“It doesnae matter.”
Isabelle crossed the small space between them and gently took his hands in her own. Carefully, she turned them over to inspect the damage. Her touch was cool, gentle, a soothing balm on his raw knuckles.
“Is this... is this your blood?” she asked hesitantly, her gaze flicking up to meet his.
Magnus shook his head, clenching his teeth against the surge of guilt. “No,” he admitted, unable to meet her gaze. “It isnae.”
She flinched slightly and retreated from him. There was a heavy silence that seemed to stretch on for eternity before she finally spoke again.
“Why are you here?” Her voice was soft, barely above a whisper, but it carried the weight of the world with it.
Magnus looked at her. “Dinna ye know?”
“Should I? I’ve given up trying to work you out, Magnus.”
Her words stung him and he winced, but knew that he deserved them.
She gestured at his sore knuckles. “I’m guessing you spoke to the blacksmith?”
“Aye,” he admitted.
“I hope you found what you were looking for.” There was an edge of bitterness in her voice.
“I did,” he said with a nod. “Although it turns out what I was looking for was something different to what I thought it was.”
She narrowed her eyes but said nothing. He turned his gaze from her and looked around the room, taking in the simple wooden furniture and the cozy fireplace. The room was warm, comfortable, a place of quiet peace. A stark contrast to where he’d been earlier tonight.
“You still haven’t answered my question,” Isabelle said. “Why are you here? It’s getting late and I’m tired, so if you’ve nothing else to say—”
“I do. I have much to say.” He cleared his throat, trying to decide where to begin. “Isabelle, tonight I chose my personal mission above all else. Above my duty to the Order of the Osprey. Above my vows to my sword-brothers.” He looked up, met her gaze. “Above my feelings for ye.”
She didn’t move or interrupt him but her eyes never left his face.
“But as I stood in that blacksmith’s smithy tonight I felt only one thing: regret. Regret and an emptiness so deep it felt like a stab wound.”
He took in a deep breath, trying to find the words to express what he was feeling. He’d never been good with words but this time he had to make them count.
“Ye asked why I came. Well, I came because I realized that what I was searching for... it wasnae in the mission. It wasnae in the fight. It wasnae in the blood and the sweat.” He paused, struggling to find words that felt woefully inadequate.
His gaze softened as he looked at her. “It was in ye, Isabelle.”
Her eyes widened, a soft gasp escaping her lips. Now he did walk over to her and took her hands in his.
“I’m sorry, Isabelle. I made the wrong choice. I hope it isnae too late to unmake it.”
She stared up at him. The firelight danced in her hazel eyes, making them glow like amber. “Does that mean...? Does that mean you’re coming to Dun Saith with us after all?”
“Aye,” he rumbled. “If ye’ll have me. I made a promise to keep ye safe and help ye find a way home. I’m sorry I lost sight of that. I’m sorry I lost sight of what matters most to me.”
His hands cradled hers, and he traced gentle circles on the back of her hand with his thumb. “I’ve been blind, Isabelle. Blind to my purpose, blind to what truly matters... blind to ye.”
He watched as a flurry of emotions played out across her face—surprise, relief, and then, something he hardly dared hope for. Joy. Her hands, still captured within his own, gave a tiny squeeze.
“Yes,” she breathed, a soft smile curving her lips. “Yes, I’ll have you.”
Pure relief washed over him. He had been granted a second chance—an unexpected gift that he would not squander again.
Gently, Magnus lifted one of her hands and pressed it against his heart. His eyes never left hers as he said softly, “Ye hold my heart in yer hand, Isabelle. Do what ye will with it.”
