Michael closed his eyes for one long moment, letting the weight of relief wash over him, but it lasted only a heartbeat. A rustle of movement made him lift his head. Across the clearing, Herman was dragging Cody into the shadows of the trees. Cody fought him, shouting something Michael couldn’t make out, but Herman didn’t slow, didn’t look back.
Just before the forest swallowed them, Cody twisted in Herman’s grip, eyes locking onto Michael and Isabeau.
“This isnae over!” he shouted, voice cracking with fury. “She’s mine! I’ll come fer her! Ye hear me, MacDonald?!”
But his uncle only yanked him deeper into the trees, until their figures vanished among the dark pines, leaving only echoing silence in their wake.
Michael tightened his arms around Isabeau as Daemon approached and Alyson stepped forward, trembling but safe. He didn’t care that his hands were shaking, that his clothes were torn, that his muscles burned with exhaustion. None of it mattered; only her. Only the warmth of her, alive, safe, pressed desperately against him.
“Isabeau,” he whispered, his voice breaking.
Before she could speak, he cupped her face and kissed her—hard, urgent, relief pouring into the touch like a dam finally giving way. She clung to him with equal ferocity, fingers curling into his shoulders as if anchoring herself after being set adrift.
Around them, the chaos slowed, then stilled entirely.
Campbell men, shaken, leaderless and shattered, fled into the woods. Torches scattered like dying fireflies between the trees, and the battlefield was no longer a battlefield; only a clearing full of trampled earth and the remnants of fear.
Daemon approached first, resting a firm hand on Michael’s back, grounding him. Tòrr followed, his expression still tight with what nearly had been, but easing when he saw Isabeau safe in Michael’s hold.
Alyson, pale but steady, stepped beside them, two guards flanking her protectively.
Michael kept one arm wrapped around Isabeau’s waist, unwilling to loosen his grasp for even a heartbeat. She looked up at him, eyes shimmering in the dimming torchlight. He swallowed hard, his decision rising unbidden but certain, solid as the mountain beneath their feet.
“I’m nae leavin’,” Michael said. “Isabeau saved Alyson. An’ I—” His voice wavered, then steadied. “I love her. There is nay life back in Keppoch fer me.”
The two brothers stared at him, identical looks of shock on their faces. Tòrr was the one to recover first, schooling his expression into one of neutrality, but Dameon continued to stare at him with wide eyes, his mouth hanging slightly open as though he could hardly believe his own ears.
“Ye’re stayin’, then?” Tòrr asked after a moment of contemplation.
Michael’s gaze fell on Alyson, who stood next to her brothers in a quiet daze. He wanted to see her home safely. He wanted to be by her side and help her through the transition, through the healing. But he also knew she was in good hands. Tòrr and Daemon, Sofia—they would all make sure Alyson was safe and loved and cared for while he stayed with Isabeau.
An’ besides, the road tae Keppoch isnae that long.
Next to him, Isabeau snuck her hand around his, lacing their fingers together, and it was all the support Michael needed as his brothers contemplated his decision. There wasn’t much they could do; he had already made his choice, and besides, the new Lady of the Clan needed a husband, someone to take over Clan Campbell and do a better job at running it than her father had.
“Very well,” Tòrr said in the end. Then, his gaze fell on Isabeau, and he took a few steps forward, giving her a shallow bow. “Welcome tae the family, Miss Campbell. Rest assured ye will only find friends among us.”
“I already have,” said Isabeau, glancing at Alyson for a brief moment. “But I thank ye, me laird. Ye honor me with yer acceptance.”
“Ach, if ye’re tae wed our braither here, I think it’s only proper ye call us by our names,” said Daemon. “Though I dinnae ken why ye would choose tae dae such a thing.”
Isabeau laughed, but Michael shot his brother a scathing look. “I’ll nae have ye scare off me future bride. If she wishes tae wed me, that is.”
I havenae asked her yet.
Michael turned to Isabeau, taking in every detail of her face—her delicate features, the rosy bow of her lip, the way her eyes glinted in the firelight. Taking her hand in his, he brought it to his lips and pressed a soft kiss to her knuckles, exhaling quietly against her skin.
“Isabeau Campbell… will ye have me as yer husband?”
And there, under the starry sky, Isabeau looked at him, her eyes gleaming with unshed tears.
“Aye,” she said. “I will.”
EPILOGUE
The following morning
Dawn broke over the hill where Castle Inveraray stood, pale and golden. The aftermath of the battle still lingered in the air—smoke and blood, the metallic, sour smell rising above the courtyard. The soldiers and servants of Clan Campbell worked tirelessly to tend to the wounded and prepare the dead for burial.
