Aidan nodded once, satisfied, then turned to the line again. “The MacDonald lasses are our guests, nae our burden. They’re tae be treated with courtesy, but dinnae mistake that fer leniency. If any harm comes tae them—whether by enemy hand or our own neglect—it’ll be a stain we’ll never wash away.”
A murmur of assent rippled through the ranks.
He let the silence linger, the weight of his words sinking in. Duty had always been the only thing that steadied him, the only truth that never shifted beneath his feet. But as he looked out across the field, his mind betrayed him again as it flashed to the stable and the faint tremor in Catherine MacDonald’s voice when she’d spoken.
Aidan exhaled, forcing the thought down. “Back tae it,” he said curtly. “Pair off. I’ll take the first round.”
The men obeyed, scattering into groups. Steel rang out once more, the rhythm of battle returning to the yard.
He saw her standing in the stable, her hair loose and gleaming in the lantern light, her lips parted in anger, her eyes alive with something fierce enough to unmake him. He could almost hear her voice again, that mix of defiance and trembling—Freedom.
The word had struck him like a blade. It unsettled him. Worse, it tempted him.
He forced the thought away and focused on the clang of swords. The sound steadied him. The scent of steel and sweat and earth grounded him. This was where he belonged, where there was order, where there was purpose.
“Ye should rest,” Gordon said after a while, his tone half-serious. “Ye’ve nae slept, I can see it.”
“I’ll sleep when the Campbells are gone.”
“Or when the lass stops hauntin’ yer thoughts.”
Aidan turned his head sharply, but Gordon was already grinning, stepping back out of reach. “Just an observation, me laird.”
“Then observe from the far end o’ the field.”
Gordon laughed and retreated, calling for one of the men to spar.
Aidan stayed where he was, watching the precision of their strikes, the sweat on their brows, the discipline he’d drilled into every muscle. Yet even as he watched, his mind drifted again to her. To her defiance. Her voice. The way she’d looked at him like he was both her savior and her tormentor.
He had spent a lifetime controlling himself, but control was beginning to feel less like armor and more like a cage.
The clang of steel grew louder, sharper. One of the men stumbled, thrown back by his partner’s strike, and Aidan stepped forward instinctively. “Balance!” he barked. “Ye fight on uneven ground, ye die on it.”
The man corrected his stance at once.
Aidan nodded, but his jaw remained tight. He couldn’t afford distraction. And yet, beneath the discipline, something restless stirred that had nothing to do with war or loyalty or duty.
The hall was alive that night. Lanterns burned bright along the walls, casting gold across stone and steel. The scent of roasted venison and spiced wine drifted through the air, mingling with laughter and the low hum of pipes. For the first time since the MacDonalds’ arrival, Achnacarry felt less like a fortress and more like a home.
Aidan sat at the high table, half turned toward the crowd below. The benches were packed with men from the guard, women from the kitchens, even a few shepherds and farmers from the nearby glen. It was rare to open the hall to so many, but rare too was a day that hadn’t ended in blood or worry. After weeks of tension, his people needed this and so did he.
Yet when his gaze found Catherine MacDonald across the room, standing with her sisters near the hearth, his pulse betrayed him.
She wore pale blue, a gown simple but finely cut, the color pulling the storm light straight from her eyes. Her hair was pinned in loose curls, a few rebellious strands falling against her cheek. She laughed at something Alyson said, and for a heartbeat, the sound cut through every other noise in the hall.
Aidan reached for his cup, more out of habit than thirst. The wine did little to steady him.
Gordon leaned in from his left, voice low. “Ye’ve nae heard a word I’ve said, have ye?”
“I’ve heard enough,” Aidan replied.
“Then repeat it.”
He didn’t.
Gordon followed his gaze, and a slow grin spread across his face. “Ah. I see where yer attention’s gone.”
Aidan’s jaw tightened. “Mind yer tongue.”
