Page 75 of Wicked Kilted Highlander

CHAPTERTHIRTY-FOUR

"So, ye did it alone did ye? Ye saved him, lass," said a familiar voice behind her. She looked up, overjoyed to see Quinn, sword dripping, looking the worse for battle but thankfully intact. Elsie ran to him and embraced him. He hugged her to his side.

"Ach, ye’re in one piece, Quinn, the God’s be praised,” Lara choked out, feeling relief wash over her as she and Darragh leaned against each other.

“Aye, let’s move away from the fire,” Gil chimed in, striding up to them, followed by a bloody but unbowed Laird McLean. Both men still had their weapons out, and the blood of their enemies dripped on the grass and glittered like ink in the light of the flames. Pride and gratitude for her family flared in Lara’s heart.

"Och, Faither! Ye’re safe. Thank the Lord!" Elsie cried out, leaving Gil behind to fling herself at her father, who laughed and kissed her cheek heartily.

“Aye, and that bastard Campbell will nae be troubling anyone ever again.” The Laird declared in a voice of satisfaction, finally sheathing his sword. He nodded toward the cottage. "The place is going to fall in on itself any moment. Ye did well tae get out in time, though ye disobeyed me commands, as usual,” he added, bending to press a kiss on top of Lara’s head.

"Aye, she certainly did," Darragh coughed. "But she saved me."

"Well, there’s not much else we can dae here tonight. I’ll send some men to clear up this mess in the morning. I suggest we get back to the castle and let Darragh recover. He’s been through quite an ordeal," the Laird said. Then he turned to the younger man and said “Darragh, I owe ye many a word of apology, but we shall speak once we get back to the castle”.

Wearily, Lara helped Darragh to stand, and they hobbled over to their mounts with the others. Quinn gave Darragh a boost so he could mount his stallion.

“I’ll ride with him," Lara insisted, getting Quinn to help her up to sit in front of Darragh, who was still weak from smoke inhalation and the beating he had sustained. She reveled in feeling his warm, broad chest behind her and the firm touch of his hands as they covered hers. Like her own, they were covered with greasy soot, but she did not care. They held the reins together as the others mounted their steeds, and the entire family headed back to the castle at a more leisurely pace.

Behind them, the cottage collapsed into a heap with a groan, spraying sparks far and wide. But as they rode away, she felt raindrops in the wind and knew the fire would soon be snuffed out for good. Just as her father had snuffed out the life of the evil Gregor Campbell.

She leaned back against Darragh’s comforting warmth and allowed herself to enjoy the ride home.

* * *

The world swam back into focus as Darragh's eyes fluttered open, his vision blurred by the lingering haze of unconsciousness. The dim glow of the hearth danced across the room, the flickering shadows distorting the familiar faces of those gathered around him. His new family.

And the first face he sought was that of the woman he loved with every part of him. She was sitting by the bed, holding his hand. Her blue eyes rested tenderly upon him, and her face lit up to see him looking at her.

"Ach, he’s awake!" she cried, and the delight in her voice ignited a warm glow in his heart that chased away his pain. She peppered his face with kisses and squeezed his hand. A chorus of relieved exclamations came from around him, and he could make out Gil, and Esie, and Quinn standing nearby.

"Ye're awake." He recognized the voice of Laird MacLean, who stepped forward to lean over Darragh. His eyes, normally filled with authority, now appeared softened by worry and remorse. Darragh could see the weight of unspoken apologies bearing down upon the man's shoulders, and he knew what was coming next.

"Och, lad," Harris began, "I apologize, fer I've done ye wrong. I shouldnae have accused ye so hastily." He swallowed thickly, his Adam's apple bobbing beneath the grizzled beard framing his face. "I treated you as a criminal instead of a guest, caused ye pain and almost yer death, Darragh, and fer that, I'm truly sorry."

Darragh studied the man before him, feeling the sincerity of his words. There was no mistaking the genuine regret etched into the lines of the Laird’s face, nor the expectant hope that shimmered in his eyes.

"Thank ye fer yer apology, m’laird," he croaked out. Struggling against the weariness that clung to his limbs, Darragh managed to sit up in the bed. "I ken 'tis nae been easy fer ye."

Laird MacLean’s eyes lowered, his gaze tracing the contours of the earthen floor. "Aye," he admitted, a hint of shame coloring his tone. "But I let me convictions and love fer me daughter blind me and I didnae even give ye a chance."

"Truer words have never been spoken," Darragh agreed, managing a weak smile. The sting of having not being seen as the honest man he truly was from the start still lingered but when he looked into the sky-blue eyes of Lara, who was smiling at him, forgiveness began to take root inside him. With it grew the certainty that he and the laird could rebuild their relationship upon a foundation of understanding and trust.

"M’laird," Darragh began, his voice a low rumble that mirrored the distant storm brewing outside, "I will nae turn away the hand ye offer in forgiveness. But there’s one condition before I accept."

Harris met Darragh's black gaze. "Name it.”

"Forgive me as well," Darragh implored, "fer the secrets I kept from all of ye. They weighed heavy upon me, but I feared losing yer trust and respect."

There was a moment that stretched between them, the silence thick and charged with anticipation. Then Harris nodded solemnly, the corners of his mouth lifting ever so slightly.

"Och, lad," Harris sighed, the sound mingling with the crackle of burning logs. "We all bear our burdens and conceal our secrets, dae we nae? Lara told us everything, and I forgive ye, Darragh MacDonald, and accept ye into our family, secrets and all."

The tension in the room shifted as with a deliberate movement, Harris extended a hand towards Darragh, a symbol of his newfound acceptance into the MacLean fold.

Darragh's chest swelled with relief and gratitude, his breath catching in his throat as he grasped Harris' outstretched hand. The warmth of their clasped fingers sent a ripple of reassurance through him, as if he'd been granted sanctuary amidst a storm.

"Thank ye," Darragh murmured. Within that simple gesture, he found the promise of mended bonds and an unexpected kinship born from forgiveness.