“Ye should still be resting,” he said quietly.
“I could say the same o’ ye,” she answered.
He almost smiled, the faintest curve of his mouth. “A laird daesnae rest.”
“And a wife daesnae leave her husband tae stand brooding alone,” she said, glancing up at him.
There it was again, the wordwife. Hearing it in her voice felt less like ownership and more like peace.
For a while, they simply watched the men work. Aidan’s hand brushed against hers once, enough to make her fingers tighten slightly around his. It was a small thing, almost nothing, yet it steadied him more than all the prayers the priest had muttered the day before.
He looked out over the valley beyond the walls, eyes narrowing at the faint line of fog where the road vanished into the trees. Something about it unsettled him.
“Ye’re thinkin’ again,” Catherine said softly.
He gave a low hum. “It’s what I’m meant tae dae.”
“I ken that look,” she said, tilting her head. “Ye’re waitin’ fer trouble.”
He didn’t answer. It had been too easy—Campbell’s silence, the sudden end to the MacLeod assault. Men like Campbell didn’tdisappear. They retreated only when they had somewhere else to strike.
Before he could answer her, the sound of hooves pounding against the earth beyond the gates reached them. Aidan’s head snapped up. The guards at the wall straightened, and the shout went up before the riders even broke through the mist.
“Riders! Cameron colors!”
Catherine’s hand caught his sleeve, eyes widening. “Yer men?”
He nodded once. “Must be the ones I sent tae escort yer sisters.”
Even before he moved, the doors behind them burst open again. Tòrr and Michael appeared in the archway, both half-armed. Tòrr’s expression was grim, his hand already at the hilt of his sword.
“What is it?” he demanded.
“Cameron riders,” Aidan said. “From the escort party.”
The words were enough to send all three of them toward the gates at once.
They met the riders halfway across the yard. The horses came in lathered and mud-slick, their flanks heaving, the men astride them pale with exhaustion and streaked with dirt. Tòrr and Michael slowed beside Aidan, the three forming an instinctive line as if ready to face whatever news waited for them.
One of the riders dismounted first, his boots sinking into the mud. His face was drawn and grey beneath the grime, his jaw clenched as he looked from Aidan to the MacDonald brothers and then to Catherine.
“Me laird,” he said, his voice rough. “We found ye at last.”
Aidan’s jaw tightened. “Speak. What happened?”
The young man swallowed hard. “We were ambushed on the road, north o’ Glenfinnan. Campbell’s men—near fifty o’ them. We fought tae hold them off.” His eyes flicked toward Catherine, then back to Aidan. “We managed tae get Lady Sofia tae safety. She’s unharmed, last we saw. But?—”
“But?” Catherine’s voice trembled despite the effort to keep it steady.
Donal lowered his gaze. “Lady Alyson was taken.”
The words landed like steel between them.
Catherine’s breath left her in a sound that wasn’t quite a sob. “Taken?”
The man nodded. “We tried tae reach her, me lady. She was near the rear wagon when the attack came. They went fer her first—they kent who she was.”
Aidan’s hand clenched at his side, every muscle in his body hardening at once. “Campbell himself?”
