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It proved to be the exact distraction he needed.

Evander was able to forget the men who had threatened his wife on the road, demanding that he return to his father. The men had thought he’d come running if they simply asked. Clearly, his father didn’t know him well if he thought that would work.

He kept asking questions, and she kept answering them, and somewhere between one question and the next, he realized his hands had loosened around the reins without his noticing, the tension gone from his shoulders for the first time since that man had said, “Ye’re wanted at home.” She made the world feel… lighter, and he wanted to keep her talking forever.

Home. As if that word still meant something to him. As if a man could banish a son and then whistle him back years later like a hound that had wandered too far off the leash.

He turned the thought over once more, grimly, and set it aside.

Whatever his father wanted, it would have to wait until he had settled his wife and found a roof for several hundred people who’d trusted him with their winter.

That was the order of things now. His father could wait, the way Evander had waited twelve long years for an apology that would clearly never come.

Beside him, Freya was still talking, something about her sister’s wedding and a dress that hadn’t fit, and he found himself listening properly now, not merely letting her voice drown out his thoughts.

The road bent ahead of them, climbing toward a ridge, and beyond it—though neither of them could yet see it—smoke was already rising from a camp that was no longer merely his.

The camp had all gathered to see him bring his new wife back. By the time they climbed off their horses, people had lined up to welcome her. Some were familiar to him, while others were new.

But they all had one thing in common: they were excited to see what she was there for.

Evander bit back a growl, wanting to usher her into his tent. She was for his eyes only, but he tamped down that urge.

“Me Laird,” Callum called out from the crowd.

He was one of the few faces Evander was happy to see in that moment.

He approached, but his attention was focused on Freya. “Me Lady, ‘tis an honor to have ye with us. We’ve arranged a feast and some games to welcome ye home.”

Freya smiled, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes.

Neither of them had settled into their respective roles yet, but this was what Freya had agreed to: three weeks to allow him to change her mind.

“Thank ye. Let us proceed to the games and then the feast.”

Callum’s eyes went to the blood on Evander’s sleeve, and he leaned in, grinning as though he had been given a gift. “Try nae to look so sullen, me Laird. Are ye nae supposed to be a besotted husband?”

Evander growled. “Callum, are ye trying to test me?”

“Perhaps a bit.”

“Well, I would advise ye to stop while ye’re ahead.”

Callum pulled away, with a faint smirk that suggested the discussion was not yet over. “Please follow me, me Lady.”

They proceeded to a hastily arranged collection of chairs and benches. Evander sat to watch, with Freya beside him, though he’d rather have been out with the men, showing his skills.

The caber toss went first. Fergus wrestled the great pine upright against his shoulder and heaved it end over end into the grass with a crack that startled birds from the hedgerow.

“That,” Freya remarked, “looks like an excellent way to break one’s spine.”

“No spine yet,” Evander said fondly as Fergus pumped a fist at the crowd’s cheers. “Though he spun himself silly a few times from the weight, before he learned how to throw it properly. His faither tossed the caber for thirty years. Died with better shoulders than men half his age.”

Next came the hammer throw, and Evander’s cousin Rory drew the loudest cheers, spinning the iron ball once, twice, before sending it well past the last mark.

Evander was on his feet before he had realized it, shouting, and caught himself only when Freya laughed up at him.

“And here I’ve thought all day ye were just bein’ a sullen sod.”