Reid spun around, ignoring the screaming pain in his leg, then pulled Corinne behind him. With a curse, he squared himself to the band of MacDonnells barreling down on the MacVale keep.

“Inside, everyone!” Fillan shouted.

“Nay!” Reid barked, making Fillan freeze. “We’ll face them without a stone wall between us. This must end now if there can ever be peace.”

A shadow fell over Fillan’s eyes. Clearly, he was unsure if Reid meant to let the MacDonnells cut the MacVales down for what Serlon had done, or allow the MacVales another chance.

In truth, Reid wasn’t sure either, but he could only hope that the right decision would become clear before something irreversible happened.

The MacDonnells approached in a flurry of snow kicked up by their galloping horses’ hooves. To Reid’s surprise, he made out Laird MacDonnell himself at the lead, his sword already drawn as they closed in.

“Hold!” Reid bellowed, raising both hands at the MacDonnells.

The Laird and the others reined in, their horses’ breaths puffing white in the chilly air.

“Thank God ye are alive, Mackenzie,” MacDonnell said, his gray beard quivering with rage. “Now move aside. The MacVales have made their last mistake.”

“Aye, we have,” Fillan said. “I can assure ye that without Serlon as our Laird, we willnae wrong ye or yer people again.”

Laird MacDonnell’s eyes rounded as they fell on Fillan. “What in the—”

Fillan repeated what he’d told Reid—of Serlon’s cruelty and blindness, the MacVales’ suffering, and the hope for a new direction under Fillan’s leadership.

MacDonnell turned a disbelieving stare on Reid. “Dinnae tell me ye are buying this rubbish. Yer men Hamond and Leith told me about MacVale’s skullduggery in kidnapping yer bride.”

He waved toward the back of his retinue, and Reid’s gaze landed on Leith and Hamond. They each gave him a nod of reassurance.

MacDonnell turned back to Reid and seemed to notice Corinne behind him for the first time. “Praise Heaven she is well.”

“Did ye come across my man Alain?” Reid said, his gut twisting in fear for his friend.

“Aye, aye,” MacDonnell replied quickly. “He was alive when we found him. I sent him back to my keep with two of my men so that he could be seen by a healer.” The Laird’s mouth turned down even more behind his beard. “We also found the body of Gellis MacDonnell, whom I am ashamed to call a former clanswoman. But yer man is in good hands now.”

Reid let a breath go, but the moment of relief was short-lived.

“Enough talk, Mackenzie,” MacDonnell ground out, his gaze shifting to Fillan and the MacVales outside the keep. “Stand aside so that I can finish what these bloody MacVales started.”

At MacDonnell’s words, several of the MacVales reached for their swords, but Fillan held up a hand to stay them.

“Yer anger is justified, Laird,” he said. “But the men responsible for the majority of the trouble lie dead before ye.”

Fillan swept a hand over the arrow-pocked snow surrounding them, and at last Reid let himself truly look at the destruction.

The ground bristled with arrows—and bodies. Mungo lay on his back, an arrow through his eye. The other MacVales who had followed Serlon lay crumpled and bloody in the snow. Most of the horses had fled in terror when their riders had been picked off, but a few lingered, one with a wound to his shoulder.

When Reid’s gaze landed on Serlon, he went taut. His father lay face-up, his eyes wide and unseeing. A snarl twisted his features, so like Reid’s, in an eternal grimace. Five arrows protruded from his chest, pinning him in the blood-churned snow beneath the keep he’d once called his own.

A hush fell over all those gathered as they surveyed the carnage and ruin Serlon had brought to himself and his men. At last, Reid felt Corinne’s soft hand on his shoulder, and he pulled his gaze away.

For the first time since he’d arrived, a shadow of doubt crossed Laird MacDonnell’s weathered features. “What say ye, Mackenzie? The MacVales have wronged ye as much as they have me.”

Reid felt the eyes of both the MacDonnells and the MacVales shift to him. The only sound was his own heartbeat in his ears—his MacDonnell and MacVale blood coursing through his veins.

And Murdoch Mackenzie’s voice in the back of his head. Murdoch had taught him the meaning of honor, of leadership.

Do right by our people, son.

Murdoch’s words rose in Reid’s mind, bringing forth a tight knot of emotion to his throat.

Aye, Father.

Reid drew in a lungful of air. “I say,” he said, his voice echoing off the stone wall, “that we have had enough of war.”

MacDonnell blinked in surprise, and the MacVales began to murmur their agreement. Reid lifted his voice to be heard over them.

“Those who are guilty have paid the highest price,” he continued, nodding toward the dead MacVales. “There is still much to atone for, much to make right.”

At that, the MacDonnells grunted and muttered, eyeing the MacVales.

“But,” Reid went on, “we must start somewhere. What say ye, MacVale?” He turned to Fillan, pinning him with a look.

“I want peace for my people,” Fillan said, his gaze unflinching. “And that begins with making peace with our neighbors. The MacVales will rebuild the crofts we’ve destroyed over the years, and work the MacDonnell soil to help yer farmers recoup what we took. It is time we got back to hard work.”

“Aye,” his men said, nodding somberly.

“And ye, MacDonnell?” Reid asked, turning toward the older man.

The Laird shifted in his saddle, remaining silent for a long moment. Reid began to fear that the man wouldn’t yield an inch of goodwill, but at last he spoke.

“I’ll accept such a gesture,” he said slowly. “But I’ll be watching yer every move, MacVale. Betray my trust, and ye willnae get a second chance.”

“My father’s blood runs through my veins,” Fillan replied. “But that is all we shared. I willnae follow his path.”

Fillan’s words were like a lance to Reid’s heart. He pulled in a breath, taking Corinne’s small hand in his. “And for my part,” he said, drawing Fillan and Laird MacDonnell’s gazes back to him, “My mother’s MacDonnell blood flows in my veins.” He nodded to MacDonnell, then fixed Fillan with a penetrating look. “And Serlon MacVale’s blood as well.”

Gasps rose from both the MacDonnells and the MacVales. Fillan’s dark eyes rounded. He staggered back a half-step, barely managing to catch himself with his cane.

“Ye are…my brother?”

“Aye,” Reid murmured.

“I-I never kenned. I thought I was alone.”

“I only learned this morn.” He glanced down at Corinne, whose eyes were filled with sadness—and love. She squeezed his hand, then released it, urging him toward Fillan.

Reid strode forward until a pace separated them.

“Serlon raped my mother in an attempt to sow discord—through me.”

Fillan’s dark eyes hardened with pain. “I am truly sorry. I never kenned my mother, for she died giving birth to me, yet many murmured that it was a blessing, for it allowed her to escape my father.”

Slowly, Reid extended his hand toward the younger man. “As ye say, we dinnae have to follow his path.”

His eyes glistening, Fillan took hold of Reid’s hand. “To the future.”

“To the future!” the MacVales behind him echoed. The MacDonnells remained quiet, though Reid saw many of them nodding in approval.

Reluctantly, Fillan released their grasp. “I hope we can come to ken each other no’ only as allies, but as brothers, Laird Mackenzie.”

“Call me Reid,” he replied. “And aye, I’d like that, too. But for now…” He turned to Corinne, his heart swelling with more love than it could contain. “I am taking my wife home.”