“No.”
The word landed like a stone dropped into still water.
Final.
Her blood turned to ice. “No? What do ye mean no? We must go—we can slip out the back, take Dubh, cut through the birchwood—”
He stepped toward her, cupped her face in both hands, and pressed his forehead to hers. His hands were shaking now. He didn’t bother to hide it.
“Fiona,” he said softly, breaking. “It’s not just us anymore.”
The baby stirred between them.
“Our daughter needs a mother,” he whispered. “A home. A life that’s not spent runnin’ from shadows.”
Her breath fractured. “She needs you. Harris, she needs you.”
He closed his eyes.
God, how it hurt him to hear that.
“Listen to me, lass.” His voice shook. “If we run again, they’ll never stop huntin’ us. They’ll chase us from glen tae glen, from island tae island, until ye’re both nothin’ but ghosts.”
Tears spilled hot and helpless down her cheeks. “Then we run forever. I don’t care. I won’t lose you! I won’t—”
The pounding below grew louder.
A shouted order.
The unmistakable clang of metal on stone.
Redcoats. A dozen, maybe more.
Harris kissed her—quick, rough, desperate.
“I spoke with the post commander’s man last week,” he said quietly. “Inverness. Quiet-like.”
The room tilted.
“You what?”
“There’s already a warrant written,” he went on. “They only came for me.”
Her knees weakened. “You made a deal.”
“Aye.”
The word was raw.
“They’ll take me to ‘Ness. Stand me before a court that already knows its verdict. Traitor. Spy. Rebel.” His jaw clenched. “I’ll no’ deny it.”
Tears spilled helplessly down her cheeks. “Harris, no—”
“But in return,” he said, holding her gaze now, “they’ll mark you a widow, not an accomplice. A woman wronged, not a woman who knew. Glenoran stays under supervision, not seizure. No soldiers quartered here. No further questions. No pursuit.”
Her breath stuttered. “This isnae mercy!”
“No,” he said softly. “It’s containment.”
