Page 38 of The Highlander’s Defiant Bride

The morning after the attack dawned bright and clear, as if the storm of the night before had never been. The air smelled clean after the rains, and shafts of sunlight streamed into the great hall. Destiny sat at the long table, her mending set aside, a trencher of oatcakes before her gone mostly untouched. She listened to the bustle of the keep—the murmur of servants, the clatter of dishes, the men’s voices in the background as they discussed the night before.

Cameron entered from the courtyard beyond, his plaid flung back, his hair damp from the chilly morning air. He carried himself with that same quiet command she was coming to recognise, but today his shoulders looked less burdened. When his eyes found hers across the hall, a strange flutter stirred low in her stomach.

He crossed to her and, instead of taking the laird’s seat at the head of the table, he set his trencher down beside hers. The simple act made the hall feel smaller, more intimate.

“You have not eaten,” he said, glancing at her oatcakes.

Her mouth curved faintly. “Neither have you.”

He gave a quiet huff of laughter, the first she had heard from him that was not edged with irony. “I cannot argue with that assessment.”

They ate in silence at first, not heavy, but companionable. She found herself listening not to the scrape of knives or the crackle of the hearth but to the steady rhythm of his breath beside her.

Finally, he turned to her and said, “Thank you for all your help last night.”

“You are welcome.” Warmth spread through her, unexpected and unsteady. For once, she did not feel the need to defend herself, to brace for his suspicion. Instead, she allowed herself the smallest smile. “Perhaps we might continue as we began last night. As allies.”

His eyes held hers for a long moment, and she saw something there she had not expected—the faintest glimmer of ease. Of trust.

“Aye,” he said simply. “Allies.”

They finished their meal in silence, but it was no longer the silence of strangers bound by duty. It was the quiet of two people sitting side by side, beginning to see one another not as enemies, nor as burdens, but as something closer to equals.

Cameron stood and offered her his hand. “Will you walk with me?”

She pushed her chair back, stood, and accepted his hand. “Where?”

He shrugged. “To the battlements?”

The wind on the battlements tugged at Destiny’s hair, carrying with it the scents of heather and pine. The Cromarty Firth stretched before her, with a harbor lying to the southeast and the dark line of the Tullich Wood in the north, the rolling hills to the northwest, and the fields where Munro crofters would soon be sowing their summer crops of oats and barley.

Beside her, Cameron said, “This is why the name does not matter. Butcher or laird, cursed or praised. It makes no difference. All that matters is this land. These people.”

Destiny followed his gaze. From above, the farms looked so small, the cottages mere specks of grey against the green. Yet she imagined the lives within them—children learning to walk, women baking bread, men mending harnesses. Ordinary, fragile lives. Lives he bore on his shoulders.

“I begin to see,” she murmured.

He turned his head, his dark eyes steady on her. “Do you?”

Her heart quickened, but she held his gaze. “You fight not for bloodlust, but for this. For them. That is no butcher’s work.”

His jaw shifted, as if her words unsettled him more than flattery ever could. He looked away, back to the hills.

Destiny’s hands rested on the cold stone of the wall. She took a breath, then dared more. “Let me help you, Cameron. Not only in council, not only with whispers of warning, but here, in knowing the people. Let them see I stand with you. That I am more than what they expected. A token wife.”

His gaze snapped back to hers, sharp and searching. For a moment she thought he would rebuke her, shut her out again. But instead, he studied her, as though weighing her like he would weigh any seasoned warrior.

At last, his shoulders eased. “You would walk the land? Meet them? Speak for this keep as mistress?”

Destiny’s breath caught. “If you will allow it. If you will trust me to be more than what I was given as.” She hesitated, then added, “As long as it is safe to do so.”

The wind whipped around them, carrying away the silence that stretched between. Then, slowly, Cameron gave a single nod.

“The Mackenzies are no doubt regrouping. We will have a short reprieve before, or if, they attack again.” He released a slow breath. “Very well. You will ride with me when I make the rounds tomorrow.”

Relief and pride bloomed inside Destiny, though she kept her composure. She only inclined her head. “Thank you.”

He did not smile, but his eyes lingered on her longer than before, softer, as if some guarded part of him recognised that they had taken a step, small but certain, towards being partners.