The fires from the festival had long since burned down to embers, and the courtyard lay quiet, emptied of everything but the gentle aftermath of a successful celebration.
Aaron stopped at the window in the Great Hall, a cup of untouched whiskey cradled in his hand as he watched the pale light spread slowly across the eastern hills.
It was over. MacFaris was dead. His son—the man in black—had been caught attempting to flee through the western gate, and Caelan had brought him to the same fate before the night was over.
The entire incident had gone without notice, and by the time the last of the guests began their journey home, only a handful of people knew what had truly unfolded within the keep.
They would all learn of it, eventually. News like this never remained buried for long.
But for today, Hallow was quiet, and Aaron allowed himself to simply stand there, breathing in the silence.
Footsteps sounded behind him.
“Me Laird.”
Caelan crossed the hall, stopping a few paces away as Aaron turned to face him fully.
“Report.”
“The bodies have been taken care of,” Caelan said, simply and without ceremony, the way he delivered all necessary truths. “His men surrendered once they understood what had become of him. Three of them. I have them held in the south tower until ye decide what to do with them.”
Aaron nodded. “And his lands?”
Caelan exhaled slowly. “By law, they fall to ye. MacFaris had no legitimate male heir. There is only the daughter now—the one he once offered ye in marriage.” He paused. “She is the last of his bloodline.”
Aaron set his cup down on the windowsill.
“She is nae to be harmed,” he said immediately. “Whatever her faither did, she carries no guilt for his actions.”
“Aye, me Laird. I expected nothin’ less.”
“The matter of the lands will be decided later,” Aaron continued, his voice steady. “With a clear head and proper counsel. I never wanted to take MacFaris’s lands by force.”
Caelan nodded. “As ye say.”
“The men in the south tower—feed them. They were followin’ orders, same as any soldier. I will speak with them before any judgment is made.”
Caelan studied him for a moment, quiet approval clear in his expression.
“Is that everything?” Aaron asked.
“Aye,” Caelan said. “The messenger and his maither are reunited. The festival grounds are cleared. The clan is settled. The keep is secure.” He paused briefly. “And Lady Edith is awake.”
Something stirred in Aaron’s chest.
“Martin says she slept through most of the night,” Caelan added. “The wound is clean. She is well.”
Aaron’s eyes closed briefly against the relief that flooded through him.
He had known it since Martin’s initial assessment. He had known it through every hour of the long night and had held onto Edith’s words like a lifeline as he secured the keep, even when every instinct screamed at him to return to her side.
Knowing she was fine and believing it were, as it turned out, two different things.
Aaron moved away from the window, heading toward the corridor before motioning for Caelan to follow him.
Scarlett was in Martin’s chamber when they arrived. She stood at Edith’s bedside, her hand resting lightly on her friend’s. Their voices carried softly as Scarlett filled her in on the moments of the festival that she had missed.
Edith looked up once he entered, her eyes lighting up with a relief so open that Aaron nearly stopped in the doorway.
