed vigor, each bite fueled by newfound purpose. “When can we leave for Stewart Glen?”

Tammus resisted the urge to sigh. “On the morrow, if you’re fit for the journey.”

Ian grinned, determination sparking in his eyes. “I can hardly wait to see her again. She’s the whole reason I’ve had the will to go on.”

Tammus nodded, but inwardly, his heart sank beneath the weight of unspoken truths. Another three-day journey back to Stewart Glen—and this time, he would be the one delivering the cruelest blow of all.