Page 128 of Fang & Fury

Ailsa stared back at them, watching discomfort flicker across their faces. She continued to look their way, letting them know she hadn’t forgotten. Underneath it though, she couldn’t dredge up the old hurts and resentments. She couldn’t bring herself to care.

She’d spent years believing these people held the power to decide whether she belonged.

Now, she realized they never had.

She dismissed Lewis and his friends then, her attention swinging away and lifting to the turf-covered broch that rose before her.

Enough.

It was time to look to the future.

Darach drew Rùn up inside the yard beneath the broch and swung down from his stallion’s back. Ailsa dropped lightly to her feet next to him, and he turned to face her.

She looked lovely in the fine fur-lined cloak Lara had given her, one of her own. Alongside the small copper arm ring she wore, Ailsa now sported a beautifully wrought golden one, another gift from the queen.

Her thanks.

A wry smile tugged at his lips. After the battle, he’d been tempted to ask Ailsa to marry him. He could have made a public declaration and gotten the queen’s blessing too. Lara would have likely handfasted them the next day, if he’d asked.

But he’d checked himself, and he was glad he had.

That wasn’t the right moment. Ailsa deserved better.

And so, he’d waited.

On the ride back to Braewall, she’d been almost carefree. He thought she might grow nervous as they approached the southern capital, might worry that he’d force her into a role she wasn’t yet ready for.

Instead, she’d relaxed.

He’d watched her sometimes, when she didn’t think he was looking. The firm yet respectful way she spoke to his warriors, how she held herself as if she were already queen.

Ailsa would blossom here, he knew it.

A warrior emerged from the broch then and descended the stone steps toward them. The man was leather-clad and a little grizzled. Darach recognized him instantly. “Murdoch … where’s the steward then?”

The warrior grinned. “Baird left three days ago. Rode from here as if a band of powries was on his arse.”

Darach smiled back. “The man had more sense than I thought.”

Reaching the foot of the steps, Murdoch dropped to one knee and bowed his head. “Welcome home, sire.”

The respect and the warmth in his voice made Darach still.

Sire.

It wasn’t the first time anyone had called him this, but on this occasion, he truly marked it.

Darach stood there, with the spring sun caressing his face and the sounds of a busy fort around him. The clanging of iron, the bleating of sheep and goats, and the wail of a bairn somewhere in the distance.

This fort and these people were his responsibility now—one he was more than ready for.

He had bent the knee to Lara, but it wasn’t a submission. Instead, it was a partnership. An honor. His brother had never understood that.

Darach smiled, enjoying this moment.

They had a journey ahead of them still. Baldeen had to be brought to heel. King Artair had been informed that he now stood alone, and the man had an important decision to make. If he didn’t bow to Lara, Duncrag and Braewall would march on him.

There was other work too—quieter, but no less pressing. Word had already reached him that the surviving Circines were scattering back to their old territories, free of Gregor’s mark and Niall’s war. Craeg Aonaranach still stood, but much work was needed to remove the stain his brother had left there. Darach had sent carpenters north to help transform the fort from a military post into somewhere the Circines tribespeople could call home. Ailsa had insisted on nothing less, but he’d wanted to do it.