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He is sitting in the mud for me, Mabel realized, a strange, pooling warmth cutting straight through the ice in her veins. He is letting me fall apart without making me feel weak.

She shifted her weight, leaning a fraction of an inch to the left until her shoulder firmly pressed against his arm.

Caelan went still, but he did not pull away. The heat radiating from him seeped into her bones. They remained there, kneeling side-by-side in the freezing Highland dirt, until the grave was completely filled.

When it was over, the small gathering began to quietly disperse toward the horses.

Callum helped Rhea mount her horse, speaking in low, soothing tones to his wife. Rowan and Duncan were standing near the edge of the tree line, managing the escort.

“I must admit, Duncan,” Rowan was saying, leaning casually against a pine trunk, “ye held up well back there.” Duncan shot him a murderous look, checking the saddlebags.

“If ye daenae close yer mouth, MacLarren, I will use yer tartan to wipe the mud off me boots.”

“See? Highly emotional,” Rowan teased, tossing a small pebble into the brush. “Ye use threats to mask yer pain. I read about it in a book once.”

Mabel offered a faint, tired smile at the banter, brushing the dried dirt from her skirts as she walked toward them.

Several of the surviving MacAllister warriors had gathered around Caelan near his warhorse.

“Ye have our deepest thanks, Laird MacCarron,” an older warrior said, offering a deep, formal bow. “Ye risked yer own men to pull him from the ash. We will nae forget it.”

“He earned the right to rest in his own soil,” Caelan replied gruffly. “See that yer men are fed before ye ride back to the valley. Duncan has extra provisions in the supply cart.”

The warriors thanked him again and moved away.

Before Caelan could mount his horse, Rhea stepped away from Callum and approached him.

Mabel paused a few feet away, her curiosity forcing her to remain quiet and listen.

Rhea pulled her cloak tight against the wind, looking up at the towering warlord. She did not look intimidated. Rhea had never been easily frightened by scowling men.

“I owe ye a great debt, Caelan,” Rhea said, her voice steady and clear. “Ye fulfilled me father’s final wish. Ye kept her safe.”

“I swore an oath to yer father,” Caelan answered, his tone polite but guarded. “I merely kept me word.”

“It is more than that, and ye ken it,” Rhea corrected smoothly. “When word of the attack reached us, Callum wanted to ride out and bring her back to MacMahon lands, but we both kent the truth. She would nae be safe behind our walls.”

Caelan frowned, his thick eyebrows pulling together. “Clan MacMahon is strong.”

“We are rebuilding,” Rhea admitted, a shadow passing over her face. “The war last year took a heavy toll on our stores and our defenses. If any of the other vultures circling me father’s lands decided to march on us to take Mabel, we could nae hold them off. Nae without losing more of our people.”

Mabel’s chest tightened. She had not realized how vulnerable her sister’s new home still was. That is why Papa sent me to Blackthorn, she thought.

Rhea reached out, gently placing a hand on Caelan’s leather-clad forearm. “She is the heiress now. Every ambitious man in the Highlands is going to try to claim her. She needs a fortress. And she needs a guardian who terrifies them.”

Caelan looked down at Rhea’s hand then shifted his gaze across the clearing. His eyes locked onto Mabel where she stood near the pines.

The look he gave her was intense, stripped of the icy detachment he had worn in the chapel the other day. It was fiercely protective, burning with that dark resolve that always made her pulse race.

“While she remains under me protection,” Caelan said, his voice dropping into a low, vibrating promise that carried across the quiet cemetery, “nay one will ever take her by force. Ye have me word, Rhea. She willnae leave Blackthorn Keep until she is ready.”

Rhea smiled, a soft, knowing expression crossing her face as she followed his gaze to Mabel. “I believe ye.”

Callum walked over, wrapping an arm around his wife’s waist. “We must ride, Rhea. We have a long journey ahead, and the sky is threatening snow.”

Rhea nodded, turning to Mabel. “Come here.”

Mabel walked over, throwing her arms around her sister one last time.