Chapter Four “Braemar at Dusk”

Braemar wasn't what Eleanor had expected.It wasn't grand or bustling, as the stories had painted it in her imagination. There were no grand halls or cobbled streets lined with polished carriages. Instead, it was… simple. Quiet. Humble in a way that made her chest ache.

The village emerged slowly from behind a soft veil of evening mist. Little whitewashed cottages crouched close together as if huddling for warmth, their windows glowing with firelight, the smoke from their chimneys weaving into the sky. It was peaceful. Too peaceful, perhaps. She wasn't sure if that steadiness comforted her or made her feel like an intruder.

Callum rode beside her without a word. She stole a glance at him. His gaze wasn't fixed on the road or the horizon but somewhere in between, as if he was carrying something heavy and had grown used to the weight.She knew the feeling.

They crossed a stone bridge. Beneath them, the river rushed fast and cold, its surface dark as ink. For a brief moment, she imagined letting go of the reins and slipping into that wild current. Would it carry her somewhere she belonged?But she shook the thought away.Not now. Not here.

"You've done well," Callum murmured as if he could hear her restless thoughts.His voice was low, reassuring."You'll want a warm fire soon."

She swallowed, the knot in her throat tightening. "I've ridden farther before," she lied.His eyes flickered to her hands. She was gripping the reins too tightly again, her knuckles pale. He didn't call her out on it. He didn't challenge her bravado.She was grateful.

Callum's cottage was the last on a quiet lane, half-hidden behind a wild thicket of gorse. Yellow blossoms bloomed bright even in the fading light, defiant in their beauty. She liked that. It made her think of her mother's diary.Wildflowers thrive where they aren't supposed to.

Dismounting was harder this time. Her legs ached from the ride, her muscles stiff and sore. Callum noticed—of course, he did—but he said nothing. He just reached for her horse's reins with a calm that made her feel a little less foolish.

"Let me," he said quietly, taking over without making her feel helpless.

Inside, the cottage smelled faintly of peat smoke, pine, and something clean—soap, maybe. It wasn't large. There was one room, low-ceilinged and worn smooth by time. Everything was simple: a plain wooden table, a hearth already burning low, a narrow bed tucked into the corner. And yet, there was something comforting about its rough edges.This was a place someone had made into a life.

"You can sit, if you like," Callum said, nodding toward a chair by the fire.It wasn't a command. It was an offer.Eleanor sat.

He busied himself with the kettle, filling it from a battered jug, setting it carefully in the fire's cradle. His movements were quiet but sure, and she found herself watching him more than she meant to.When was the last time someone had made something for her without expectation? Without asking anything in return?She couldn't remember.

The tea was simple and strong.Callum poured hers first, his fingers brushing hers when he passed the mug. He didn't flinch away from the contact, and neither did she."Do you want honey?"He pushed a little jar toward her without waiting for an answer.She smiled, faintly. "Yes. Please."

They sat there, two strangers sharing something small and warm on the edge of a wild place.

"You live here alone," she said. It wasn't really a question, but he answered anyway.

"I do."And then, after a pause, "It suits me."

"Solitude?" she asked."Freedom," he corrected gently.

She nodded. She understood more than she wanted to admit.

Later, she stood by the window, staring out at the dark hills. The stars were beginning to show themselves. She wondered if the same stars watched over her mother when she came here all those years ago.What had Arabella felt, standing in this same valley?Hope? Fear?Something in between?

"You'll find what you're looking for," Callum said suddenly behind her.

She didn't turn. Her fingers brushed against the cool glass of the windowpane."What if I don't know what I'm looking for?" she whispered.

The silence that followed wasn't heavy. It was thoughtful."Then maybe you'll find what you need," he said.Soft. Certain.

For a long while, neither of them moved.And then Eleanor did something she wouldn't have thought herself brave enough for a week ago. She turned away from the window and walked toward him. Quiet. Steady.She sat down beside him on the bench by the fire, close enough that their shoulders brushed.He didn't pull away.Neither did she.

And in that small moment, something shifted.Not everything. Not yet.But something.