Just as Moira had told her husband, once they rounded the bend in the trail and were clear of the birch trees which grew thick and full on either side, the cottage in which she’d spent her life up until then came into view.

Was it truly that small? She had always known it was small but knowing something and seeing proof of it after being away for several months were two different things entirely.

It was shabbier than ever in appearance, which did not come as a surprise. She had not expected Kin Reid to keep abreast of the cleaning and repairing. The roof would already need patching, several of the wooden rails which made up the fence running the length of the property were loose or altogether missing.

“I expected to find the twins out-of-doors,” she murmured as they walked their horses up the road. She rode abreast of Fergus, while Rodric, Quinn, and Brice rode behind them.

They’d all insisted upon coming—so much so, in fact, that she’d asked Fergus more than once if he’d told them about her scars.

While she was unashamed of them, they were not something she wished everyone to be aware of. She loathed the thought of her husband’s brother and friends looking at her and seeing not her but something that had happened to her.

He’d sworn he hadn’t breathed a word of them in particular, but admitted having shared the fact that Kin was a cruel and thoughtless father, a shiftless and lazy farmer with an overfondness for drink and a terrible temper.

They’d all agreed on the importance of making this journey.

She studied her husband from the corner of her eye as they rode. What was he thinking? Did he imagine her running across these fields as a lass? Or was it the lifetime of hard work he saw, instead?

They would talk about it once they’d reached home, like as not, and he might share with her then. When they were alone.

“I did not expect to see this place again,” she mused, more to herself than to the others.

“Are ye certain ye wish to continue on?” Brice asked.

“Oh, yes.” She smiled over her shoulder at her brother-in-law. The older brother she’d never had. There was quite a lot of Fergus in him, and not only when it came to their similar appearance.

While he possessed a more lighthearted manner than his brother, Brice was just as loyal and as fierce when it came to protecting that which was his.

It had been so long since she’d felt protected, as though her needs mattered to anyone but her.

They had not yet reached the overgrown path leading to the cottage when the door burst open to reveal her father. His body filled the doorway, just as tall and wide as she remembered.

It was a mercy to find no weapon in his hands. For the man would surely think himself capable of fending off four intruders—five, including his daughter.

He would be wrong.

While Moira felt no love or even tenderness toward the man upon searching her heart, she understood the danger the men would be in if given no choice but to kill him. He might have been little more than a drunken fool, but he was a Reid, and Tyrone Reid would not take the murder lightly.

“This is the man who beat his daughter and neglected his sons,” Quinn snarled, to which Rodric gave a snort of understanding.

Yes, he was the man. So much larger than her.

“What will ye be wantin’ on my land?” Kin shouted. The slur in his words told Moira what she needed to know of his condition.

“We have not come to raise trouble with ye,” Fergus replied as they continued to approach. “Merely to settle business.”

“I’ve no business with ye.” Kin squinted, staring at Moira before recognition dawned on his puffy, florid face. “I’ll be hanged. I didna know ye without dirt on yer face and yer hair in snarls about it.”

“Perhaps because she no longer labors like a slave from dawn to dusk,” Fergus replied in a jovial tone, as though he were jesting.

Kin ignored this, still staring at his daughter. “Ye caused me no small bit of trouble, lass. Running as ye did, I shoulda known ye would. I ought to take it out on your hide.”

“I would watch what I say.” Fergus was no longer jesting. His voice cut like a whip.

Kin’s head rocked back as though he’d been struck.

“And who are ye to be tellin’ me how to speak to my own flesh and blood?”

“Her husband.” Fergus dismounted then, joined by his brother and friends. “Fergus MacDougal, your son-in-law.”

Kin appeared dazed by this turn of events. “I thought… she… ran away…”

“Aye, but I found her. And I’m tellin’ ye of the marriage not so ye can run back to Tyrone Reid or Luthais Campbell to collect the reward they surely promised ye once your daughter married into the Campbell clan. That is not the reason we’re visiting ye today.”

“And just why, then?”

Kin had not moved, still blocking Moira’s view of the inside of the cottage. Where were the boys?

“We’ve come to take the twins.” Her voice rang out, strong and clear. “They’ll not be living here with you, Kin Reid, not as long as I have a breath left in my body.”

“They are my sons.”

She held his gaze long enough that it seemed as though everything around them faded away. “I am more of a mother to them than you were ever a father, and I could not live with myself if I knew they had no one to care for them.”

“They are men!” He staggered from the house, swaying as he approached. “They do not need a woman hangin’ about them, turning them into weak, weepy things!”

Fergus made a move toward him as though to hold him back, but Moira shook her head.

“They will soon be men, yes, but they must learn to be the right sort of men. You could no sooner teach them how to be that sort than you could teach them to stay away from heavy drink.” She sneered from atop her mare as she observed the way he tried to hold himself up, to appear as though he were not already well into a jug of wine so early in the day.

Kin shook his head. “Ye will not take them. I need them here.”

“Ye do not need them on a farm of this size,” Rodric observed. “But we are willing to make it worth your while if ye feel it would be so great a loss.”

Moira shot him a sharp, questioning look. They had not discussed this. What was he on about?

Kin turned to Rodric, brows lifting. “What’s this, now?”

“We are prepared to offer payment for your sons, if this is what ye feel you’re due as their father.” He glanced around, unimpressed. “It ought to be enough to hire help if needed.”

The sort of help Kin needed could not be bought with all the silver Padraig Anderson had offered, for that must have been what happened, Moira reasoned. Rodric’s brother had agreed to offer payment in exchange for the twins.

That was what he meant by a wedding gift. He would purchase the twins from their father if it meant ensuring their well-being. It was not enough that he had accepted both she and Fergus into Clan Anderson, thus leaving it impossible for either the Reids or Campbells to claim them.

He would claim and protect her brothers, as well.

The swell of emotion this inspired all but choked her.

“Let us go inside and discuss the arrangement,” Rodric offered, gesturing toward the cottage.

Moira watched as Kin led Rodric, Quinn, and Brice into the cottage.

They left the door open, she noted with a wry smile. In case of the need for a fast escape.

“Where are they?” she muttered, turning the mare in a circle. “I thought for certain I would see them about.”

“Perhaps they’re in the woods,” Fergus reasoned, a hand on her leg. “Hunting, as ye taught them.”

“Perhaps one of them has a bolt sticking out from his head,” she fretted, remembering the last day she played with the twins.

“What?” he laughed.

She had not the time to explain, for a pair of curly-headed young men emerged from the shadows across the field, both of them carrying their quivers and arrows.

How was it they already appeared so much older? Taller, even? Their wrists hung pitifully far from the cuffs of their tunics, their ankles from the trousers, the garments impossibly small for their growing bodies.

But they were there, and alive and healthy enough and now hurrying toward her, whooping and hollering her name.

She dismounted, crying out as she did, running to them the moment her feet touched the ground. They met her halfway between the cottage and the woods, with Moira all but choking them both as she threw her arms around their necks.

Their voices overlapped, all three speaking at once.

“I told you she was well!”

“We heard… we thought…”

“Remember, I said I would be all right!”

“Why are you here? Are you home for good?”

“Have you been behaving yourselves?”

“Who is that?” Iain looked over Moira’s shoulder to where Fergus waited.

“And whose horses?” Jamie added.

“That, lads, is my husband.” She could not yet speak the word without breaking out in a smile which stretched from ear to ear. Her husband. Hers.

They were silent for so long, eyes and mouths wide, she considered knocking their heads together to jar them into their senses.

“You have a husband?” Jamie whispered.

“Did you think no man would have me, Jamie Reid?” she teased, elbowing him in the ribs.

“Nay,” Iain replied for him. “We thought you would have no man.”

She linked her arms through theirs, leading them to where Fergus stood. “Well, I cannot blame you for believing such a thing, but you can be assured he is my husband and we were wed because we wished for it to be so. Not because we were told to marry.”

“Who is he?” Iain asked as they approached.

“Fergus MacDougal.” Fergus held out a hand to shake theirs. “It’s pleased I am to meet ye, lads. Your sister has told me much about ye both.”

“You married Fergus MacDougal after all?” Jamie laughed. “After all the fightin’ and hollerin’ you did—”

“That’s enough out of you,” she hissed, elbowing him harder this time and with greater purpose than before. “Yes. I married him.”

She exchanged a look with her husband. “And we would like for you to come and live with us.”

The twins gaped at each other, then at her.

“You mean it?” Iain asked.

“Where?” Jamie demanded.

“When would we leave?”

“How far is it?”

“Does this mean ye wish to go?” Fergus chuckled.

She took their hands. “Think on this seriously. It is a grave decision. It would mean leaving the farm, leaving Banff, traveling quite a way. Across the Cairngorms, to the Grampians and beyond. You cannot change your minds halfway through the journey and decide you wish to return home.”

“Why would we wish to return here?” Jamie asked, his voice dark.

“Has he harmed ye?” Fergus muttered, his smile gone. “Ye can tell us.”

“No—but he was in a worse state than ever when we heard you’d run away,” Iain explained. “We took to the woods, just as you told us.”

“I’m sorry.” She touched her forehead to her brother’s shoulder—it was higher up than she remembered, another reminder of how they both continued to grow.

“He would have been in a dark mood for some other reason,” Jamie reminded her. “And I will tell you now. I wish to go with you.”

“As do I,” Iain agreed. “There is nothing here. And little chance of Tyrone Reid arranging marriage for either of us, since he’s in an angry way after what you did.”

“I don’t want to marry,” Jamie decided with a firm shake of his young, unknowing head.

“Nor do I,” his twin agreed with similar firmness.

Fergus met Moira’s eyes over the tops of their heads and shared a secret smile. No, neither of them believed they’d ever be wed, either. But life had other plans, as it would just as likely have for the twins.

Brice exited the cottage with a satisfied smile and a quick nod to Moira. It was done. Her father had all but sold his sons. With any luck, the man would take the money he’d collected and use it to drink himself to death.

Perhaps it would be a kindness in the end, for he was certainly the unhappiest creature she had ever known.

“Gather your things, quickly,” Moira advised. “We shall leave right off, and I will tell all while we ride.”

It would not take long, and she knew it as she’d mended their garments for as long as they’d worn them. A few tunics between them, their bed linens, and the bows and quivers were their only possessions.

She would see to it they had everything they’d ever missed. New clothing, horses of their own, a place in the household, the freedom to learn a skill or trade if they so wished. They might even train to fight and protect Padraig Anderson and his clan.

If they wished. She would never force her will upon them.

So long as they knew they had a choice.

The circle of Fergus’s arms was warm and welcome, and she sank against his chest with a sigh. It had been a long ride and would be equally as long on the return, but it was worthwhile to know her lads were safe.

She closed her eyes. “Thank you.”

“I would deny ye nothing, lass, and I’ve told ye this.” His lips were tender against her forehead.

“But you did not have to do this. None of you did.”

“We do for our own, and ye are my own, Moira MacDougal. My own forever and always.”

Forever. Always. Two words she had never dared entertain in the old days—not so old, truly, for all they seemed as such. The lass who met Fergus MacDougal in a cave might as well have been another person in many ways though no more than three months had passed since then.

But not in all ways, for there was a still a dirk at her waist and would likely always be one. She could not forget who she was so easily.

And woe to the man who thought he could tell her what to do, even if she had vowed to love and honor him for the rest of her days.

“Where is he?” Fergus asked upon Quinn’s exit from the cottage.

“In his bedchamber, waiting for us to depart. The lads are nearly ready. Brice is seeing to them.” Moira opened her eyes in time to find him scowling. “The place is in terrible condition. Ye ought to see it.”

“I do not wish to see.” It would only infuriate her, and she knew better than to fan the flames of resentment. She could just guess that Kin had forbidden them from performing household tasks, calling it woman’s work.

He would rather live in his own filth than lift a finger to help himself. Or his children.

The best course of action would be to leave and put it behind her forever. The past was the past—while some scars remained, only a fool would allow them to destroy happiness in the present.

And she was happy. Sometimes, in the middle of the night, awoken by the snoring she had come to love so well, she held both hands over her mouth to stifle the pure, joyous laughter which bubbled up from her heart.

For she’d never considered happiness and was not certain what to do with it now that it was hers.

What she understood was its fragility. How easy it would be to overlook or take for granted. How precious it was and how it demanded tending and care, like a jewel she could polish and protect and hold close.

Now, knowing she’d kept her brothers safe, that they would have a chance at becoming decent men, her happiness was greater than ever she could have imagined.

“I wonder if I’m dreaming,” she whispered as she watched Rodric and Brice assist the twins in hanging their belongings from the saddles of two geldings Kin had likely collected several shillings for.

The sound of their laughter created a buzz in her heart, like a hive of bees.

Fergus slid an arm around her waist, pulling her to him for a quick kiss. “If ye are, so am I,” he smiled, running his fingers over her cheek, ending at her chin. He tilted it back, looking her in the eye. “And I know I’m not, lass.”

“Nor am I, then,” she smiled in return. It only felt that way from time to time.

“Come, let us be off. We have quite a bit of riding to do.” Rodric and the others mounted their horses, soon joined by Fergus and Moira.

“I suppose you did not expect your day to take such a turn,” Moira grinned at the twins as they led the horses at a walk from the front of the cottage.

They wore the same shy smile, looking a bit confused and relieved and impressed with their company all at once. She had the feeling they would worship their new friends before the day was out, admiring their skill on horseback and hunting ability, wanting to be just like them.

A good thing. The way it ought to be.

Moira exchanged a look with Fergus, riding beside her as he always did.

Yes. Everything was the way it ought to be.