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CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

A fter returning from the village, Torrin’s first action had been to notify the council of what he had seen. Now more than ever, it was paramount that the wedding take place soon—soon enough that the soldiers Keith had sent wouldn’t have the chance to attack first.

Everything had already been arranged, of course, both with his council and with the priest, so Torrin would simply have to wait until the end of the week and use the little time he had to prepare for an attack.

He would train his men, he would have new swords and shields forged, and new armor made for them.

Now, in his chambers with Valora next to him, the thought of war still troubled him, weighing heavy on his mind.

The rain had returned; not a storm, but a steady, pattering rhythm against the castle walls, soothing in its persistence.

The scent of peat smoke, damp wool, and pine filled the air, warm and faintly bitter.

Torrin lay on his back atop the thick wool covers, one arm under his head, watching the glow of the flames in the hearth dance across the curved ceiling stones.

Beside him, Valora sat curled against the pillows, a small leather-bound book resting on her lap.

Her brow furrowed slightly as she read, lips parted in concentration and mouthing the words she read quietly, the soft golden hue of the fire turning her hair to a shimmering gold.

He watched her quietly for a moment.

There had been no alarm raised after their return, no sign that Keith’s men had moved from the shallow valley. But even so, Torrin hadn’t found rest. His body was weary, yet his thoughts churned—too many questions, too many pieces of the puzzle still remaining hidden to him.

He shifted, sitting up slowly. Some time during the night, he had begun to get thirsty, but now the thirst had crept up to him out of nowhere, leaving him parched.

A carafe sat on the low table near the hearth, beside a pair of silver cups.

He crossed the chamber in bare feet, the stone floor cool under his soles.

But as he poured a measure of ale, a flash of white near the chest where Valora kept her belongings caught his eye; a corner of parchment, small, folded, tucked beneath the hem of Valora’s riding cloak where it had been laid over the wooden box earlier that evening.

He bent and picked it up.

The paper was fine—vellum, not village stock, sealed once and now broken. There was no name written on the outside and Torrin might have left it, unread, had it not been for the line visible at the fold’s edge:

Ye will do what is required, or I will send Althea in yer stead.

His fingers tightened around the paper. From the corner of his eye, he glanced at Valora, but she was too absorbed in her book to notice him.

For a moment, he considered putting the note back where he had found it, as he didn't want to invade her privacy and whatever it was, it was clearly about her and her sister.

But something about the way that one sentence was phrased had caught his curiosity, and he decided to open it.

Torrin stepped into the firelight, unfolding the note with care. The hand was firm, elegant. Though he didn’t recognize it, from the contents of the note it was immediately clear to him who its sender was.

It was a note from none other than Laird MacNeacail, warning his daughter that if she didn’t succeed in marrying Torrin, then he would be sending Althea to take her place instead. Torrin found himself rereading the same few lines again and again, his mind stuck in a loop.

There was no sign-off. No warmth. Not even a name.

Torrin stood for a long moment, the firelight dancing over the parchment in his hand, his jaw clenched so tightly that his teeth ached. Then he turned to face Valora, his gaze hard as it found her in bed.

Valora looked up at once, perhaps sensing the shift in the air between them. The moment her gaze landed on the paper, her face went pale.

“Torrin…”

Her voice trailed off and the two of them stared at each other in silence. Torrin said nothing at first. He only held the letter out between them, and when he spoke, his voice was low, sharp-edged.

“How long has he been sendin’ these?”

For a moment, the silence stretched between them, Valora refusing—or perhaps unable—to answer. When she responded, her voice was quiet, hesitant.

“It’s only the one,” she said. “He hasnae sent anythin’ else. It came with me belongings.”

All this time… all those days an’ she never once thought tae tell me that he threatened her tae marry me.

“An’ ye didnae think ye should tell me?”

“I didnae think it mattered.” She sat forward, the book forgotten on the bed beside her. “It daesnae change anythin’.”

“Daesnae it?” Torrin’s tone was flat, unreadable.

“We both ken who me faither is,” she said. “What daes it matter if he sent this letter? It makes nae difference.”

“Ye’re still here,” Torrin said, “because o’ this letter.”

Valora’s mouth fell open as she looked at him in shock. She shook her head vehemently, her jaw clenching as she snapped her mouth shut once more.

“Nay,” she said, firmer now. “I’m here in spite o’ it.”

Hesitantly, she reached for his arm, but he did not yield. The fire spat behind them, throwing sparks as one of the logs rolled off the pile. Valora drew in a breath, her voice turning gentler.

“It’s true that I would dae anythin’ fer me sister.

Anythin’,” Valora said. “An’ aye… I went tae that ball because it was either me or her an’ I would have never let her go through somethin’ like that.

I wanted her tae have a chance tae find love, foolish as it sounds.

An’ I hoped that once I was married, I could have some more sway when it came tae her fate.

I hoped I could protect her from the worst o’ it. ”

His eyes searched hers—gray storm meeting blue lake. A long silence stretched between them, the air thick with too many things unsaid.

There she was, admitting that she had been doing this for her sister. How was Torrin supposed to believe that she was with him out of love? How was he supposed to believe this was anything more than a way for her to protect Althea and herself?

But hadn’t he known that already? Hadn’t he known from the very start who her father was and what he was willing to do? Could he truly blame her for staying with him when her other option was Laird Keith?

“I stayed because I chose tae stay,” she continued. “Ye gave me a way out.”

“Perhaps,” he said. “But then yer sister would be takin’ yer place.”

“Aye, that is true,” Valora admitted. “An’ that was what kept me here at first. But then… then ye showed me how kind an’ carin’ ye are. Ye showed me there’s more than coldness an’… an’ hatred. Ye showed me I can be loved.”

Torrin said nothing. He couldn’t find the words. A lump grew in his throat and he had to swallow around it, forcing the knot back down.

Valora stepped closer, brushing her fingers over his. “Ye’re nae a task tae endure, Torrin. Ye’re the only choice I’ve made in years that was mine alone. And ye ken this.”

Another silence passed between them but this one was softer; not settled, but thawing. Torrin looked at the letter again, then down at her hand that was almost touching his own.

Was any of this her fault, after all? Would he not have done the same had he been in her shoes, forced to marry against his will by an uncaring father?

Besides, even before they had confessed their feelings to each other, he was still prepared to marry her.

There had never been any doubt in his mind.

At last, he moved to the hearth and fed the parchment into the flames. It curled slowly, the ink darkening, then vanishing in a twist of ash and smoke.

When he turned back to her, his voice was quieter. “Next time, tell me afore I find somethin’ like that on me own. That is all I ask.”

She nodded once. When she spoke, her voice was a quiet promise. “I will.”

Torrin reached for her hand and drew her gently to his chest. And for a while, there were no more words—only the sound of the fire and the soft pattering of the rain beyond the stone walls, and the quiet, steady beat of two hearts in the space between.