Page 53 of Under the Laird’s Promise

The speaker's eyes widened fractionally.

"Malcolm," Maighread called. "Begin the distribution."

The supply wagons rolled forward, and Tavish watched as the villagers' suspicion slowly gave way to cautious hope. An old woman approached first, her hands trembling as she reached for a sack of grain.

"Easy now," Tavish said gently, lifting the heavy bag for her. "Where's yer cottage?"

"Just there." She pointed with a gnarled finger. "But I can manage⁠—"

"Humor me." He hoisted the sack onto his shoulder. "Lead the way."

Her cottage was barely standing, gaps in the thatch letting in cold wind. Tavish set the grain inside and noticed three small faces peering from the shadows—grandchildren, by the look of them.

"There's salted meat as well," he told the woman. "And if that roof needs mending before the next storm, send word tae the warriors we're leaving. They'll help."

The woman's eyes filled with tears. "Thank ye, me laird. Bless ye."

Across the square, Maighread knelt beside a young mother with a bairn on her hip. The child was too thin, his eyes too large in his small face.

"How old?" Maighread asked softly.

"Two years come spring." The mother's voice cracked. "If we make it tae spring."

"Ye will." Maighread stood, signaling to Malcolm. "Extra rations fer this household. And fresh milk if we can find it."

"Me lady, I can't⁠—"

"Ye can and ye will." Maighread's tone left no room for argument, but her smile was kind. "Yer son needs strength tae grow. We'll see he gets it."

Tavish returned to find a group of young men hovering near the warriors, clearly wanting to speak but uncertain how to approach.

"Ye're the ones who'll train us?" one finally asked. "Teach us tae defend our homes?"

"Aye," Tavish confirmed. "Any man willing tae learn, we'll teach. Starting tomorrow if ye want."

"We want," the young man said fiercely. "We're tired of hiding while raiders take what's ours."

"Good." Tavish clasped his shoulder. "Courage like that's what keeps communities alive. Yer village is lucky tae have ye."

The distribution continued through the afternoon, and slowly the atmosphere shifted. Villagers who'd been hostile now offered shy smiles. Children emerged from hiding to watch the warriors with wide eyes. An elderly man pressed a small loaf of bread into Maighread's hands—"All I have tae offer, me lady, but it's given freely."

By sunset, the wagons stood empty and the village felt different. Warmer somehow, despite the cold.

Maighread found Tavish near the horses, checking girths for the ride back.

"We did it," she said quietly.

"Ye did it." He glanced at her. "They believe in ye now. That's worth more than all the grain we brought."

"We did it taegether." She touched his arm briefly. "Partners."

The word settled between them, meaning more with each repetition.

"Aye," he agreed.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

The last sack of grain thudded into old Morag's gnarled hands, and Maighread watched the woman's weathered face crumple with something too fierce to be simple gratitude. Relief, perhaps. Or the first breath after drowning.