"I'm goin' tae check on them meself," Magnus said. "Keep watch here."
He made his way through the village, stopping at each cottage where someone had fallen ill. Most were sleeping, their breathing easier now, their color better.
A few were sitting up, taking broth or water. One, a young boy who'd been near death two days before, was even laughing at something his mother said.
Magnus felt something loosen in his chest. His people were recovering. They'd survive this.
"Me laird?"
He turned. Olivia, the village elder's wife, stood in the doorway of her cottage.
"How can I help ye, Olivia?"
"I just wanted tae thank ye. Fer comin' so quickly when we sent word. Fer bringin' Lady Ada." Olivia smiled. "She's a good lass, that one. Kind. Patient. Really kens her healin'."
"Aye. She daes."
"And pretty too." Olivia's eyes gleamed with something that might have been mischief. "Ye're a lucky man, me jarl. Tae be gettin' such a fine bride."
Magnus shifted uncomfortably. "The king chose her, nae me."
"Maybe so. But she came tae help us. We will nae forget Lady Ada’s kindness." Olivia glanced over her shoulder, then lowered her voice. "Folk are talkin', me laird. Sayin' maybe this marriage willnae be like... the last one."
Magnus went still. The mention of Freydis always did that to him, turned him to stone. "What dae they say about the last one?"
Olivia's expression turned cautious, clearly regretting her words.
"Just... ye ken. Whispers. About Lady Freydis. About what happened. But naething bad about ye, me laird," she added quickly. "Just that it was a difficult time. That ye've been alone too long carryin’ that burden."
Magnus's jaw tightened, but he kept his voice level. "Lady Freydis's death was a private matter. But I appreciate yer concern fer me wellbeing, Olivia. And yer kindness tae Lady Ada."
"Of course, me laird." Olivia bobbed a curtsy, relief evident on her weathered face. "She's one of us now. We'll take care of her."
Magnus nodded, the tightness in his chest easing slightly. "Thank ye."
He walked away, Olivia’s words echoing in his mind.
He knew what people whispered. Knew what they believed. That he'd killed Freydis in a fit of rage. That he'd struck her, pushed her, done something violent that had ended her life and the life of the child she carried.
None of it was true.
But the truth was worse than any rumor. And Magnus would rather be called a murderer than admit what had really happened.
By the time he rode back to Dun Barra, the sun was beginning its descent. He was tired, his shoulders aching from hours in the saddle, his mind still turning over Olivia's words.
Maybe this marriage willnae be like the last one.
Gods, he hoped not.
As he approached the keep, movement on the water caught his eye. Ships. Four of them, their sails marked with familiar sigils.
Magnus's exhaustion lifted immediately, replaced by something unexpected—relief.
The other jarls. Harald, Ragnar, Erik, and Ivar. They'd come for the wedding.
A warmth spread through Magnus's chest that he hadn't felt in months. Those men—warriors bound by the same impossible Pact—were the closest thing to brothers he had. They understood what it meant to be forced into marriage for the sake of peace, and Erik what it meant to carry the weight of two cultures on his shoulders, to be feared and mistrusted by the very people they were meant to protect.
And they'd come. Despite their own responsibilities, despite the distance, despite everything, they'd sailed to Barra to stand with him.
