Page 82

The square outside the courthouse emptied swiftly once the fire was extinguished, townspeople and clan representatives hurrying into the snow-choked streets amid a confusion of frightened voices and jostling bodies. No one had been seriously harmed, but smoke still drifted faintly from the opened courthouse doors, and the smell of scorched rushes lingered sharply in the cold air.

Sorcha stood near the courthouse steps, wrapped tightly in her cloak, watching as William spoke quietly with two Munro guards beneath the glow of a lantern. Though still under escort, he no longer wore chains. The sight struck her with such fierce relief that it almost hurt.

Gavan came to stand beside her as she continued to watch William. Snow gathered lightly upon her brother’s shoulders as he listened to one of the guards explain the arrangements for his return south under escort. William nodded, his face drawn by weariness and the weight of everything that had finally come into the open. Yet beneath the strain, she could see the first fragile shape of redemption.

For a long moment, neither Sorcha nor Gavan spoke. The square had quieted considerably now, the last townspeople drifting away through falling snow while guards remained posted near the courthouse doors. Lantern light glowed softly against the white-dusted street, turning the afternoon strangely calm after the violence and uproar inside.

William glanced once towards Sorcha before the guards guided him towards the waiting horses farther down the square. He lifted his chin slightly to her, an awkward gesture that carried apology, gratitude, and grief all at once. Sorcha watched until he was gone from her view.

Only then did she release the breath she had been holding. “He lives,” she whispered, almost as if she still feared the world might snatch the truth away if spoken too loudly.

Beside her, Gavan stood with his cloak dusted in snow and smoke still faintly clinging to the wool. The strain of the day showed in him now that the courtroom no longer demanded his strength. Yet his gaze remained fixed upon the street where Calder had escaped.

“Aye,” he said quietly. “He lives.” But the words carried little triumph.

Sorcha turned towards him fully then. “And Calder runs free.”

Gavan’s jaw tightened faintly. “For now.”

The answer should have reassured her, yet something in his voice unsettled her instead. Not vengeance exactly, but something colder. More dangerous. The steady patience of a man who had already accepted the fight ahead of him.

Snow drifted silently between them for a moment before Sorcha asked the question that had been pressing against her ribs since Calder fled the courtroom. “What happens now?”

Gavan let out a slow breath that misted pale in the winter air. “Now the Highlands begin choosing sides.”

“You think Calder will gather support after this?”

“I think men who crave power rarely surrender it quietly.” His gaze remained on the dark ridgeline beyond Dingwall. “Some will believe he fled because the court was corrupt. Others will fear the Crown’s involvement more than they fear Calder himself.” His mouth hardened slightly. “And there are always men willing to follow strength, even when it leads them towards ruin.”

Sorcha shivered despite the cloak wrapped tightly around her shoulders. “Then this is not finished.”

“Nay.” The quiet certainty in the word chilled her more than the wind.

For several heartbeats, neither spoke again. Snow gathered slowly upon the courthouse steps around them while the sounds of Dingwall softened into a distant, muffled quiet.

At last, Gavan turned towards her fully. Whatever thoughts had darkened his expression moments before shifted slightly when his eyes met hers. “Your brother will return south under guard until the formal sentence is completed,” he said. “There will be fines. Restitution. Likely years spent rebuilding trust he shattered.”

“But he will not hang.”

“Nay.” Gavan’s voice gentled slightly. “He will live long enough to become better than the man who walked into that courtroom.”

Relief rose so swiftly inside her chest that for one dangerous moment, she thought she might weep.

She lowered her gaze quickly, steadying herself against it. “And me?” she asked more quietly. “What becomes of me now?”

The question seemed to catch him unprepared.

Gavan studied her for a long moment while snow wafted in breezes around them. “What do you wish to become?” he asked at last.

No one had asked her that before. Not truly. Not without expectations already attached to the answer. Daughter. Twin. Burden. Pawn between clans. But never simply herself.

Sorcha swallowed hard. “I do not know anymore.”

Something softened briefly in his expression then, though the steadiness beneath it never wavered. “Then perhaps,” he said quietly, “that is where freedom begins.”

The words settled into her more deeply than she expected. She looked at him then—not the provost standing tall after judgement had been delivered, nor the warrior whose name once frightened her, but the man who had chosen law over fury when vengeance would have been easier. The man who had stood beside her openly before an entire courtroom when silence might have protected his own reputation more safely.

“You could have ridden after Calder,” she said softly. “No one would have questioned it.”