Page 44

“Ye’re goin’ to wake the entire east wing, lad,” Brodie said, his voice a low, gravelly rumble in the quiet corridor.

Angus lowered the stick half an inch, his chest heaving. “The ghosts were comin’ up the south stairs. I had to cut them off.”

Brodie looked down at the boy’s red-tinged nose and bare feet. “The south stair is guarded by iron doors, Angus. The ghosts can wait.” He paused, his jaw working as he looked at the wild, restless energy bouncing in the boy’s eyes. “The timber fence around the lower goat pen broke in yesterday’s wind. I need someone to hold the posts while I drive the stakes.”

The boy’s eyes lit up. He dropped the stick instantly, his small toes digging into the floor. “Can I hold the heavy mallet?”

“Ye can hold the post,” Brodie replied, stepping back into the study to snatch up his heavy fur cloak. “Put yer boots on. And a woolen plaid. Move.”

Ten minutes later, the sharp, rhythmic thud of Brodie’s iron-headed mallet striking oak echoed through the morning air near the lower goat pens.

Angus grunted, his small hands wrapped around the thick oak stake, his teeth gritted as he tried with all his small might to keep the timber straight against the force of his father’s blows. But the earth was frozen hard, and the heavy post wobbled wildly under the impact.

“Hold it steady, lad,” Brodie said, halting the mallet mid-air. White steam puffed from his mouth into the crisp air.

Angus let go of the post with an angry huff, his hands dropping to his sides. He kicked a clump of frozen mud with the toe of his leather boot, his mouth twisted into a tight, frustrated pucker. “It’s too heavy. It willnae stay where I put it.”

“It takes time,” Brodie rumbled, resting the mallet’s head on the ground.

“Ye do it in one hit!” Angus shot back, glaring at the stubborn piece of wood. “Captain Douglas says a laird has to be stronger than the stone wall. I cannae even hold a post straight.”

Brodie dropped to one knee in the cold grass, bringing his eyes level with the boy’s. He reached out, his broad, rough palm cupping the back of Angus’s small neck, his fingers gentle despite the heavy leather riding gauntlet he wore.

“Douglas talks too much,” Brodie said softly. “Strength is just iron and bone, Angus. Any brute can swing a mallet or brandish a broadsword. A good laird is nae measured by how hard he strikes, but by what he chooses to protect.”

Angus wiped his nose with the back of his woolen sleeve, his dark eyes searching Brodie’s face. The anger in the boy’s small frame slowly melted away. He reached out, wrapping his cold fingers around the oak post once more, setting his boots firmly in the frost.

“Like this?” Angus asked quietly.

“Aye,” Brodie murmured, lifting the mallet again. “Just like that.”

They worked in silence for several minutes, the rhythmic thud of the mallet settling into a steady, comfortable beat. The horizon opened in thin ribbons of lavender and pale gold as the sun finally cleared the eastern peaks.

“Father?” Angus asked, his voice casual as he watched Brodie drive the last iron staple into the wooden fence rail.

“Aye?”

“Is Sheona goin’ to stay here forever?”

Brodie’s hand froze over the iron staple. He didn’t look up, his gaze fixed on the rough grain of the timber. “Why do ye ask that?”

“Because I asked her to,” Angus said, a proud little tilt to his chin. “When she was sick in bed, I told her she had to stay and teach me how to shoot the short bow. And she didnae say no.”

Brodie let out a slow breath through his nose, setting the iron staple down on the top rail. “Angus…”

“She stays because I asked her, does she nae?” The boy leaned over the fence rail, his dark eyes bright with innocent certainty. “She chose us.”

Brodie hesitated, the words catching in his throat like dry briars. He looked down at his son’s hopeful, earnest face—the face of a child who knew nothing of political alliances, blood feuds, or the crushing weight of a cursed name.

“She chooses to stay because she wants to stay by yer side, son,” Brodie said, his voice dropping an octave, heavy and deliberate. “She cares for ye. Do ye want her to stay?”

Angus didn’t hesitate. “Aye, I do.” Then the boy tilted his head, his brow furrowing as he looked up at his father. “Do ye want her to stay?”

The question hung in the freezing air, sharp and unyielding as an arrow point. Brodie couldn’t answer.

The silence stretched between them until the light in Angus’s eyes slowly shifted. The boy’s small shoulders dropped half an inch, and his lower lip tightened as he read the heavy, unsaid truth etched across his father’s grim jaw.

Brodie reached out, his heavy hand resting on the boy’s small shoulder. “Sometimes… a laird must do what is right, Angus. Nae what he wants.”