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SHEENA’S TALL, SLENDER frame stiffened, her lips parting.

Meanwhile, Greer gasped.

Both Colin and Sheena’s gazes snapped to her. Yet Sheena’s attention didn’t remain on Greer for long. Instead, her hands went up, clenching into fists against her husband’s chest. “Please tell me he isn’t dying,” she whispered.

Colin’s expression remained shadowed. “I can’t say, love … the surgeon is with him now.” He took hold of her hand then. “Come … I shall lead ye to him.”

The couple left swiftly, without a backward glance at Greer or anyone else who’d gathered around them.

But, as if drawn by an invisible cord, Greer followed.

She’d always liked and respected Iver Mackay, although her last encounter with the chieftain had shown her a different—ruthless—side to him. Nonetheless, she didn’t wish him harm.

Pushing aside her own sadness and worry, Greer hurried after the Campbells.

Bonnie would be distraught. She’d want a friend by her side.

Unsurprisingly, the Mackay enclosure lay on the opposite side of the camp to the Sutherland one, ensuring that their paths wouldn’t accidentally cross.

On the way, they passed warriors standing around fire pits, laughing and singing, cups of ale and mead in their hands.

However, within the Mackay enclosure, the mood was somber.

Colin and Sheena made for the largest of the pavilions, disappearing inside.

Greer didn’t follow them.

Despite that she’d been determined to help Bonnie, her courage deserted her now. She hadn’t been invited and once again felt like an interloper.

Her pulse quickened then as nervousness assailed her. Brodie would likely be inside too.

Suddenly, she wasn’t ready for this. She wasn’t ready to see him again.

Lingering outside the entrance, Greer pulled the woolen shawl she wore tighter around her shoulders. She was attracting curious looks from several of those passing by. No doubt, they were wondering who this lady was, and why she was standing outside Iver Mackay’s tent.

Recognition sparked then on one or two of the men’s faces—those from Dun Ugadale—and a rumble of murmurs began.

Greer’s cheeks started to warm, yet she kept her chin held high. Aye, it was likely some of these men had heard of her disgrace, and they would see her swollen belly. Gossip would ignite like wildfire around the enclosure now. Mortification prickled her skin.

All the same, she didn’t leave. She wouldn’t let them cow her.

Campbell emerged from the pavilion then, his expression still as grim as earlier.

Panic fluttered under Greer’s ribcage, and she stepped up to him. “How is Iver?”

The Lord of Glenorchy paused a moment before replying, his gaze roaming over her face. She’d met Campbell a few days earlier, for he’d visited Malcolm on the first evening at the camp. She’d been fascinated to meet Davina’s father.

He was loud and brash, yet she’d sensed there was a deeper, thoughtful side to him.

He’d managed to thaw Sheena Mackay’s frosted heart, after all.

“I thought ye would be grieving over yer husband,” he replied gruffly, “not worrying over Iver Mackay’s fate.”

There was a challenge in his voice, one that Greer met.

Her family’s treatment of her and her cold welcome at Dunrobin had hardened something within her.

“I’m sorry that Malcolm met such an end,” she replied, her voice steady.

“But he was never my choice, as ye well know.” Aye, she was sorry.

All the same, being with a man she didn’t love had killed her soul a little.

“Bonnie is a dear friend of mine … and I wish to be at her side.”

Their gazes held for a few moments longer before Campbell sighed. “Aye, well, her husband is in a bad way … she likely needs ye.” And with that, he stepped to one side, gesturing for her to enter the tent. “Go on.”

Greer nodded, even if it now felt as if a sack of moths had just been set free in her stomach.

Brodie glanced up from watching the surgeon sew the last suture on his brother’s flank. Someone had just entered the tent, and he imagined it would be Campbell again.

But it wasn’t.

Instead, a small woman with golden hair pulled back into a wifely bun at the base of her neck stepped through the doorway and halted.

Brodie stopped breathing. God help me … what’s she doing here?

Suddenly, everything around him faded. He momentarily forgot his gravely injured brother and Bonnie, and his stepmother as well, who stood anxiously watching the surgeon work.

Instead, he stared at Greer.

An instant later, he started to sweat.

Sutherland hadn’t been lying. She was with bairn.

And she was every bit as lovely as he remembered. Her steel-grey eyes were luminous and soulful as their gazes met and fused.

Time stood still.

“Greer!” Bonnie gasped her friend’s name and rushed over to her. “I’m so glad ye are here.”

Wordlessly, Greer pulled Bonnie into a hard hug and the two of them clung to each other for a few long moments.

Brodie’s heart started to pound then, and he dragged his gaze away from the two women—to find Sheena watching him.

God help him, the last thing he needed was this woman seeing him vulnerable.

To his surprise, there was no disdain on his stepmother’s face this evening. Her expression was carefully shuttered, but her eyes told a different story.

They were shadowed, almost sympathetic.

Brodie tore his gaze from Sheena. No, he must be imagining things.

His stepmother would be inwardly gloating at his fall, his disgrace. She certainly wouldn’t empathize with his situation.

“How is he faring?” Greer murmured to Bonnie.

“I’m not sure,” she whispered. “The surgeon hasn’t said anything yet.”

Hearing her, the man straightened up and reached for a cloth, wiping his bloodied hands.

Brodie’s stomach twisted. God, there had been so much blood. Iver’s face was now ashen, and it was just as well as he was currently unconscious. The surgeon had given him a few drops of something to make him sleep while he cleaned and dressed his wound and stitched him up.

“Fortuna shone on yer man … for the blade that gored him missed his vitals,” the surgeon informed Bonnie then. “However, he has lost much blood … and there is always the risk the wound will fester.”

Bonnie sagged against Greer, who put her arm protectively around her shoulders.

“What can we do?” Greer asked while Bonnie wiped at the tears that now coursed down her face.

“The wound must be washed with wine or vinegar every day … and if it becomes red or hot to touch, ye must find yerself a healer quickly.”

“But ye will care for him while we are here, will ye not?” Sheena demanded, her brows knitting together.

“Aye, Lady Campbell,” the surgeon rumbled. “Of course.” The man rose to his feet then and began collecting his bandages, bone needles, and salves. “Now, if ye will excuse me … I have many other injured warriors to attend to.”

Silence fell in the tent while the surgeon departed, and when he was gone, Brodie and Greer’s gazes met once more.

“Hello … Greer,” Brodie murmured.

“Brodie,” she whispered back.

He was aware then of Sheena and Bonnie watching them.

Sweat now trickled down his back, between his shoulder blades. He wasn’t prepared for this—he hadn’t even realized Greer was residing in the camp.

Long moments passed, and then Sheena huffed an oath under her breath. “By all the Saints … one of ye say something.”

“They need some time alone, I believe,” Bonnie answered huskily. She then extricated herself from Greer’s embrace and stepped away, favoring her friend with a watery smile. “My maid and Reid are in the tent next door … if ye fetch them, ye can talk in private there.”

Alone in the small tent, after informing the maid that her and Reid’s presence was required in the pavilion next door, Greer turned to face Brodie.

As in the past, her gaze was drawn to him whenever he stepped into a space. Brodie was a little thinner in the face than she remembered, his curly dark hair a little longer, yet even in a blood-and-mud-splattered gambeson and braies, he stole her breath away.

Only, things felt a little different now. She’d been married to someone else and had just been widowed. Awkwardness washed over Greer.

She’d lost her words.

They stood facing each other, just a few feet apart. In the light of the flickering brazier in the center of the tent, Brodie’s hazel eyes burned into her, his face strained.

“I’ve spent hours over the past months, imagining what I would say if I ever saw ye again,” she whispered. “But all of it has fled my thought cage now.” She broke off there, her gaze lowering to the sheepskins on which they stood. “In truth, I never thought this day would come.”

“I too lost hope,” Brodie replied, his voice rough. “Sutherland didn’t tell me ye were here.”

Greer’s chin kicked up, her heart lurching. “Ye saw him?”

Brodie nodded, tension rippling across his face. “Aye,” he whispered. “I was there when he fell.” He gave a rueful shake of his head. “And mine was the last face he saw before he died.”

Greer’s breathing grew shallow. “That wouldn’t have pleased Malcolm,” she said after a lengthy pause.

Brodie shook his head, grimacing. “No, it was ye he wanted at his side.”

Greer swallowed, her throat thickening. She wished then that she could have said goodbye to him, could have held his hand at the very end.

Another silence swelled between them before Brodie spoke once more. “He told me to look after ye, Greer … that he knew ye would always love me and not him.” His throat bobbed then, “In his last breath, he said that ye were with bairn … and that it is mine.”

A soft gasp escaped Greer. “He did?”

“Aye.” Brodie’s gaze burned into hers.

Tears prickled Greer’s eyes, her throat aching from the effort it was taking not to cry. “What he said is true,” she whispered, “all of it.”

Brodie’s eyes glistened, a muscle flexing in his jaw.

And then, to her surprise, he stepped forward and sank to his knees at her feet.

Leaning in, he laid his cheek against the swell of her belly, placing a gentle hand upon her navel.

“I failed ye, lass,” he rasped. “I let them part us … I let Sutherland wed ye.” He broke off there, his breathing labored now.

“I don’t expect ye to forgive me, for I will never forgive myself. ”