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The words settled between them.

He reached into his coat then and withdrew a folded paper.

Sorcha’s vision blurred. “William,” she whispered.

Gavan nodded once. “The charges have been narrowed.”

Her breath caught. “Narrowed?”

“They cannot prove intent,” he said. “Not as they wished. He will be heard. Properly.”

Tears burned immediately. She pressed her lips together, fighting them back. “He will live?”

“For now,” Gavan said.

The world tilted. Sorcha reached for the table without realising she had moved.

Gavan was there instantly, steadying her with a hand at her elbow. The contact was brief, but it lingered in her bones.

“There is more,” he said quietly.

She lifted her gaze, heart racing. “What?”

“I am taking you to Dingwall tomorrow,” he said.

The words did not make sense at first.

“Tomorrow?” she echoed.

“You will see him,” Gavan said. “Before the trial. Under guard, but privately.”

Her breath broke free in a sound she could not control. “You would do that?”

“I will,” he corrected gently.

She searched his face for irony, for command, for debt, and found none. “Why?” she whispered.

His jaw tightened, then relaxed. “Because he is your brother,” he said. “And because waiting alone is a cruelty I will not add to.”

The words struck deeper than any promise. Sorcha nodded once, unable to trust her voice.

Gavan glanced again at the pine and holly and the softened lines of the corridor. “You have changed the house.”

She shook her head faintly. “Only reminded it who it was.”

Something unreadable crossed his face. “I suspect Yuletide in Dingwall is quieter than it once was,” he said after a moment. “But there will be lights. Fires. Bread enough.”

He hesitated then, as though weighing a decision, before reaching back into his saddlebag and drawing forth a wrapped parcel bound in plain cloth. He held it out to her.

Sorcha blinked, startled. “My laird?”

“For tomorrow,” he said, his voice gruff with something that almost sounded like awkwardness. “I purchased it in Dingwall. From a woman who was near enough your size.”

She accepted the parcel slowly, fingers trembling.

“I would have you look your best when you see him,” Gavan added, gaze steady but careful. “Your brother has enough to trouble his mind. Let him see you well and whole.”

Emotion rose so quickly that she could not speak. The weight of the parcel felt heavier than cloth alone.