More voices joined in, murmurs of recognition and surprise spreading through the village like ripples on water.
“Is that really the young lord?”
“I thought he was dead!”
“Nay, we’d have heard if he was dead. He left, that’s all.”
Some of them nodded respectfully as he passed while others stood frozen in shock, as if seeing a ghost. Charlotte felt their eyes on her too, curious and questioning, but none of them spoke to her directly.
Niall gave a stiff nod in greeting but did not slow their pace. His shoulders were rigid, his grip on the reins just a little too tight.
Charlotte leaned in slightly. “They know you.”
“Aye. I spent more time in the village than in the keep when I was a lad.”
Before she could ask any more questions, they reached the gates of the castle.
The guards standing at their posts snapped to attention, their eyes widening as they recognized Niall. One of them, an older man with grizzled hair and a thick beard, stepped forward.
“Well bugger me,” he said, voice full of disbelief. “Look what the cat dragged in! Never thought I’d see yer ugly face again, Lord Niall.”
Niall grinned, then leaned down from the saddle and took the man’s hand. “Nor I ye, David, ye old bastard. Elsie still feeding ye well I see.”
David laughed and patted his belly that wobbled like a water balloon. “Aye. Well, what’s the good of getting old if ye canna get fat and lazy along with it?”
Niall’s grin widened. “It’s good to see ye, my old friend.” Then he sobered abruptly. “Is he home?”
David rubbed at his grizzled cheek. “If ye are referring to yer brother, then aye, ye are in luck. I think it best I walk ye in and announce ye though. He’s not been in the best of moods lately.”
Niall snorted. “Ye do surprise me.”
David grinned at that, turned towards the gates and led them through. Charlie swallowed hard as they passed beneath the archway and into the shadow of the castle.
David led them through the doors and into the corridors of the keep, their footsteps echoing on the polished flagstones. Unlike Glennoch, where everything was sturdy but practical, this place exuded wealth. Ornate tapestries hung on the walls, their colors rich and vibrant even in the dim torchlight. Thick runners ran the length of the corridors in a chequerboard pattern and little alcoves along the walls held marble statues, small paintings, and even vases of dried flowers.
Charlotte barely had time to take it all in before David pushed open a heavy door and led them into the main hall.
It was similar in design to Glennoch’s—high-beamed ceilings, a massive hearth at one end, and a long wooden table stretching down the center. But here, everything was on a grander scale. The hall was vast, the beams polished to a dark gleam, the stone walls were decorated with great banners bearing the Campbell crest. But for all its grandeur, the hall felt...empty.
There were no servants bustling about, no laughter or conversation, only the quiet scratch of quill on parchment. At the far end of the hall, a man sat alone at the great table, his head bent over a book. A half-empty goblet of wine rested beside him.
The man’s hair was the same sandy brown as Niall’s but streaked lightly with silver at the temples. His features were finely carved, but there was a deep weariness in his face, in the way he rubbed his temple absently with ink-stained fingers.
David cleared his throat. “My lord?”
The man lifted his head, eyes sharp, but warming when they landed on David.
“David,” he said, closing the book in front of him. “What news? Have the traders come to lower their prices or is Campbell wool still worth less than MacDonnell dung?”
David chuckled, but before he could reply, the man’s gaze drifted past him—to Niall.
The warmth drained from the man’s face instantly. He stood abruptly, his chair scraping against the stone.
“Niall?” His voice was quiet but edged with anger. “What, by all the saints, are ye doing here?”
***
AS NIALL STEPPED INTOthe great hall it was as if time folded in on itself. The tang of wood smoke, the flickering torchlight on the stone walls, the long shadows stretching across the flagstones—everything was just as it had been when he was a boy. And yet, it wasn’t the same. The air was too still, the silence too deep, like the hush before a storm.
