Page 85 of His Stubborn Mate

Aye, that ‘twas something I could understand.

I could respect the old man.

The baron cleared his throat.

“I know this is a distance for you to travel. ‘Tis for me as well. Would you be willing to return next moon’s cycle, so I might talk with my namesake more?”

Cataline didn’t hesitate; ‘twas as if she’d known what he’d ask even before he said it.

“Aye. The weather grows milder, and we can manage this journey during the summer months.”

I wondered if she was remembering everything she accomplished last summer. Well, this year, she wouldn’t be alone.

The baron gave a slow nod, his lined face softening into a smile as he turned his gaze toward Ewan, his throat working.

“Go on, grandson. Return to your mother and father.”

All the breath left my body.

Father.

The old man had accepted our bond and was recognizing me in Ewan’s life—fully, completely, without demand. I remembered John’s plan, and how if it had gone the way he’d wanted, he would be the one standing here now to claim that title, and this respect.

But the difference was that Ewan was my son, and I would never take advantage of that love.

Serious once more, the baron then looked my Mate in the eye.

“Thank you, good lady, for not only raising him so well, but giving me the chance to know him.”

She nodded, brushing her hand soothingly down Ewan’s back.

“‘Tis my joy, my lord.”

The baron’s gaze moved to me last. He studied me for a long moment, his gaze lingering on my scars, and I raised a brow, daring him to say something.

To my surprise, he accepted the challenge, but not in a way I’d expected.

“And thank you, orc, for loving them both so well.”

For a heartbeat, I didn’t know what to do with that gratitude. Loving them wasn’t something I’d decided to do. Loving them was like breathing—something I couldn’t have stopped if my life depended on it.

But at this moment, faced with the old man’s words in between our two worlds, I knew ‘twas not something to shy away from either. So I gave a simple nod.

Respect.

A breath passed. Then another. And in that silence, I sheathed my sword, the gesture speaking for me.

When I held out my hands, Ewan’s small fingers twined through mine as Cataline stepped up to my other side.

Then, with a final glance at the mist and the wavering time, I stepped backward, holding eye contact with the old man who had the power to ruin us, and who had chosen love instead.

The swirling silver mist surrounded us, and when we emerged, we were home.

Cataline

The flickering firelight cast long shadows across the tent walls as I pulled my chemise over my head, the cool night air brushing against my bare skin. The weight of the evening—the meeting with the baron, the knowledge Ewan was safe in the children’s tent, the quiet pride in Maardok’s strength—settled in my chest, warm and heavy.

I needed him. Needed his touch, his voice, the way only he could ground me.