He smiled faintly and offered a respectful bow of his head. “It has been some time,” he said gently. “Your father speaks well of you. We’re glad to welcome you to Strathloch.”

The words might have meant something, had she not already been met with his son’s callous dismissal. Still, she offered a polite nod, and when it was time, she walked to the courtyard to begin her journey home.

As the carriage door opened and the step was lowered, Sorcha gathered her skirts and paused, glancing back at the keep. The small hope she had carried with her to Strathloch had been well and truly extinguished.

She donned the only armour she had, the one she had foolishly thought she might finally lay aside. Her expression smoothed to calm, her shoulders squared, the stony mask she relied upon settling back into place as she stepped into the carriage without another look back at the keep that would be hers in two short years.

And as she was carried back to Glenbrae, her heart hardened against him. Calum MacRae had made it clear how little she mattered, and she vowed she would ne’er soften her heart to him.