The table went quiet, all eyes turning to the youngest MacDonald brother.
"Ye've spent ten years puttin' everyone else first. Puttin' the clan first, puttin' us first, never takin' time fer yerself. And now, finally, ye've found someone who matters tae ye beyond duty and responsibility." He looked at Tòrr directly. "So I want ye tae ken—all of ye—that while ye're gone, I'll protect this keep and everyone in it with me life if necessary. Because that's what family daes. We stand taegether."
"As long as we live," Michael added, standing as well. "We stand taegether."
"As long as we live," the sisters echoed, rising.
Tòrr stood last, throat tight with emotion. "As long as we live," he repeated. "We stand together. Nay matter what comes, nay matter what threats we face. Taegether."
They clasped hands across the table, forming a circle of six. In that moment, Tòrr felt the weight of what he was about to do settle fully on his shoulders. Not just the tactical concerns or the physical danger, but the emotional stakes.
These people loved him. Depended on him. Would grieve if he fell.
And Liliane—gods, Liliane had come to mean more to him than he'd ever intended.
"We will come back," he said, looking around the circle. "That's me promise tae all of ye. We will come back."
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
The forest path was little more than a deer track, narrow and overgrown, forcing them to ride single file through the dense undergrowth. Liliane's thighs ached from gripping the saddle, her shoulders burned from maintaining her balance on the uneven terrain, and exhaustion pulled at her like a physical weight. But she didn't complain. Not when every man riding with them bore the same weariness without a word.
The moon had risen hours before, pale and distant through the canopy of leaves overhead. They'd left Keppoch at dawn, taken the main road only as far as necessary before veering off into hidden paths that wound through MacDonald lands toward the border.
"How are ye holding up?" Tòrr's voice came from behind her, low enough not to carry to the other riders.
"I'm fine." Her voice was steadier than she felt.
"Ye've been sayin' that fer hours. But yer shoulders are tense as drawn bowstrings."
She tried to relax them, only then realizing how rigid she'd been holding herself. "I didnae ken it would take this long."
"Aye, well. The direct route would've had us there by now, but it also would've announced our arrival tae every patrol Munro's got watchin' the roads." His horse moved closer until they rode nearly side by side in a wider section of path. "We'll stop soon. There's a village about an hour ahead where we can rest fer the night."
"We're stoppin'?" Surprise made her turn to look at him. "I thought we'd ride through."
"And arrive at Foulis exhausted? That's how mistakes get made." His expression was hard to read in the dim light filtering through the trees. "The men need rest. Ye need rest. And we need tae be sharp when we reach Munro's territory."
She wanted to argue, wanted to push forward despite the ache in her muscles and the fog of exhaustion clouding her mind. But he was right, arriving too tired to think clearly would only endanger Nessa more.
"Alright," she conceded. "But just a few hours."
"We'll see what dawn brings." He reached across the space between their horses, his hand finding hers where it gripped the reins. "Ye're daein' well, lass. Better than I expected."
The praise shouldn't have warmed her as much as it did. "Better than ye expected? That's hardly a compliment."
"Isn't it? I expected ye tae last maybe three hours before demandin' we stop. Instead, ye've ridden all day without complaint." His thumb brushed across her knuckles. "That takes strength."
She looked away, uncomfortable with the pride in his voice. She wasn't strong, she was desperate. There was a difference.
The forest finally began to thin as they descended into a shallow valley. Lights flickered in the distance, warm and welcoming against the darkness.
"There," Michael called from the head of their small column. "The Stag and Crown. We'll bed down there fer the night."
The inn was modest but well-kept, its thatched roof thick and its windows glowing with firelight. As they dismounted in the courtyard, Liliane's legs nearly gave out beneath her. Only Tòrr's steadying hand on her elbow kept her upright.
"Easy," he murmured. "Give yerself a moment tae adjust."
She stood there, gripping his arm, waiting for the trembling in her muscles to ease. Around them, the other men were seeing to their horses with practiced efficiency, their movements economical despite their own exhaustion.
