Their journey home took a full sennight, for Reid wanted to go to the MacDonnell keep first to check on Alain. Corinne didn’t mind the delay, though, for as long as she could stay by Reid’s side, she was happy.

The MacDonnell healer stitched Reid’s calf and checked on their other injuries, but none required more than rest and time to heal.

Alain had been lucky. The arrow had hit him more in the shoulder than the chest, and after only a few days in the healer’s care, he was ready to return to Eilean Donan, his arm in a sling but his usual smile once more on his face.

Reid had sent Leith and Hamond ahead to the castle to alert the clan that all was well, but that Reid, Corinne, and Alain wouldn’t arrive for several days. Despite his men’s reassurances, though, the three of them were met with a sea of concerned faces when they rode into the village.

“Welcome back, Laird!” the villagers shouted, parting for their horses. “God be praised!”

In a strange way, this reception echoed Corinne’s first time facing the clan. Just as before, people swelled all around them, showering blessings and greetings on their Laird.

But this time, instead of curious or downright stony stares, she was met with the same warm smiles and kind words that greeted Reid and Alain.

“Milady, are ye well?”

“Welcome back, milady!”

“Lady Corinne, blessings on ye!”

Tears burned her eyes as she scanned the people’s upturned faces—her people. She waved and met their smiles, touching their hands when they reached for her and assuring them as best she could as they rode on that she was all right.

When they reached the docks and dismounted, the questions came fast and urgent from the crowd.

“Laird, what happened?”

“Is all well?”

“What of the MacVales?”

Reid held up a hand for silence.

“Those responsible for attempting to harm my lady wife and reap war with our allies have faced the ultimate punishment—and their souls are no doubt writhing in hell.”

A murmur of sober approval traveled through those gathered.

“As for the MacVales,” Reid continued, pausing. Corinne watched him as he searched for the right words. “They have a new Laird who is committed to a different direction moving forward. I have chosen to stand by him and give him a chance.”

A ripple of surprise passed over Corinne, mirroring the astonished whispers from the crowd. The Mackenzie villagers were no doubt shocked at their newfound peace with the MacVales, yet Corinne was more startled by what Reid didn’t say—namely that Fillan MacVale was his half-brother.

Reid remained quiet as they crossed to the castle in Timothy’s boat. Inside Eilean Donan’s walls, he repeated what he’d said in the village to the castle’s inhabitants.

To celebrate the Laird and lady’s safe return, Bitty insisted on throwing a feast. Alain was more than happy to be the center of several lasses’ attention during the meal. They fawned over him, refilling his ale mug, piling his trencher high, and cooing over his injured shoulder.

Reid, on the other hand, sat beside Corinne on the dais in silence, his flinty gray eyes distant in thought.

Seanad approached and pulled Corinne into a warm hug. “Welcome home, milady,” she said, giving Corinne another squeeze. Even Wallace came before the dais and bowed deeply to them both in his formal way. Despite the clan’s joy, Reid remained reserved.

Sensing the storm brewing behind his eyes, Corinne rose from her chair and took his hand. Without speaking, she led him across the hall and to the stairs. When they reached their chamber, she closed the door softly behind them and faced him.

“Tell me what troubles you.”

He let a weary breath go. “Am I so easily read, wife?”

“Only by someone who knows and loves you,” she replied, stepping closer.

One dark brow rose. “Ye are too clever by half. Which reminds me.” He moved to the hearth and stoked the fire which Seanad had thoughtfully lit. Winter was nigh upon them now. Though the bright, crisp sun had peeked through the clouds several times over the last sennight, snow still lingered in the shadows and the air held a sharp edge of cold.

“The missive ye left me—the one ye wrote yer message on,” he said, setting aside the fire poker. “It wasnae the first, was it?”

Corinne stilled. “Are you upset with me?”

In two strides he was before her, pulling her against his hard, warm chest. “Nay, lass.” His deep voice rumbled through her bones. “Never. It is only that I dinnae want ye to feel that ye ever have to keep things from me.”

She nestled into him, drawing strength from the corded arms holding her tight. “Gellis delivered another missive before that one. Brother Michael—or rather, Serlon MacVale pretending to be Brother Michael—offered to give me sanctuary and a place to work as a scribe if I left you. Now I know Serlon made Fillan write it in an attempt to lure me to him.”

“But ye didnae go.”

Corinne pulled back slightly so that she could look up at Reid. “Nay,” she replied. “Of course not.”

“But before ye kenned it was a trap, ye were offered everything ye ever wanted.”

She felt her brows draw together. “Nay,” she repeated, more fervently this time. “I had already found what I wanted—here, serving the clan. With you.”

The tension eased from his hard features and his steely eyes softened.

“The only reason I went with Gellis after the second missive was because I thought I could help someone in need while keeping the life I had come to love,” she continued. “Not because I wished to run away.”

Emotion burned in his stormy gaze. Slowly, he dipped his head and kissed her softly.

When at last he pulled back, she had to take a moment to catch her breath.

“Is that what has been troubling you?” she asked. “You thought I was still trying to escape?”

Reluctantly, he released her and dragged a hand through his dark hair. “No’ truly, nay,” he said, turning back to the fire. His broad shoulders cast her in shadow, his voice coming low and tight. “I trust in yer love for me, Corinne, just as I hope ye trust in mine.”

“Then what is it?” she murmured.

“I have been thinking on the scroll ye transcribed. The clan history.”

She waited, staring at the outline of his bristled jaw, where a muscle ticked as he searched for his words.

“It is a shame to think of ye having to redo it,” he said at last. “But now that I ken who my real father is, it seems that he must be added.”

Understanding washed over her, followed by pain for all that Reid had endured. She knew how much he’d longed for the knowledge of his blood sire, and what a blow it had been to learn the truth.

She slipped a gentle hand around his middle, pulling herself flush with his broad, strong back.

“I see no need to re-transcribe the clan records,” she said softly.

“But it willnae do to hastily add lines, as we did before. If the records are to show my real father—”

“They already do,” she cut in. “Reid, your real father already appears above your name—Murdoch Mackenzie.”

He stilled against her. “A question has plagued me ever since I learned that Serlon was my blood sire. Am I like him? I share his features, his blood—what else might I have in common with that monster?”

Corinne’s heart broke for Reid in that moment, but she couldn’t simply comfort him and let his words go unchallenged.

She planted herself in front of him, placing a hand over his heart. Even as she kept her touch gentle, her voice came out firm.

“Look at me, Reid. Though their blood runs in my veins, I couldn’t be any more different than my parents. My mother has shrunk into practically naught, and my father is a tyrant. I had to learn how to be strong and brave. I didn’t inherit that.”

A light of comprehension kindled in his eyes, but she went on.

“Speaking of learning, take my scribing, for instance. I wasn’t born knowing how to do it. I was taught. I worked at it. I practiced. It is the same with your honor, your goodness, your devotion to your people. You weren’t born knowing how to be a fair and just Laird, or a good man. You learned it—from Murdoch. Serlon’s sins can never change that.”

His gaze clouded with emotion, then turned molten. “God, how I love ye.”

Warmth crept from her neck into her face under his heated stare.

“Ye are the most incredible woman I’ve ever kenned,” he rasped, closing his hand over hers where it rested on his heart. She felt the strong, steady thrum there and knew it beat for her.

He lowered his head, claiming her mouth in another kiss. This time, though, his lips weren’t gentle. He showed her wordlessly just how deep and fierce his love for her was.

When at last he broke the contact, they were both left panting.

“There is…something else I need to tell you,” she breathed.

Reid stilled, his eyes searching her face. “What is it?”

This time, the heat in her cheeks wasn’t just from desire. “It is…a woman’s matter. My courses were supposed to come two weeks past, but they didn’t.”

He stood frozen for a long moment, and then his jaw loosened. “Do ye mean to say…”

“It is early yet,” she added hurriedly. “But…” A soft smile pulled at her lips. “But I feel different. I think I am pregnant.”

He enfolded her in a crushing embrace, burying his face in her hair. “My love. My heart,” he rasped, sending shivers racing over her skin. “Ye undo me.”

Tears pricking her eyes and heart swelling against her ribs, she let him hold her for a long moment, savoring his strength, his passion, his love.

At last, she eased back so that she could look up at him once more.

“You know what this means, don’t you?” she murmured, her mouth twitching as she fought against a grin. “You’ll have to admit to King Robert the Bruce that he was right. It seems your English bride has proven to be a boon after all.”

He leveled her with a look, but his lips quirked in barely-contained mirth as well. “I am no’ above putting aside my pride and admitting I was wrong,” he said. “If it pleases ye, I’ll shout it from the top of Eilean Donan—I am the luckiest man in all of Scotland.”

And when he dipped his head and kissed her fiercely, Corinne knew she was the luckiest woman, too.