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One villager down, only about a hundred to go…

The tension in the air was almost suffocating. Damon didn’t need to hear the whispers to sense the villagers’ unease. The looks they gave him—quick glances, narrowed eyes, lips pressed tight—spoke volumes.

They dinnae trust me. Nae yet. Perhaps nae ever.

Lilith walked a few steps ahead of him, her back straight, her head held high. The copper tones in her hair caught the torchlight, and for a moment, he was struck by how at ease she seemed amid their suspicion. She wasn’t trying to win their trust—she already had it. And the fact that her presence alone softened their gazes niggled at him in ways he wasn’t prepared to ponder.

“This is Branloch,” she said, her voice cutting through his thoughts. She gestured toward the modest homes andworkshops that made up the village. “These people have endured more than ye can imagine.”

“And ye think I dinnae ken hardship?” he asked, his tone sharper than he had intended.

Lilith glanced back at him, her lips curling into something between a smirk and a scowl. “Och, I’m sure ye have endured plenty. But that doesnae mean they’ll take kindly to ye until ye prove yerself.”

Damon didn’t respond, his gaze sweeping over the village. Smoke lingered in the air, the remnants of the attack still fresh. Damaged fences, scattered belongings, the occasional streak of blood on the cobblestones—it painted a grim picture. But what struck him most was the way the villagers moved, their steps purposeful despite their weariness. These weren’t people who gave up easily.

A woman approached them, her face lined with worry, soot smudged across her apron. “Me Lady,” she greeted, dipping into a quick curtsy. Her gaze flicked to Damon, and her mouth tightened. “Laird McCallum.”

“Emma,” Lilith returned warmly. “Are ye all right? Were ye hurt?”

Emma shook her head. “Nay, me boys and I are fine, thanks to the men who fought them off. But it was close. Too close.”

Damon stepped forward, his voice steady. “I’m sorry this happened. I’ve brought men and supplies to help repair the damage. And if there’s anyone still in need of attention, I’ve brought healers as well.”

Emma’s eyes darted to him, her expression cautious. “That’s… kind of ye, Me Laird. Thank ye.”

Damon inclined his head, resisting the urge to press further. He’d learned long ago that trust couldn’t be forced. Still, the wariness in her eyes grated at him.

“He means it,” Lilith said suddenly, her voice carrying a note of conviction. “Laird McCallum may nae be who ye expected, Emma, but he is here to help. And he’s brought more than words. He broughtaction.”

Emma hesitated, then gave a small nod. “Thank ye,” she said again, her voice softer this time.

As they moved on, Damon glanced at Lilith. “Ye didnae have to do that.”

She arched an eyebrow. “What? Speak the truth?”

“Ye didnae have to vouch for me,” he clarified. “Nae when ye’re still unsure of me.”

Lilith’s lips curled into a faint smile. “True. But it’s nae about me, is it? It’s about them. Emma runs the inn. Her three sonsare a part of the clan army—they report directly to Finley on the border.”

Damon didn’t respond, though her words lingered in his mind as they continued through the village.

They arrived shortly at the blacksmith’s forge, where they were met by a burly man with dark hair and soot-streaked skin. His arms, thick with muscles, were crossed over his chest as he watched them approach.

“Hunter,” Lilith greeted, her tone light despite the tension in the air. “Still scarin’ the children, I see.”

Hunter?

The man’s stern face broke into a grin. “Only the ones who try to steal from me.” His gaze shifted to Damon, and his grin faded. “Me Laird. We havenae met. Hunter Parrish.”

He looks familiar, but where did I see him before? Is he related to the assassin?

“Good to ken ye,” Damon offered, meeting his eyes evenly.

Hunter studied him for a moment, then gave a short nod. “Well, if ye’re here to help, I willnae turn ye away. But dinnae think for a second that we’ll bow and scrape just because ye have taken Magnus’s place.”

Lilith cleared her throat. “Hunter works the forge with Fionn, who I’m guessin’ ye met earlier.”

Images of the burly, blonde-haired warrior working the forge earlier that morning flashed through Damon’s mind, and he nodded slowly. “Aye, we are acquainted.”