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He pushed back his chair. Every head at the high table turned, but he ignored them all. He took a trencher from the board and loaded it with the best cut of venison, a heel of cheese, two bannocks still warm from the kitchen, and a spoonful of the heather honey the cook had been hoarding.

Callum watched it all with his eyebrows climbing steadily toward his hairline.

“Say a word,” Evander threatened, “and I’ll slam ye against the wall too.”

Callum raised both hands and said nothing, which was somehow worse.

Jack shifted in his seat, barely able to meet his gaze. Murmurs rose as he got up and left, but Evander couldn’t care less. His wife was hurting, refusing to eat because she was determined to keep watch over his nephew and niece. She was doing more than the bare minimum. She was going above and beyond, something he had never expected of her.

“Me Laird—” Callum began.

Evander shot him a withering glare. “Callum, one more word. Go ahead and say one more word.”

Callum clamped his mouth shut, not saying anything else.

Good. Evander didn’t want to hear it.

He turned on his heel and went upstairs, his boots thudding against the stone. All he could think about was Freya. He couldn’t enjoy his dinner when she sat up there, ignoring her own needs.

He frowned at the thought and kept climbing.

Freya had been here only for a few days, and already the place felt different. Louder, somehow. Warmer. He found himself listening for her voice in the corridors, glancing toward doorways she might step through.

That wasn’t distraction.

Was it?

He reached the top of the stairs and stopped, scowling at nothing.

Callum was never going to hear that admission. Not ever. The man would certainly never let him live it down.

Inside, Evander couldn’t hear anything except the twins’ faint breathing. It was good to know they were fine and that Archer would be well.

He had never doubted the boy would be hale and hearty. Archer was his father’s son, after all. While Evander had been more of a troublemaker, his brother had gotten into his own fair share of trouble.

Their father used to lament that he was given two sons who never gave him a moment’s notice.

Evander’s mouth curved at the memory. His father had not been wrong. Between the two of them, there had scarcely been a week without a broken window, a missing horse, or a furious neighbor pounding at the gate should they dare to bother their Laird.

He remembered the time they tried to climb the old oak by the loch, convinced they could see the Highlands from the top. Malcolm had reached the highest branch first, of course, and then promptly discovered he had no idea how to get down.

In that moment, he had laughed so hard he’d nearly fallen himself. Their father hadn’t been pleased at all. He had found them an hour later, red-faced and shouting, though Evander could have sworn he had caught the twitch of a smile beneath the anger.

Strange how those memories decided to resurface now, but he supposed it was bound to happen with him being back home.

It was a far cry from his last memory of his father. The man had been furious, ready to strike him down. Likely, the only reason he hadn’t truly tried to end his life in that moment was because of his mother’s memory. Only loyalty towards his late wife had kept him from striking down their youngest son.

Evander pushed the thought away before it could take room. There was no use dwelling on it. His father was gone now, and whatever words might have mended things between them had been buried with him.

Still it gnawed at him.

He had spent years telling himself he didn’t care. That he had made his own way, built his own life far from these walls, and that he carried the weight of his father’s disappointment. And for a while, he had almost believed it.

Perhaps… Evander had thought he always had a chance. He assumed he would always have a moment to make up with his father.

Now that chance had passed. His father was dead and buried alongside his brother.

There was no way to mend things with his father or brother, let alone meet his sister-in-law. Some stories were told of her. Apparently, she’d been a gentle soul. She might have been wary of him, but they might have built a friendship.