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A heavy, suffocating silence fell between them, thick with a venom that made the cold air feel thick as lead. Brodie stared down at her, his throat locked tight, a sudden, heavy regret twisting like a knife in his gut as he realized how deeply his harsh tongue had cut her.

Before either of them could utter another word, a sharp crack of thunder exploded directly overhead, shaking the very ground beneath their boots.

From the tree line barely twenty yards away, a small, high-pitched scream tore through the gloom.

Brodie snapped his head toward the woods, his hand instinctively dropping to the pommel of his broadsword.

Angus stood between two ancient rowan trees, his small face pale with absolute terror. The boy had disobeyed Sheona’s command, following her down to the meadow in secret, and had been hiding in the brush the whole time—listening to every bitter, venomous word they hurled at each other.

“Angus!” Sheona gasped, her cold demeanor shattering instantly as she turned toward the boy.

The moment the child saw both of their dark, furious faces turn toward him, he let out a frantic sob, turned on his heel, and bolted blindly into the thick, treacherous timber of the lower forest.

“Angus, stop!” Brodie bellowed, taking a desperate surge forward.

By the time Brodie and Sheona reached the edge of the tree line, the dense foliage and gathering dusk had swallowed the small boy whole. The first heavy, freezing drops of rain began to pelt down through the canopy, splashing hard against the dry leaves.

Brodie cursed under his breath, drawing his heavy wool plaid tight across his chest as he turned back to Sheona with a fierce, authoritative glare.

“Stay here,” Brodie commanded, his voice leaving no room for debate as the downpour began in earnest. “Go back to the postern gate and wait in the dry. I will fetch the boy.”

Sheona didn’t even hesitate. She looked at him with dark, fierce defiance, lifted the mud-heavy hem of her skirts, and marched straight past his shoulder into the dark, rain-swept woods.

“I am comin’ with ye,” she threw back over her shoulder, disappearing into the dark trees right behind him.

The heavy rain crashed down through the dense pine canopy, turning the forest floor into a treacherous wash of slick needles and dark, churning mud. Sheona pushed through a cluster of wet bracken, her green wool cloak soaked through, her lungs burning from the sharp, freezing air.

Ahead of her, Brodie’s massive frame cut through the gloom like an iron siege engine, his dark hair plastered to his forehead as he swung his head wildly from side to side. Every line of his back was drawn taut with a terrifying tension.

Sheona could see the cold, lethal rage still burning in his profile, but beneath it lay a raw, agonizing desperation that no laird could mask. He was a father whose child was lost in the dark, and the knowledge that their bitter, venomous words had driven Angus into the storm weighed as heavily on her chest as it clearly did on his.

The boy had heard everything. He had heard the ugly, brutal truth of their arranged misery.

A sudden gust of wind lashed a spray of freezing water across her face. Sheona took a quick, urgent stride forward over an exposed tree root. Her wet leather sole lost traction, and her leg buckled beneath her.

“Ah!” Before she could hit the muddy bank, a heavy, calloused hand clamped around her upper arm like a vice, hauling her upward with effortless, explosive strength.

Brodie pulled her flush against his side to steady her, his broad chest heaving beneath his soaked wool plaid. The heat radiating off his body was immense, but his dark eyes were stormy, his jaw clenched so hard the muscles jumped beneath his stubble. He released her instantly, taking a step back as the torrent hammered down on them both.

“Ye are bleedin’!” Brodie shouted over the roar of the gale, pointing a stern, trembling finger toward the direction of the keep. “The track is washed out and night is fallin’! Go back to the postern gate now! That is an order, Sheona!”

“I amnae takin’ yer orders, Brodie!” Sheona yelled back, stepping straight into his path, her blue eyes flashing with a fierce, unyielding light that pushed his fraying patience to the absolute brink.

“I willnae argue with ye in the middle of a deluge!” Brodie growled, his voice a gravelly roar. “Ye are slowin’ me down!”

“He followed me!” Sheona fired back, her voice cutting through the deluge with sharp, desperate clarity. “He left the warm kitchens because he wanted to be near me! I am just as responsible for him being out in these dark woods as ye are, and I willnae abandon him!”

Brodie stared at her through the blinding downpour, nostrils flaring, chest rising and falling in deep, ragged gulps. For three agonized seconds, it seemed he might pick her up and throw her over his shoulder. But seeing the fierce, unwavering devotion blazing in her soaked, mud-splattered face, he let out a dark, ragged curse that was swallowed by the thunder.

“Fine,” Brodie spat, turning sharply to face the deep timber. “Keep yer eyes on the ground! Call for him!”

They split off by twenty paces, moving parallel through the blinding curtain of gray rain, their voices raw as they shouted into the dark.

“Angus!” Sheona’s voice cracked against the gale, her boots sinking ankle-deep into the mire. “Angus, sweet lad!”

“Angus!” Brodie’s thunderous roar echoed off the crags, heavy with a father’s rising panic.

Sheona wiped the rain from her eyes, her heart hammering against her ribs. The woods were growing darker by the minute, shadows stretching between the tall pines like grasping fingers. If the boy spent the night out here in the freezing damp⁠—