Outside, the storm finally broke for good. And for the first time in longer than he could remember, Halvard felt something like peace take root in his chest.
EPILOGUE
Two weeks later
The sea lay deceptively calm. From the high windows of Brochel Castle, Halvard watched the water stretch out in cold, silver sheets under a pale sky. The storms that had torn the coast apart seemed a distant memory, but he knew better than to trust such stillness. The sea, like kings and enemies, could turn without warning.
Behind him, the great hall was alive with quieter sounds—Elsie’s low laughter as Sten recounted some half-embellished tale from their return, the crackle of the hearth, the soft scrape of parchment as accounts were sorted and resettled. Life had resumed its rhythm, but it had not forgotten.
Halvard stood with his hands clasped behind his back, the weight of the past weeks pressing on him in a way no blade ever had.
Bowen Harcourt was dead.
An English earl slain on Scottish shores, his schemes exposed but not yet judged by a Crown that did not look kindly on such bloodshed—no matter how deserved.
A horn sounded from the courtyard below and Halvard stilled.
“Messenger,” Sten said at once, already rising from the table.
Elsie looked up, her expression sharpening. “From the south?”
Halvard nodded once. “There’s nay one else who would have need tae send word now.”
Moments later, the doors of the great hall opened, admitting a rush of cold air and a rider still spattered with road mud and salt. He knelt quickly, pressing a sealed letter forward with both hands.
“From His Majesty’s court,” the man said. “For Laird Halvard MacLeod of Raasay.”
Halvard took the letter without ceremony. It bore the King’s seal, stamped deep and unquestionable. For a moment, he only stared at it.
Elsie went to his side, her hand slipping into his. “Whatever it says,” she said, “we will answer it together.”
He squeezed her fingers once, grateful for her support, for her presence next to him. Through it all, Elsie had remained steadfast. Not once had she faltered; not once had she shown any desire to leave his side, even when they both knew how much she missed her sister. Every day that passed was another reminder that Selene was still in England, but Halvard couldn’t make his way to her until they had heard from the king.
This was the letter they had all been waiting for, the one thing that would finally decide if he was a wanted man, if he was to face the gallows, or if he was free to roam English soil without fearing for his life or the lives of those who accompanied him.
Breaking the seal felt like splitting bone.
He unfolded the parchment and read in silence, his expression hardening line by line. Sten leaned closer, impatience written plainly across his face as he tried to read the parchment over Halvard’s shoulder.
“Well?” he demanded. “Does the king come with chains or blessings?”
Halvard exhaled slowly and began to read aloud.
Laird MacLeod,
Word of the death of Earl Bowen Harcourt has reached our court, along with your accounting of the events that led to it. The accusations laid against the earl are grave, and though the Crown does not condone bloodshed between its own lords, neither does it turn a blind eye to treachery, conspiracy, or unlawful violence.
We are told Earl Harcourt acted without sanction, engaging mercenaries, setting fires, and orchestrating attacks that threatened both our peace and your lands. If these claims are true, and we believe them to be, as they were verified by Thomas Redfern himself, then his end, though regrettable, may yet prove unavoidable. As far as the Crown is concerned, you acted in self-defense and we cannot fault you for this. It has also come to our attention that your wife, an English noblewoman, was the target of Earl Harcourt’sattack. Considering the circumstances, the Crown believes you innocent.
Nevertheless, we must caution you. The killing of an English earl, even under provocation, carries consequence. The Crown has little patience for those who solve their disputes with steel.
The words sat heavy in the air.
“Well,” said Sten with a heavy sigh, breaking the suffocating silence. “I suppose that is as much pardon as we might get from the Crown.”
Elsie huffed out a humorless laugh, shaking her head. “What does he mean to say? He claims you are innocent as far as he is concerned, but then cautions you to be careful? What kind of warning is this?”
“And more importantly,” said Sten, “why daes he consider it necessary tae give it?”
