Chapter 17
The wall wasn’t high. He could vault it easily, and yet it seemed to him like the most forbidding of barriers.
Evan stood leaning against the stone, hands resting on the weathered top, staring out over the stretch of land that had once been his responsibility. Beyond the low boundary wall, the fields rolled gently down to a cluster of cottages gathered around a narrow track. Smoke rose in soft spirals from chimneys. A dog barked somewhere. The sun glinted off a fishpond in the distance.
It looked prosperous. That, more than anything, unsettled him.
He had told no one he was coming. Not Niall. Not Ruby. He had made this decision after speaking to Niall this morning and had acted before he had time to change his mind. Before he had time to flee like he always did. He could have asked Niall to come with him, but that would have been another form of cowardice.
He needed to face this alone.
His palms were damp despite the cool breeze that skimmed over the grass. A faint tremor ran through him—not fear exactly, but something close to it. Anticipation? Or shame?
He had left this land years ago in a storm of pride and resentment, telling himself that he owed the people who lived here exactly nothing. At the time he’d thought it was self-preservation. Now he couldn’t tell the difference between that and cowardice.
He drew a slow breath, tightened his hands on the rough stone, and vaulted the wall. He landed lightly on the other side, boots thudding against packed earth. He adjusted his tunic, squared his shoulders, and began striding toward the settlement.
The first person to notice him was a man working near the edge of a barley field. He straightened slowly, shading his eyes against the sun. His brow furrowed, clearly wondering who this newcomer was.
Evan kept walking. Another head lifted. Then another. By the time he reached the track that led between the cottages, several pairs of eyes were following him. A murmur passed through the air, low and uncertain.
They didn’t recognize him, and how could he blame them? He’d changed much in the intervening years. The older generation—the ones who had known him as a reckless, mud-streaked boy—were fewer now. The faces watching him were younger, and he didn’t know any of them.
He stopped beside a man mending a fence. “Is the headman about?” Evan asked, keeping his voice steady.
The man blinked, clearly startled to be addressed so directly. “Aye,” he said slowly. “Hamish MacLaren’s around.”
Hamish MacLaren. Evan was surprised at how relieved he was to hear that name. At least one thing hadn’t changed.
“Where will I find him?” Evan asked.
The man gestured toward the largest cottage at the far end of the settlement. “His house is over there, by the ash tree.”
Evan nodded his thanks and moved on. Children began trailing after him almost immediately, pointing and whispering.
“Who is he?”
“He looks important.”
“Look at those knives!”
Evan resisted the urge to turn. As a boy, he’d been one of those children, chasing after riders or strangers who passed through, hungry for novelty.
He wondered what they saw now. A stranger. A man too well-dressed for a tenant, too weathered for a nobleman. Someone who didn’t quite belong.
The thatch on the cottages was neat and recently repaired. The vegetable patches were well-tended. A new well stood near the center, its wooden frame sturdy and freshly painted.
This was not the downtrodden settlement neglected by its laird that he’d expected to find. A flicker of unease twisted his gut, and he suddenly felt more out of place than ever, like he was a trespasser who had no business intruding into these people’s lives. He’d lost that right long ago.
But he steeled himself and kept walking until he reached the cottage under the ash tree. There he stopped, finding a tall, bull-necked man waiting for him.
Hamish MacLaren was older than Evan remembered of course, shoulders thick as oak beams, his hair now more gray than brown. His arms were folded across his chest, his expression stern. Suddenly, Evan felt twelve years old again.
He cleared his throat and put on his charming, roguish smile. “Good morning, Hamish. It’s been a long time.”
The older man’s eyes narrowed, studying him from head to toe. “Evan Campbell.” There was no warmth in his tone. No welcome. But then, Evan had not expected one.
“I—” he began.
