Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Rushes strewn across the hall’s floor, sweet and fresh earlier in the week, were already soiled with table scraps, muck tracked in from the damp, and filth from the animals. The odor was bearable but wouldn’t be for long. The feasting clans had no idea the fetid stench in which their reclusive High King Palpatine normally lived.

If only Grandfather would trust Rey with the castle’s management, she would ensure new rushes were cut, but being a spendthrift was the least of his vices. With nineteen winters under her corset, she should have the chatelaine jangling at her waist. For that matter, she should have been years married, but she was more captive than kin and now subject to this ridiculous charade for her hand.

Oh, the nobles were earnest enough in seeking to win her, as if she were some prize broodmare, but Grandfather would never leave the winner to chance. He should have betrothed her to Laird Hux and had done with it. That would have been honest. But High King Palpatine hadn’t spoken an honest word in his long and ruthless reign. He wouldn’t know integrity if it slapped him across his scarred face.

If Rey prevailed, she could yet benefit from the sham competition and ensure Laird Hux was the last man she’d marry. Armitage might toady before the High King and submit to Palpatine’s manipulations, but he abused his servants and mistreated his horses. He was deceitful, cruel and calculating.

Rey’s eyes trailed down the table of suitors and stopped on Laird Kylo of Clan Ren. Even when he was a knight, he’d carried himself like a prince. He sat with back straight and shoulders square, stiff in contrast to his peers who lounged over their trenchers of roast venison and whose laughter grew more raucous the deeper they sank into their cups. Perhaps Kylo moderated his consumption. That boded well.

No, she dare not make excuses, not for a murderer who’d gained his power on the edge of a blade. Rey was no stranger to violence—no maiden raised at Exegol could be—but considering what happened to Laird Snoke? The Dark Knight had become the Dark Laird for good reason. She suppressed a shudder, along with the memory.

Kylo turned his head as if he’d felt her gaze. What lay behind his cool stare? Was it offended pride? Did he look on her with disdain, recalling all that had passed between them? He’d hardly uttered a word to her during the course of the Games, not that they were afforded much opportunity.

She was only permitted to observe the proceedings from her small throne before she was hustled back to the castle. As Grandfather frequently reminded her, the princess need neither speak with nor have affection for her bridegroom. Her duty was to pledge her troth and welcome him to her bed.

Rey looked away. Why must she blush? She wasn’t pledged to Laird Ren, so why did her heart beat like the wings of a trapped bird?

She stood to take her leave.

As if they didn’t brawl enough during the Games, the chiefs and their men were sure to descend into a scuffle before the night was over. Then they would crash into heaps of stinking warriors, snoring and unconscious, while dogs scoured food from the overturned trestles. Men too drunk to find the privy would urinate in the corners. This was no place for a maiden determined to guard her virtue, princess or not.

Rey moved toward the stairs to the private chambers. The ladies rose to follow her lead.

“Raoghnailt.” Grandfather’s voice grated over the din like a knife on a whetting stone, and the hall hushed.

How she detested that name. She paused with head bowed and one foot on the first step.

In the quiet, his voice rasped clear. “Ye will do your duty, lass.”

“Aye, Grandfather, I ken my duty.” Duty to the clans and not to him. How dare he lecture her as if she were a child. She raised her head and met the unsettling golden eyes set deep in his mangled face. “Dinnae fash yourself.”

The hall erupted in guffaws, and Palpatine glowered. Perhaps, with guests filling the castle and her marriage on the horizon, she might escape punishment for such disrespect.

“Dinnae fash yourself,” someone repeated.

“She’s a feisty one!”

“Is that red hair under her wimple?”

“She’s a right match for ye, Laird Hux.”

“Aye, do ye reckon she’s as feisty in bed?”

More ribald comments degenerated into uproar. Rey sighed and climbed the stairs. They were like youths in the first rush of manhood, the lot of them, even though many had passed three decades.

“Och, hurry and close your bonny eyes, highness,” a voice rife with good humor called after her. “Ye willnae be sleeping this time tomorrow.”

Rey paused again and leveled her most arch look down at the speaker. “Aye, Laird Dameron, speak for yourself. Ye had better retire early to regain your stamina.”

Laughter rolled over the crowd, and Rey took stock of her suitors one last time. All week she had dithered over which nobleman to marry and how to bend the games to her will. They would end with archery come morning and in the evening she would wed the winner. Still she remained undecided.

Her gaze snagged on Laird Ren again. This time he looked away but not so quickly that she missed his fleeting smile.

***

Perpetual fog shrouded the castle of Clan Palpatine where it brooded on a cliff above Loch Exegol. Nothing grew in the ashen soil, and mist hung from the skeletal trees like spectral garments. Even during the day, a candle was necessary to navigate the hallways. At night, the darkness seemed to writhe and coil like a living thing.

At least Rey wasn’t locked in a tower and could seek refuge in the little-used chapel with its simple, worn furnishings. Here she could find solitude—and hope. She tiptoed down the stone aisle and lit the altar candles from her taper. Warmth bloomed around the intricately carved cross like a flower opening around its stamen.

She knelt before the altar and prayed for guidance.

Grandfather had ruled as High King for nigh on fifty years and squashed any rebellions that arose, but he couldn’t live forever. Rey had long thought to break his power through marriage, but marrying into either Clan Hux or Clan Ren would cement their unholy alliance and further strengthen Clan Palpatine.

Clan Skywalker had once rallied a valiant fight and achieved something akin to peace, though that was before Rey’s birth. If the Skywalker heir still lived, Ben would have been the natural choice as counterbalance, but both he and Laird Solo were dead. In their absence, Lady Leia had assumed the unorthodox role of clan chief, as revered by her allies as she was disparaged by her foes.

Rejecting Laird Hux and Laird Ren as suitors left the nobles allied with Clan Skywalker: Poe, Finn, and the second son of Clan Chewbacca, whose name she couldn’t pronounce and whose dialect was unintelligible, though a taller or hairier man she’d never met. He’d won the caber toss as if he were flicking a toothpick. But brute strength and a gentle heart wouldn’t win against Grandfather’s cunning.

The lesser nobles were equally impotent against Palpatine. In that regard, marriage to any would suffice. Finn was closest to her age, had never been married, and was constant in his devotion. But Laird Lando, though elderly, still held Clan Calrissian’s reins.

Only Laird Dameron remained. He had already fathered a daughter approaching sixteen winters and a younger heir by his deceased wife, but he was Lady Leia’s protégé and had proven himself a courageous, if impetuous, chieftain.

By elimination, Poe was her best choice.

Rey shifted on her knees, released the tension in her shoulders, and exhaled. How many times had she followed the same logic and arrived at this same conclusion? Yet there was no peace in the answer.

Why did her stomach roil with unease? Poe might be a flirt, but he had shown himself a decent man, a tough competitor, and a strong leader. United with her, perhaps they could rally resistance and overthrow her grandfather. He certainly didn’t lack audacity—and they would certainly plunge the Highlands into war.

Rey closed her eyes. What was her duty? To bring freedom from Palpatine’s oppressive rule or to preserve peace and avert bloodshed? She couldn’t have both.

If she married Laird Hux, as Grandfather wanted, perhaps she might subvert his power from the inside, but she was under no illusions that he could be influenced. Not like Kylo.

She had thought that once, last winter, when Grandfather’s visit to Laird Snoke’s mountain fastness thrust them together over a fortnight. Kylo was but a knight then, and Grandfather envisioned a loftier match.

Theirs were stolen moments: speaking looks and swift glances in company; bending their heads together over a book, his long locks brushing her cheek; and sparring in the snow when he discovered she could handle a sword. The vapor of their breath mingled when they sat on the crenellated wall and stared at the stars. The touch of their ungloved fingers sent a wild thrill bounding through her veins like a stag through a glade.

Rey reached into her bodice, withdrew a piece of vellum, and unfolded the small square. Soon it would disintegrate from wear. Her eyes filled with tears as she traced the words: You are not alone. It was as if he saw the lonely life she led. For that brief time, she felt known, just as she had known him. She saw kindness, compassion and goodness behind the callous rigidity and fits of temper the Dark Knight donned like a mask. So she had gone to him, her heart full of hope.

The memory came in flashes, and this time she didn’t push it away: Kylo’s visceral scream split her ears as he swung both arms and his claymore met flesh. Laird Snoke’s torso severed at the waist and fell to the stone with a sickening thud. The act nearly cost their lives, and they fought together against Snoke’s guard. When it was over, when her bloody fingers were trembling too hard to hold her dirk, when the flagstones were slick with gore, the air tangy with iron and reeking with spilled entrails, she begged him to leave and he begged her to stay. Their impasse prevailed.

Whatever Rey thought she’d seen in Kylo, whatever this connection was that they shared, he was capable of monstrous acts. Laird Snoke was nearly as evil as Grandfather, but the Dark Knight had slain him, unprovoked, just as he first killed Laird Solo.

Even had Kylo the power to defeat Palpatine and take the high throne, it could worsen their position. Laird Ren was young and strong; his dark shadow might dominate the Highlands for many decades. Besides, what was to keep the Dark Laird from killing Rey, if he felt threatened or challenged? If she could not sway Kylo when he was a knight under Snoke’s thumb, she certainly wouldn’t sway him now that he led Clan Ren. There must be another way.

Maybe she should run, try to find Brother Luke and beg him to return from his monastery and intervene.

Och. Why must it be so difficult? Rey bowed her head, pushed the wimple back, and wove her fingers into her hair.

“Laird Poe will be disappointed to know your hair’s no’ red.”

Rey leaped to her feet and whirled, one hand on the sheathed knife dangling from her belt. It wasn’t as sharp as the dirk at her calf, but it was closer to hand.

“Forgive me for startling ye.” Lady Leia spread her palms. “But I thought ye might like company on the eve of your wedding.”

“Aye, and I’m grateful.” The foremost bench was a stride away and Rey dropped onto it, one hand over her heart. Her pulse pounded. “I was lost in my thoughts.”

“What troubles ye?”

“You told me once that my duty as princess lies with the Highlands and to all the clans.”

“Aye, ‘tis true.” Leia eased down beside Rey and stroked her hand. “You’ve come to the right place to seek wisdom.”

“I pray and pray, but I dinnae ken what to do.”

“Dinnae you?” Leia’s touch stilled. “Or do ye no’ like the answer?”

Rey sucked a tight breath. She didn’t like the answer. Give Grandfather the satisfaction of marrying Laird Hux? Never. But to choose Laird Ren of her free will? Dare she risk the Highlands on naught but a feeling and the vain hope that she could change a man beyond redemption? Was that not the fool’s path?

“Ye ken what must be done.” Leia was no stranger to difficult decisions. She pulled Rey into her arms and pressed Rey’s head into her shoulder.

Rey yielded to the comfort of the older woman’s embrace. If her mother lived, she would have held Rey like this. She would have listened and advised. How she hungered for a mother’s loving touch. But if Rey married the man who’d cost Leia her son and her husband, she would never look on Rey with a tender eye again.

“I ken, I ken.” Leia’s low voice crooned in her ear. “But never fear who ye are.”

Rey knew what she had to do.

Chapter Text

Rey smoothed her royal purple skirts and straightened her sash as she stood from the small throne placed beside Grandfather. Her dress was a bold statement. On the last morning of the Highland Games, she was expected to wear the colors of the nobleman favored to win: red for Laird Hux.

Grandfather had scowled but was too proud of the Palpatine tartan to require that she change. Just as she planned. 

Never fear who ye are, Leia said. Well, Rey was a Palpatine and a princess. She was strong and brave; she wouldn’t forsake her faith or forfeit her hope. She wore her own colors, and she would compete for her own hand.

Before any could challenge her, she strode onto the murky range, withdrew her bow from its hiding place, and slung the quiver across her back.

The crowd gasped.

She turned to the master of ceremonies. “What be the standings?”

“Your highness.” Unkar Plutt bowed, cleared his throat, and cast a wary glance at the High King.

Condensation gathered, dripped, and punctuated the wet morning.

When royal guidance was not forthcoming, Plutt’s voice boomed over the assembly: “Laird Ren has won at longbow. This ends the Games with a tie amongst Laird Hux, Laird Ren and Laird Dameron. In the event of a tie, the High King shall—”

“As princess”—Rey cut him off—“I shall break the tie.”

His fleshy jowl wobbled like a beached fish, even though she’d always sworn he favored a hog.

Rey didn’t wait for Plutt’s sanction or bother to gauge Grandfather’s reaction. Let him glower and bluster. If he didn’t want her shooting a bow or wielding a dirk, he shouldn’t have insisted she be trained in such unladylike arts.

She nocked an arrow, sent it dead center in the first target, and strode to the next. Mist eddied and ebbed, obscuring her sight, but she prevailed. By the time she reached the third target—Finn’s—the spectators were murmuring. At the fourth—Poe’s—the nobles were calling on the High King to halt this outrage.

Palpatine didn’t speak, and Rey didn’t stop.

The fifth and final target belonged to Laird Ren. Her wimple was tight. Even in the chill morning, she swiped perspiration from her brow. The fog shifted, revealing all his arrows clustered in a tight knot at the center. The Dark Laird was an extraordinary bowman, but then, so was she.

Rey nocked her last arrow, drew, and focused until the murmuring faded and even the steady dripping ceased. There was only the longbow taut in her grip and the target filling her vision. She exhaled and released. The arrow flew true and stuck fast, the purple fletching barely discernable where it vibrated at the heart of Ren’s black.

A small, private smile touched her lips. She tucked it away before turning to the onlookers, who gaped mute and wide-eyed.

“Master Plutt,” she said, “call forth the finalists.”

He wrung his beefy hands and grumbled, but they trailed onto the field as bid.

Rey set her weapon aside, wove her fingers behind her back, and made a show of inspecting the three chieftains as if they were candidates for stud. And weren’t they? The comparison amused her, but she maintained her serious demeanor.  

She circled where they stood with chins raised and brogue-shod feet planted in the ash-gray dirt. Laird Ren and Laird Hux were of exceptional height, but where Armitage was lean like a mountain cat, Kylo was thick of torso and wide of calf. The crimson of Clan Hux’s tartan clashed with the ginger’s hair, while the charcoal of Clan Ren’s kilt set off Kylo’s raven locks.

Laird Dameron, though well-built and handsome in his orange plaid, seemed undersized beside them. He grinned and winked. “A fine show, your highness. ‘Twould be an honor to hunt with ye.”

She inclined her head. “As with ye, Laird Dameron.”

“Disgraceful,” Hux muttered under his breath and curled his lip. Pink splotched his cheeks and neck, though it couldn’t be attributed to a sun that never shone.

No, Rey’s feminine skill with the bow made them a laughingstock and no doubt wounded their masculine pride. That must be why Grandfather permitted the spectacle. He took especial delight in belittling others.

Rey paused before Laird Ren, who stared straight ahead, jaw set, and would not to meet her eye. He neither spoke nor gave any indication of his approval or disapproval. But his note burned within her corset: You are not alone.

Neither are you, she thought at him.

Rey inhaled through her nose to quiet her frantic heart. It didn’t work. She needed to project the calm and confidence of a queen, not the quavering voice of a lass given to vapors and jittery nerves. She’d made her decision. Why did the follow through seem more difficult than shooting five bullseyes in a row? She gritted her teeth and inflated her lungs.

“As the victorious archer and by my authority as granddaughter of the High King”—she proclaimed in a loud voice, never removing her eyes from the impassive lines of Kylo’s face—“I declare Laird Ren to be Champion of the Highland Games, and I accept his hand in marriage.”

His eyes snapped down and searched hers. Surprise and disbelief were clear, but there was something more she couldn’t parse. It swelled over her with a potent rush and her arms pebbled in its wake. Then the stoic curtain dropped, and his gaze cooled to unreadable reserve. But she had seen enough; the Dark Laird would not refuse.

The crowd’s shock dissolved in shouting. Before long, it would devolve into more of what the clansmen loved best: fighting.

Laird Hux stalked toward the high throne, protest writ plain in his jerky stride. But if Grandfather intended to oppose her in public, he would have done so at once.

“Your highness.” Laird Ren offered his arm. “Ye honor me.” His formal words and actions were all that was correct yet somehow tinged with irony. Was he pleased, or would she bear his reproach in private? If only she might know his thoughts.

Still, she accepted his escort. “My laird.”

His forearm held firm and steady beneath her hand. She was a vessel that had been tossed to and fro on a wild sea and gained safe harbor at last. She had chosen aright.

As they passed, Laird Dameron grimaced and shook his head. Rey’s decision would reap the disapproval of Lady Leia and Clan Skywalker’s allies, but if Rey’s plans for the future succeeded, if her husband could be brought round, they would benefit in the end.

She tipped her head to study Kylo once more, a little shyly this time, considering he would be ushered into her bed when night fell. Last winter she had succumbed to temptation and imagined how the marks that flecked his face might likewise ornament his body. She would know soon if her speculations were correct. But if he shared similar thoughts, he gave no indication. He didn’t even look at her.

“Silence!” High King Palpatine’s voice thundered and the commotion stilled. “I will entertain no objections, and I bid you prepare for the nuptial feast. Princess Raoghnailt weds Laird Kylo o' Clan Ren this night.”

***

The absence of light was nearly absolute in Grandfather’s personal receiving room. Rey extinguished her taper, placed it on the little table beside the door and stood immobile, waiting for her eyes to adjust.

Many decades ago, High King Palpatine’s demise was assumed after Laird Skywalker set fire to his castle. He didn’t die but was left in constant pain, skin ravaged and vision aggravated by light. When he healed enough to reclaim the high throne, he forsook traditional Highland garb for his robes and hid the seat of power within Loch Exegol’s endless fog.

In her youth, compassion had moved Rey to alleviate Grandfather’s suffering as best she could. Applying herself to her lessons and mastering the bow brought him a degree of pleasure and drew a rare “good lass” from his charred mouth.

But as she grew, she came to understand he was consumed by bitterness, lust for power, and a malevolence that scarred his soul far deeper than the flames had scored his flesh. His death would be a mercy. For everyone.

“My child.” The disembodied voice rasped, followed by a hooded figure emerging like an apparition from the featureless dark. “Long have I awaited this day.”

Rey quelled a shiver. “Ye sent for me, Grandfather?”

“Aye, lass. You’ve made me very proud.”

Not once in Rey’s life had she heard those words. She expected censure and denunciation, not approval. She felt unbalanced, the arguments she had crafted with care now rendered useless.

Belated gratitude dragged from her lips. What else could she say?

“‘Twas a brash move and worthy of our bloodline.” He turned his head, and she fancied his eyes gleamed. “I’ve taught ye well.”

Rey bristled. As if the High King could take the credit for divine guidance. Had she not prayed and received her answer? But then, she too manipulated the outcome, just as Grandfather would have done. Was her choice a false freedom?

“Och, to see the look on Hux’s face and young Ren so willingly led.” Palpatine’s dry chuckle ended in a wheeze. “Little has afforded me greater pleasure.”

Rey’s heart quailed. Perhaps Laird Hux was only a ruse while Palpatine intended her to marry Laird Ren from the start. Was she an unwitting pawn? Grandfather was a master chess opponent, patiently executing layers of strategy beyond her comprehension. Had she mistaken folly for faith? Doubt wrapped icy fingers around her spine.

“Ye may act the virtuous maiden”—his piercing gaze narrowed—“but I ken ye are driven by lust. Bed Ren well, get an heir, and send the bairn to me that I may train him for the high throne.”

Rey fisted her skirts to keep from reaching for her dirk. She would flee to land’s end before she’d allow Palpatine near her children. The hairs at her nape prickled. That was precisely what her parents had done; they fled to protect Rey and were hunted to the death like animals.

“Never,” she growled under her breath. “Ye shall never do with my bairns as you’ve done to me.”

“Laird Ren may disagree.” Palpatine sneered. “Whatever ye think, lass, ye dinnae ken who he is.”

Her nostrils flared. In mere minutes, he’d incited her doubts and undone her composure. Anger and humiliation throbbed in her veins. Nothing was to be gained by pursuing this conversation. She would not give him the satisfaction of asking what he meant.

“If we are quite finished,” Rey bit out, released the fabric from her grip and folded her hands, “I must see to my wedding.”

“Aye, go on with ye then.” His horrid grin managed to be both lecherous and cadaverous. “You’ve made your bed, Raoghnailt. Now lay ye down in it.”

***

Rey trod a circuitous route through the castle on noiseless toes. She’d rather storm, stomp and vent her irritation, but she dare not risk meeting a guest.

Och, but Grandfather was awful! Palpatine knew how to burrow under her skin just so, as provoking as the maggots that hatched in sheep’s nostrils and drove them mad. What gall to assert this was his doing, that she was driven by lust, and that she didn’t know Laird Ren.

She knew enough. Was not everyone composed of dark parts and light? Never fear who ye are, Leia had said. Rey might be brave and compassionate, but she was also stubborn and prone to anger—like Grandfather. Faults were hers to confess and rectify, but they alone did not define her.

Likewise, Kylo was fierce and brutal but also capable of great kindness. Her fear of his darker traits and what they could mean for the future nearly steered her from the certitude that he was the Highlands’ best hope—and her own. She would not yield to fear again.

A stairway opened on her left and she felt her way through the shadows toward a higher floor. She’d forgotten her taper in her haste to depart Grandfather’s presence, and he refused to waste resources on lighting sconces.

She could not deny that Kylo had awakened desire within her. Even after being with him for only two weeks and parted from him for nearly a year, a single look was enough to raise a flush at her temples. But she refused to admit guilt. Would not the clans crowd into the bridal chamber and the priest bless them in their marriage bed this very night? Grandfather was wrong to make her ashamed of that which was natural, right and good.

The stairs exited onto an upper hall. Wan light filtered through the arrowslits and formed crosses in the debris that littered the floor.

Merry sounds prompted Rey to peer through a narrow aperture over Loch Exegol. Fog shrouded her view, but splashing and manly laughter suggested at least some clansmen had chosen to slough off the year’s grime in the loch’s frigid waters. Was Kylo among them, his pale form slicing through the inky pool? What she wouldn’t give to see.

She smiled.

Did Kylo’s affections remain unchanged, or was his assent a reluctant duty to be performed? She recalled him as he had been in Snoke’s throne room, raw yearning in the angle of his brows, the urgency of his voice, the tremble of his gloved hand. And she refused him.

His was not a forgiving nature.

Rey withdrew the knotted cord that Lady Leia had brought from her brother’s monastery, and her heart knelt in intercession. Forgive my fear and doubt. Watch over Kylo and grant him peace. So knit our hearts and minds that we may become one in soul as we will be in body.

The knots passed through her fingers as the prayers etched into her memory passed through her lips. Peace nestled down like some unseen force within her soul.

Then she resumed her course through the alternating pools of dark and light.  

All would be well, and all manner of thing would be well.

Chapter Text

The winning of her groom in the morning and the bedding of the bride to come that night loomed like standing stones. Their long shadows wheeled across Rey’s day with the turn of time, and the intervening hours passed as if in a dream.

There was careful attention to Rey’s person and the rare luxury of a bath, candles, and wood for the hearth. Hot water lugged from the kitchens leached the ravenous cold from her bones. She would have lingered, but she could not be selfish. The ladies-in-waiting and their maids would wish to bathe after her.

Her skin was anointed with fragrant oils, her hair dried before the flames, and a plait arranged to fit beneath her wimple. Gentle teasing amongst the ladies and their maids initiated Rey to the joys of female companionship. Other than the rag lady, a witch-like crone who appeared whenever Rey suffered her menses, and the kitchen maid she recruited whenever her attire required extra hands, she was devoid of feminine company.

Then came the donning of her bridal gown. Grandfather should have purchased midnight blue silk befitting the purity of a princess, but if the tribute he levied from the clans made its way to Loch Exegol, Rey never saw a mite.

She had scrimped and saved her meager allowance to purchase a quantity of fine gray wool, soft and light. She was not as skilled with a needle as she was with her bow. Embroidering the pattern of interlocking knots in silver thread had cost her countless hours straining over her single candle and nearly as many unpicking and redoing her work, but she was pleased with the result.

Rey twisted and turned to set her skirts swirling and glimmering in the candlelight. She had never much cared for her appearance, content to don a faded gown best suited to her activity. But when Grandfather announced the Highland Games to select her husband, she too set plans in motion.

She brushed critical hands down the bodice cinched around her narrow waist. Would Laird Ren find her too thin? That too would change should she have management of his home. No one would go hungry, not like she had under Grandfather’s rule.

***

There was the flustered priest who cast his hands in the air when his objections were overruled by the High King. “Either officiate the marriage and bless the bedding this night or leave,” Palpatine ordered. There would be neither posting of the banns nor bagpipes leading a procession to the kirk.

At least Lady Leia had the foresight to bring her chaplain from Castle Chandrila. Everything Rey knew of faith had been passed to her in secret and against Grandfather’s instruction. There was no kirk, not in so godforsaken a place as Loch Exegol.

Rey spent a harried quarter hour worrying that Laird Ren might share Palpatine’s sentiments, but his manservant delivered assurances her betrothed would await her in the small chapel.

There was the royal wedding before representatives from each of the Highland clans. Rey could not regret that Grandfather declined to attend.

The little sanctuary that had afforded her so much solace over her lifetime was swept with haste and bedecked with rosemary. Accusing observers greeted her in silence at the door. She was a traitor to Clan Hux for contravening the High King’s intention and to Clan Skywalker’s allies for treating with the enemy. Her rejected suitors watched with crossed arms and grim faces.

But Laird Ren stood tall before the altar, resplendent in full regalia, with his best swordsman at his side to ensure nothing and no one should interrupt the proceedings. Rey took in her groom. Dark brogues laced over clean hose below the pleats of his ebony-and-charcoal kilt, the plaid shot through with thin white lines and topped with dirk and sporran. A black dress jacket stretched across his chest.

Rey’s heart swelled. The Dark Laird was indeed braw and as mighty a warrior as she had ever beheld. Before such magnificence, how could she feel ought but humble in her simple gray dress? Och, what had she done? Lord, grant him the grace to forgive her.

At the end of the aisle separating them, Kylo’s mouth twitched shy of a smile, and murmuring reached her ears. Rey had stared too long. Warmth blossomed at her temples.

But in Kylo’s unwavering gaze she found the strength to tread the stones her soles knew better than any other in the castle, stones she had hammered with her fists and watered with her tears, that were privy to her most intimate hopes and fears.

The service commenced and Kylo’s voice wrapped her within its resonate depths. She was undergirded and held fast. Honor burned in his eyes as he plighted his troth, promising to love and keep her through all that life held until death claimed them. His vows slanted into her soul as sun heats stone and its warmth lingers long past dark. She knew in her heart of hearts that he spoke true, and all her questions were laid to rest. She silently pledged the same.

He slid an engraved silver band on her finger and pressed a chaste kiss of peace to her lips. Then they knelt before the altar as one and shared the bread of heaven.

Lady Leia wept.

***

There was the nuptial feast, not as lavish as it should have been for a princess, but whatever diffidence the clans might have entertained, they set aside to celebrate. They could not resist the lure of even mediocre wine and ale.

The High King could have required that Kylo take the higher-ranking Palpatine surname, but he had not—yet. Rey and Kylo cut strips from their respective tartans and tied the knot signifying their clans’ union. Then Kylo removed her royal purple sash and draped Clan Ren’s tartan from her hip to shoulder.

In the process, his fingers grazed her breast and he snatched his hand back. Rey froze. Their eyes met. It was an accident, but neither begged pardon.

His hand was large and fingers long, and he clenched his fist before pinning her new sash with his clan’s brooch. The jeweled red eyes of the coiled serpent glowed, but she could not be unsettled, not when it meant she belonged to Laird Ren and he to her.

Following the final course, High King Palpatine counseled Raoghnailt to heed well his words and then he departed. Kylo raised his eyebrows in question and Rey mouthed “later,” though naught would be accomplished through the confidence.

Absent the High King’s oppressive presence, minstrels and troubadours who had traveled with the visiting clans came forth to recite ballads and play the clarsach and fiddle. The trestles were pushed to the walls, and the great hall resounded with laughter and dancing as it had never done in all Palpatine’s long reign.

Laird Dameron produced a cask of fine whiskey. Whatever his opinion about Rey’s bridegroom, he was more than willing to toast her nuptials—and more than once.

Lady Ren sat beside her new husband in the high seat and received the steady stream of well-wishers. She couldn’t eat. Kylo carved a pear with his table knife and fed her sweet slices that melted in her mouth. If his fingertips lingered against her lips, she didn’t complain.

He pressed her hand beneath the table and she understood: You are not alone. She squeezed his hand in return; they would never be alone again.

The Dark Laird presented her with a narrow sheathed blade. “‘Twould please me if ye would accept this as a wedding gift.”

Rey had already offered hers: a new quiver she hand-tooled in black leather. She slid the dirk free. Light reflected from the polished silver and pale blue jewels embedded in the hilt.

“‘Twas my grandfather’s,” Kylo said. He'd rarely spoken of his family. This must be an heirloom indeed.

“I thank ye.” She moved to test the edge, but he seized her wrist and shook his head.

“‘Tis exceeding sharp.” He touched the blade to his fingertip and blood beaded the next instant.

Rey secured the weapon in its sheath but didn’t strap the delicate harness around her forearm. Instead she captured Kylo’s hand and sucked his wounded finger just as she would had she pricked herself with a sewing needle.

His breath stuttered somewhere between a sharp inhale and a groan. Had she hurt him?

Their exchange did not go unnoticed. The hall hooted, stomped the floor and banged the trestles. The tumult would only cease when Kylo leaned over to kiss her, each time more ardent than the last.

Rey tasted the wine under his tongue, and her cheeks flamed. She ought to resist his repeated assault on her person, or at least make a show of reluctance, but she could not. His fingers at her nape were firebrands that set a conflagration spreading through her limbs.

***

There were final preparations for bedding the bride. Rey’s ladies-in-waiting escorted her from the hall and stripped her to her gauzy shift. Their maids removed her wimple, loosed her hair, and brushed until it cascaded in shining chestnut waves to her waist.

Lady Rose and Lady Jannah teased about Kylo’s braw looks and Rey’s prospects in bed.

At Rey’s shock, Lady Kaydel giggled. “Dinnae fash yourself, highness. ‘Tis said if ye lay very still and quiet, ‘twill be over fast.”

Rey recalled the brush of Kylo’s fingers and curled her toes against the cool stones. She said nothing.

A procession of women escorted her into the bridal chamber. Rey looked around in wonder. Gone were the moldering mattress, tattered bed-curtains, and dank scent. In their place the mattress was mounded with fresh stuffing and spread with clean linens. New curtains were tied back to the wooden posts that had been rubbed to gleaming. Rushes, heather, and lavender released a piquant herbal aroma underfoot.

Moisture gathered in Rey’s lashes. Her parents were the last couple bedded in this chamber and none had touched it since. Someone had gone to great effort.

Rey scooted against the headboard, and the bedclothes were tucked around her waist. She drew her hair over her shoulders to feel less exposed.

Lady Leia took a seat on the edge. Her lined countenance radiated affection and concern. She cupped Rey’s cheek with dry fingers and offered a mother’s counsel.

Her compassion moved Rey. Questions rose but which to ask first? She knew how to string a bow and sharpen a dirk but not what befitted a princess in sharing her bed. She understood the anatomy and purpose, of course, but how long should it take? Was she truly to lay still and keep silent for the entire night? How would she manage if he ravished her mouth as he had at the feast, when she was forced to thrust her hands under her thighs to keep from sinking them into his hair? Would he consider her forward if she touched him?

Loud rapping sounded on the closed door, and Rey’s heart nearly stopped. There was no time for advice. Leia patted her hand and withdrew to the side.

Laird Ren’s commanding voice rattled the dense panels. “Open to me, my bride, my love, my dove, my undefiled: for my head is filled with dew, and my locks with the drops of the night.”

Rey swallowed hard and called the response. “Let my beloved come into his garden, and eat his pleasant fruits.”

The door swung wide to admit Laird Ren. He paused beneath the lintel in bare feet and a plain shift that, like hers, left little to imagination. His chest rose and fell as if he had indeed run through the night to reach her.

The men prodded him toward the bed and filed in behind to line the walls, as many as would fit in the chamber. More spilled into the passage outside.

Kylo lowered his bulk and the mattress dipped beneath his weight. A goblet of spiced wine was thrust into her hand and another appeared in his. They locked arms and eyes and drank. His color was abnormally high, cheeks and neck flushed, his irises like embers. Rey was not accustomed to much drink—life at Exegol required her constant vigilance—but she prayed the sweet, heady wine would settle her nerves.

When Kylo finished, he stood and pulled the shift over his head without ceremony.

Rey gaped at his nude backside.

She had hoped he would be tucked into bed in his nightshirt, as she was, but the Dark Laird seemed unembarrassed and immune to the calls and whistles. Firelight and shadow defined his muscled figure. Moles did not speckle his fair skin after all. Instead, he was marked by the warp and weft of battle scars.

He turned toward Rey, and waves of heat and cold passed over her. Warriors would discard their plaids to free their limbs and race bare-loined into combat. She had sudden sympathy for the enemy. No wonder they cowered before such awesome weaponry. Rey didn’t lack courage, but neither could she catch her breath.

Kylo lifted the covers to slide beside her, and Rey became aware of the lewd banter being lobbed across the room. She looked away, desperate to settle her eyes anywhere else, but with so many eyes upon her, like the dove from the ark, nowhere was safe to alight. She returned her gaze to Kylo.

He didn’t smile or reach for her hands where they were folded demurely atop the coverlet, but kindness and understanding softened the stern lines of his face.

The unmarried turned their backs and tossed hose and garters over their shoulders, hoping to strike bride or groom and be next to marry. Men made vulgar comments and even Kylo joined in the bawdy laughter that rose to the ceiling.

Rey swung her head to the door and sat rigid against the headboard, willing the priest to arrive and bring an end to the madness.

***

Rey’s relief could not be plumbed when at last Father Beaumont Kin entered. He quelled the jostling and quieted the jollity. Then he sprinkled them with holy water, made the sign of the cross over their marriage bed, and pronounced the nuptial blessing, asking the Lord and his Blessed Virgin Mother that their union might be fruitful.

He was praying that she might bear children to Laird Ren. Rey’s blush heightened.

The bed-curtains were drawn amidst the crowd’s boisterous well-wishes. Though they were shielded from sight, the sounds of their retreating merriment echoed in the halls.

Rey’s sharpened senses marked the moment the door closed and the candles were extinguished, until only faint light from the fire limned the curtains. Feet shuffled, chairs dragged, and a few murmured words were exchanged. She didn’t want to know who remained to witness the consummation, even though it was for her own protection. Their testimony would ensure her children’s paternity and secure her future from claims for annulment. But she could not break fast, come morning, knowing who had been present when she gave her virtue to her husband.

Her heart pounded, and she couldn’t look at Kylo. She slipped down to recline on the mattress, filled her lungs with air, and bit her lower lip between her teeth.

Kylo stirred and the bedropes creaked. Heat from his body seared through the sheer material of her shift. His breath at her temple made her jump.

He spread a broad hand across her slim waist. She couldn’t move beneath the firm weight, and yet she was not trapped. At any moment, she could dart from his grasp and flee down the servants’ stairs. She felt with certainty that should she beg him to delay, he would bear any mortification to heed her wishes.

He rolled closer and pressed his mouth to her ear.

She stiffened.

His whisper raised fine hairs across her skin. “I have sworn the witnesses to silence on pain o' death.”

Rey didn’t doubt it. She gave a sharp nod, but her heart threatened to burst from her ribs. What was wrong with her? She who never lacked a riposte was robbed of speech.

The hand holding her in place gathered her shift, and fabric pulled over her thighs. Rey clawed her fingers into the mattress and clenched the linens.

Kylo stopped. His words muffled into the hollow of her shoulder and sent a tremor down her spine. “I cannae do this. I cannae hurt ye.”

Tenderness welled in Rey that this fierce man should be so cautious and gentle. She wanted to reassure him that pain was inevitable and she would be well, that all was as it should be, but still words failed her.

She released her grip on the bedclothes and covered his hand where it pressed above her womb. They lay like that for long minutes, his breath puffing behind her ear and fluttering her hair.

Then Rey summoned her fortitude, raised his hand, and placed his palm over the swell of her breast. His fingers closed as if by reflex and her back arched, despite her resolve to remain motionless.

“Forgive me,” he said as he moved, his lips caressing her skin. “Forgive me.”

Chapter Text

Rey lounged on her back. The mute witnesses had exited with her bridegroom and latched the door behind them. If fire remained in the hearth, it must have burned to embers. All was quiet outside the bed-curtains.

She was abandoned. Again. A sinking feeling dragged at her limbs.

Then she recalled the words engraved on her soul: You are not alone. ‘Twas true. She was only left to her privacy.

Rey stared unseeing into the heavy darkness that veiled the bed. In contrast to the malice that slithered through the castle’s gloomy passages, the weight of these shadows comforted. They were not unlike Kylo who, despite his size, collapsed atop her in apparent failure of his sturdy arms. Rey didn’t mind. No, there was something pleasant in being pinned to the bed while his pulse thudded against her chest, as if she were hidden within his very heart and shielded from harm.

Then he rolled away and left without a word.

Rey flung bent arms above her head and sighed, too languid and indolent to adjust the shift still rucked above her waist.

She had wondered if she might feel violated, but she didn’t. She ached in places that had never been sore, but she also felt whole and complete, as if she were made for Kylo and Kylo for her, as if she had been waiting for him her entire life. The gratification flooding her veins overcame her burden and worry for the Highlands. She’d never known such contentment. Was this to be her future? She was flush with a giddy hope.

They were well and truly married, made one in flesh as they were by vow. The witnesses could not doubt their marriage was consummated, not with the sounds Kylo made or those of their joining. She snorted. No one had warned her it’d be both messy and noisy. She might have cried out, she didn’t know, and frankly, she didn’t care.

Kylo strove to be gentle, but even so, Rey thought her body might split like the trunk of a tree beneath the blows of an axe. Then something shifted. The bridal chamber fell away. She forgot the witnesses and the pain. She forgot to remain immobile and silent. She forgot everything except the mystery of union—a mystery whose depths she had yet to fathom. A soft sound of longing escaped her lips.

“Shall I leave, my lady?”

Rey choked. How was Kylo still in her bed? Her mouth went dry, and she squirmed to tug her shift down as she spoke. “I didnae ken ye were here, my laird.”

“I ken,” he said around a chuckle.

Och, the sleekit chiel! What must he think to hear her carrying on so? At least he couldn’t read her mind.

“Ye should no’ have pretended,” she said in an arch voice.

“I will go, if ye wish,” he said. “We’ve fulfilled what’s required. I need no’ remain.”

Did Rey want him to stay? Had she not been pining for his presence? What if he sought to—to join with her again? She found that she was not dismayed by the prospect. Not at all.

“What be your desire?” she asked.

Several beats stretched in the quiet before he answered. “‘Twere possible, I would never part from ye again.”

The unspoken set her stomach fluttering. “Then stay.”

She held her breath waiting for him to act. Her toes flexed. He would reach for her, his fingers would sweep the curve of her waist, and— 

“Raoghnailt,” he said. He may as well have broken the ice that crusted her ewer on winter-mornings and doused her head.

“Dinnae call me that,” she snapped.

He didn’t respond.

“Forgive me, my laird.” She grimaced into the dark and amended her tone. “I spoke in haste. I prefer just Rey.”

“Then ‘tis Rey, if ye call me B—” He stuttered. “K—Kylo.”

“Aye, my laird. Kylo,” she added. His given name had long inhabited her thoughts but to speak it aloud was strangely intimate, despite all that had passed between them.

He sighed, though it sounded more frustrated than pleased.

“Your name distresses ye,” he said. “Why?”

Rey blinked back the hot tears that sprang to her eyes. In this at least darkness was a mercy. “Raoghnailt means ‘lamb.’ Ever since I was a wee bairn, Grandfather has reminded me that a ewe is good for naught but to breed and give wool and so stupid she cannae find her own way.”

Kylo growled under his breath. “I’ll kill him.”

Rey’s skin prickled, and she drew her arms tight across her chest. How soon her husband’s tender attentions had made her forget his darker nature.

“My bonny wife.” His voice gentled, though he didn’t touch her. “Do ye no’ recall the lamb so valued, so precious, the shepherd left the ninety-nine to rescue it? And then he carried her close to his heart and cared for her with great tenderness.”

Rey remembered the parable but made no acknowledgement.

“I willnae call ye ‘Raoghnailt,’ not if ‘twould displease you, but I will always seek you. If you are lost, I will find you. If you are hurt, I will dress your wounds. I shall satisfy you as with the greenest pastures and sweetest waters. I will hold you near to my heart and love ye tenderly for all my days.” If his voice had been earnest before, it was impossibly soft and genuine now. “I swear it afore God.”

It was as if he could see the hidden wounds that festered in her heart and knew the balm required. How had he in a matter of minutes redeemed her name and soothed her very soul? What could she say to such a declaration of esteem and adoration?

Rey swiped tears from her cheeks and sniffled.

“Wheesht, woman, dinnae cry,” he said, but the reproach was mild. His arm closed over her, and he scooped her across the bed as if she weighed no more than thistle down.  

***

Autumn nights on Loch Exegol were cold but not yet frigid. Still, Rey woke perspiring, her forehead tucked beneath Kylo’s chin and her legs tangled with his. He was a sleeping inferno, not unwelcome to her customary chill, but her bladder protested.

She extricated her person with care and made quick use of the chamber pot and a rag. The fire had died, but the moon had risen. It illuminated the fog enough to penetrate the skin over the window and cast the room in palest silver.

Rey parted the curtains to sneak into bed. Light glinted, but it might have been a trick of her mind.

“O’er here.” Kylo’s eyes flashed. Not a trick then.

“I’m sorry to awaken ye.” She let the curtains fall closed, drew back the coverlet, and patted through the dim until she reached him sitting upright against the headboard.

He draped an arm across her shoulders and tugged her into his ribs. To sit beside his disrobed body in the middle of the night should have shocked her sensibilities, yet it felt natural and right. Rey arranged her long hair like a shawl over her exposed side.

“Last winter ye wanted to take my hand,” he said. “Why dinnae you?”

Must they discuss this now? But Rey knew it was inevitable. She couldn’t defy tradition as she had at the Highland Games and expect him to ignore her actions.

“I did want to take your hand,” she admitted, “the hand o’ the knight who restrung my bow and regaled me with the stories written in the stars.”

“My Andromeda,” he said with a smile in his voice, just like he had that frost-bitten night when he pointed to the glittering sky. “I will find and free her. I will loose her chains and make her my queen.”

“Aye, but the hand ye offered was dipped in blood. You slaughtered Laird Snoke when ‘twas no’ a fair fight. Can ye blame me, Kylo?” She stretched out upturned palms. “I—I feared you were like him. Like Grandfather. I feared for the Highlands.” If she were honest, part of her still feared.

“Och, the irony.” He barked a dry laugh, and his head lolled toward her. “Do ye ken why I killed Snoke?”

“Nay.”

“He dared to lay hands on ye.”

Rey shuddered at the ghost of Snoke’s talon-like nails and the stench from his ravaged mouth. But jealousy didn’t warrant execution. “I could have defended myself.”

“Ye dinnae ken what he was. He knew you were precious to me and would’ve killed you to hurt me. Even being princess could no’ have protected you.”

“And yet,” she hesitated for a moment, “ye didnae love me enough to leave Glen Ilum.”

“Shall I then say ye didnae love me enough to stay?”

“Ye ken that’s not true.”

“‘Twas no’ about love.” Frustration raised his pitch. “I told ye ‘twas time to forget the past and forge a new future for the Highlands. Do ye believe me now?”

Rey had believed him then, but she feared his vision. Her pulse pattered. “I see a future where the clans are at peace and the Highlands are free.”

His sigh could have delved the loch. “Why are ye still holding on?”

“When I pray”—she confessed in a small voice—“I ken ye are the clan’s best hope.”

“Och, lass, ye must let go.” He rasped a hand over his face and his shoulders sagged. “Even were I no’ the Dark Laird, ‘tis many winters since I stepped from the path o’ light.”

She wanted to tell him it was never too late, that he could always come home, but she’d said enough. She leaned into him and stroked her fingers across the broad planes of his chest. “I’m sorry a year passed afore I took your hand.”

“For ye,” his palm stilled hers atop his steady heartbeat, “I would’ve waited a lifetime.”

***

Rey shivered and snuggled beneath the coverlet as brisk air rushed into their cozy hideaway. Why was Kylo tying back the bed-curtains? ‘Twas hours before morning.

He bent from sight, something scraped, and when he stood again, weak moon-glow reflected from the claymore in his grasp.

Memory caught Rey. They had sparred with short swords and the Dark Laird disarmed her, but she would not yield. She whirled and reached for the nearest blade—his claymore. Both hands gripped the hilt and she yelled as she pulled with all her might. The weapon swung a foot or so before she stumbled and it dragged across the ground. She stared in shock, and Kylo laughed. Then his chest was at her back and his arms to either side, bulging as he raised the sword. “‘Tis no’ a fit weapon for a lass,” he said, but the manner in which he spoke, half-threatening and half-amused, sent a shiver down her spine.

Kylo padded around their nuptial chamber on surprisingly noiseless feet, given his proportions and the rushes on the floor. Rey swallowed a chuckle at the picture he made, his pale skin clothed solely in moonlight and his long sword raised in guard. He checked behind the shutters and beneath the furnishings and tapestries. He opened and closed both main and servants’ doors and peered in the grate, his inexplicable behavior punctuated by occasional muttering.

She made out “I cannae keep silent” and “Lord, help me,” which sounded like a prayer, despite his earlier protestations.

When Kylo returned to the bed, he mirrored her position and rested his cheek on the opposite end of the same pillow.

“Are ye scaring away the will-o’-wisps then?” At his blank expression, she added, “Your sword under the bed?”

“Nay, folk tales are fodder for wagging tongues.” He gestured to where the claymore now leaned within arm’s reach. “I would no’ sleep unarmed. ‘Twas the best hiding place.”

“Aye,” she said. Was not her wedding dirk tucked between mattress and headboard?

“I have summat to tell ye that none may hear,” he said, which explained his thorough inspection. “I cannae dishonor ye with this deceit nor build our marriage on a falsehood. Ye must ken the truth.”

Rey’s breath hitched. Of what did he speak?

“Ye must swear silence.” His hand seized her wrist with painful strength. “‘Tis of utmost import to your safety and mine—indeed to all the Highlands.”

“Kylo.” She tugged at his hold. “You’re hurting me.”

He didn’t release her but only repeated the demand. “Ye must swear it.”

“I do.” Rey hardly heard her own voice for the rushing in her ears. “I swear it.”

He loosened his fingers, raised her arm to his face, and nuzzled his nose and cheek to the inside of her wrist. “My bonny wife, ye must forgive me. I cannae live without you. Promise me, Rey.”

“Ye frighten me.” Rey’s brow furrowed. His pleading was as puzzling as his prowling about the bedchamber. “I dinnae ken what’s to forgive.”

The mattress rose and fell with his rapid inhalations.

He rolled near, clutched their joined hands to his chest, and mouthed into the shell of her ear. “I was no’ born to Clan Ren but to Laird Solo o’ Clan Skywalker.”

Lady Leia bore but one son and he was many years buried. Did Kylo mean to imply he was Han’s illegitimate child? Rey pursed her lips, considering.

Then he whispered again: “I was christened Benjamin Skywalker Organa Solo.”

Chapter Text

Rey’s mouth opened and closed, but the words clogged in her throat. Had Kylo truly claimed he was Benjamin Skywalker Organa Solo, rightful laird of Clan Skywalker? Surely she misheard.

She whispered. “Ye cannae be Ben S—”

His hand clapped over her mouth, large enough to cover half her face. “Ye must no’ say it. The very walls have ears.”

Her teeth parted to bite the meaty flesh near his thumb, but she caught herself. This was her husband, no matter his name.

“Will ye be silent?”

Rey nodded once.

Kylo removed his hand with care. Did he fear she might succumb to hysterics?

She stared, trying to discern echoes of his parents. Charcoal hair framed the distinctive angles of his face, though the room remained too dark to read his expression. Maybe he owned his father’s aquiline nose and his mother’s eyes?

Her thoughts circled like wool fed into a spinning wheel. ‘Twas common knowledge Ben Solo had been lost to an accident at the monastery where he was educated. But if he didn’t die and if Laird Ren spoke truth, was Lady Leia party to the pretense or did she not recognize her son? At their wedding, were her tears for Rey or Ben, for joy or sorrow?

Tender as Kylo was in their marriage bed, he was also merciless in battle. Rumors spread that villages had suffered under Laird Snoke’s enforcer, but their circumstances did not materially improve when Kylo became Laird Ren. Rey knew what he was when she married him. She chose with open eyes and hope in her heart, with faith that all would come right in the end, even if it took years.

A chill passed over her that had naught to do with the temperature.

Kylo Ren was nothing like the Ben Solo who indwelled her imagination. That noble ideal was frank and wise like his mother and a big-hearted adventurer like his father. His father. Her heart plummeted. He'd murdered his own father.

Rey plunged her face into her palms. What had she done?

Kylo’s fingers traced the back of her hand.

“Dinnae touch me.” Rey lurched away. Her stomach knotted. She might vomit.

“Raoghnailt.” That same gentle comfort in his timbre sought to gather her into his chest without laying a hand on her person.

Moisture rimmed her eyelids. Had his earlier words of tenderness been a lie too? Her voice quavered. “How is this true? I dinnae ken what to believe.”

“I cannae explain now,” he repeated, though not without compassion. “But I will once ‘tis safe. Ye have my word. ‘Til then, ye must trust me.”

“How can I?” Her soul was unraveling along its edges like a worn plaid.

“Because I love ye,” he said soft and low. “Because ye are my own heart. Because I’d brave anything for ye.”

Anything except leave Glen Ilum when she begged. Except join Clan Skywalker’s allies, even though Kylo—Ben—was the legitimate heir and by rights should be their chieftain. How had this come about? How had he abandoned his family and forsaken his heritage? No wonder he urged her to let go and leave the past behind. Her disappointment knew no measure.

“I did trust ye,” she said, half-accusing and half-wistful for the innocence of ignorance. She’d even defended her choice of bridegroom when Grandfather warned her, when he said— 

Fine bumps peppered the length of her arms. “Grandfather knows.”

“How?”

She pushed to an elbow. “He summoned me for a private conference after the Games. I thought he meant I didnae ken your character, but he said, ‘Ye dinnae ken who he is.’”

Kylo swore and leaped from the mattress. He shuffled about searching for his discarded nightshirt.

Rey sat up, gut still churning. “Where are ye going?”

“Stay here.”

Rey grabbed her new dirk and slid from the snug bed. Even through the rushes, cold permeated her soles. “I will no’ wait behind like some wilting lass.”

“Nay.” His short laugh muffled in the fabric he tugged over his head. “None would mistake ye for that.”

She pushed back her sleeve and strapped the thin sheath to her forearm. The small blade would have to suffice. She should have hidden weapons in the bridal chamber as Kylo had his claymore.

She smoothed her shift around her thighs. If only it were a little longer. “I’m ready.”

“Rey, ye dinnae understand.” He scowled. “I said to stay here.”

“Nay, ye dinnae understand, husband.” She emphasized the moniker and glared back. “I said I was coming.”

Moonlight glowed from his pale shift and flashed in his eyes. “Och, lass, ye’ll be my death.”

“Nay, ‘tis that which I seek to prevent.” The threat of danger placed his revelation in perspective. There would be time to reflect later. Whether Kylo Ren or Ben Solo, he was the man who’d wedded and bedded her, to whom she’d sworn her constancy. And he was the man she loved.

Kylo sighed, though in defeat or exasperation she couldn’t be sure. “I must speak with Lady Leia. Alone.”

His mother. Was not Leia the chief who’d led opposition to Clan Ren for years? Did he intend to kill her too?

“Why?” Rey barked sharper than she intended.

“If the High King said as much to ye, then he’s planning summat. I dinnae ken what it may be, but she might.” Kylo took the claymore in hand and paused near the door. “And I fear for her safety.”

Relief on Leia’s behalf washed over Rey, but still she stepped beside him. “If ‘tis so, then let me help.”

He trailed the pads of his fingers along her cheek. “‘Tis too great a risk.”

She lifted her chin and pulled her shoulders back. “I can look after myself.”

“I ken. I’m counting on it.” He cupped her neck and leaned down to press a swift kiss to her lips. “Lock the door after me and dinnae follow.”

There’s another way. There’s always another way. Rey heard the words as if Lady Leia stood behind and spoke to her memory.

She let him go.

***

Rey locked the door after her and didn’t follow Kylo—Ben—to his mother’s chambers. At least she could say that she had obliged her husband in letter if not in spirit. 'Twas just as well. The detour would afford her opportunity to be properly armed. If Kylo was uneasy, she could not and would not stand by idle.

She trotted through the sinister dark unshod, one hand trailing the walls for familiar intersections. Quiet reigned like that presaging a storm. At last she weaved amongst the heavy shadows of her old rooms.

A shout sounded from outside and was as swiftly cut short.

She paused to listen. It might have been a sentry knocked unconscious but more likely a drunk hushed by his companion, lest they suffer ire for disturbing the High King’s rest. ‘Twas only fear setting her nerves on edge.

After feeling about, Rey located her satchel and dug for her flint. Fire had not been laid in the unoccupied room and she needed light.

A bell pealed.

Her hands froze as she marked the tolling: invasion by land and loch. They were surrounded. But that was impossible. The castle crouched on a promontory of steep cliffs with water on three sides and a drawbridge on the fourth. None could navigate the River Reid in its treacherous course from the Firth of Byss to Loch Exegol, especially not in the everlasting fog.

The alarm sounded again, summoning all hands to the castle’s defense. Blood surged in Rey’s veins. Distant yelling echoed through the passages beyond her door.

Her shift was flimsy and ill-suited for battle, but minutes could determine the victory. Rey buckled her short sword about her waist as a last resort. Her size and strength relative to a warrior’s proved a liability in personal combat, but she was an accomplished archer. She pulled her satchel across one shoulder, her quiver over the other, and took up her bow.

She traversed the gloomy halls as quickly and quietly as she could. When footsteps neared, she ducked into alcoves or vacant rooms until they passed. Where was Kylo—Ben? Was Lady Leia secure?

Swords clanged around a corner, and she jumped. Was the fortress breached so soon?

She increased pace and stumbled on the stairs. Her shins throbbed and her vision spotted, but she pushed to her feet and raced upward until she emerged into the narrow archer’s walk.

Foggy moonlight turned the arrowslits into a row of gleaming crosses. She set her eye to one and peered through. Did something move on the water or was it merely mist drifting over the loch?

Rey quickly checked each side of the adjoining archer’s walks. She might have heard the dip of oars, but it was difficult to decide with battle noise coming from the bridge.

Where were the bowmen? They should have joined her by now.

The center walk offered the widest view as well as a bucket of pitch-soaked arrows. Rey lit the tip, accounted for the longer shaft and heavier arrowhead, and shot high into the mist. The string bit into her forearm, but she mashed her eye against the aperture to follow its arc.

The fog seemed to thin and glow, illumining the loch for one dazzling moment. Her stomach dropped. Lord, have mercy.

Scores of longboats cut through the water, sleek vessels with high prows, sweeping oars, and guttering sails: Nihilings, their mortal enemies from across the North Sea.

Rey’s spirit quailed. The castle would be overrun. Even with the Highland chiefs and their entourages gathered for the Games, they could not hope to defeat so vast a host. Should she seek Kylo and flee while they could? No, her duty was to her people. Rey prepared and nocked another arrow. She would fight until the blood drained from her body and her breath failed.

She launched flaming darts at the incoming craft. Where they struck the pitch-coated sails, the fabric blazed up like beacons on the loch’s dark surface and lit the night—really, the wee hours of morning.

Rey paused to examine her forearm, raw and bruised where she’d forgotten her arm guard. The fire-tips were exhausted, and she was nearly drained of standard arrows. Dare she sneak to the armory for more? And what was keeping the High King’s archers?

A roar ascended, guttural and familiar, and Rey peeked out.

A Highland warrior had clambered aboard an enemy ship and was laying about with his broadsword, black mane and pale nightshirt swinging to the rhythm of his blows. Though the Nihilings mounted a vicious fight, they could not overcome the Dark Laird. He was magnificent, yet even he could not defeat an entire naval force singlehanded.

Rey took careful aim and smiled. She would expend her last arrows defending him.

***

“Raoghnailt.” The voice over her shoulder grated like swordpoint dragged across a stone floor.

Rey leaned her bow against the wall and wet her lips as she turned. “Grandfather.”

The robed figure hunched in the shadows several strides away, his pained hands held limp before his waist. How had he managed to reach the archer’s walk, let alone creep upon her?

“I’ve come for ye, lass.”

“Why are ye no’ barricaded in the keep? Didnae ye ken the castle’s being invaded?”

“How touching that ye worry for your aged king.” He imbued the words with a syrupy kindness. “But ye need no’ fear, my lamb. ‘Tis only Clan Skywalker and her fools under attack.”

Her eyebrows rose. He meant Lady Leia, Laird Dameron, Finn—

“Ye didnae think I’d allow the young lairds to leave without a farewell gift, did ye?” His cackle resolved into a sneer. “Nay, I will prevail. I cannae be deceived.”

Sickening dread pounded at Rey’s temples. She waved toward the loch. “But ‘tis naught to do with the Nihilings, surely.”

Light from the burning sails filtered through the arrowslits and cast a pattern of flickering crosses across the High King’s midnight robes. Rey shivered. It felt like an omen—or maybe she was suddenly aware of the cold in her insubstantial attire.

“‘Twas most convenient. Their ships could no’ have found Loch Exegol without my pilots, and the rebel scum are herded into one castle, thanks to the Games and your bonny hand as prize.” A wretched grin skewed his scars. “The Nihilings shall destroy them and earn the Islands in return, and the Highlands will finally have order.”

“Nay.” Rey exhaled in horror. What about the villagers on Ajan Kloss and Kef Bir or the monastery on Ahch-To? Icy talons pierced her gut. How could the High King bargain away their lands and invite barbarians to dwell on their borders? Stripped of their leaders, the clans would be thrust into chaos. Palpatine could not be so naive as to believe a channel crossing would deter mainland invasion. The Nihilings were pirates and marauders. They lived to pillage and plunder. “Nay, ‘tis madness, Grandfather. Ye must call a ceasefire.”

“‘Tis tragic ye might lose your husband the same night ye bed him.” Palpatine couldn’t mask his pleasure and grinned again.

New worry assaulted Rey. Why would Grandfather include Kylo among his targets? Had he not been a loyal chief, even if he was Ben Solo? Panic stole her breath. “Is Laird Ren no’ your ally?”

“The kingship would have been his,” Palpatine mused and then spat, “but he’s betrayed me and cast his lot with his mother.”

Rey blanched.

“Are ye no’ shocked, lass?” His amber eyes narrowed beneath his cowl. “Ah, he’s confessed the truth then. What think ye o’ your new husband, Raoghnailt? Are ye still as keen to have him?” He shuffled closer and smirked. “Or has he already got a bairn on ye?”

“How dare ye!” Rey stepped back and her heel hit the wall.

“The witch assured me ‘twas the correct time and once would suffice.” He meant the crone who brought rags and tended to Rey’s courses with such assiduous care. “Mark ye well, I will have your bairn. This very night, the last Skywalker shall fall and his descendants shall be mine forever.”

Rey clenched her fists, fury smoldering hotter with every word.

Cruel light gleamed from his deep-set sockets. “Laird Skywalker will curse the day he betrayed me, and my revenge shall be complete.”

“Nay. I’ll no’ let ye. You cannae have Ben Solo. You cannae have my husband or my bairns.” Rey bared her teeth. “As granddaughter o’ the High King, I denounce ye as traitor to the Highlands.”

Palpatine roared and lunged. He was impossibly fast, but Rey proved faster. The heirloom dirk flashed from her sleeve, he seized her shoulders in both gnarled hands, and she sheathed the blade in his heart.  

He released her and stared down at the hilt protruding from his chest. Pale blue jewels glimmered in the low light. “Nay, nay, ‘tis no’ possible—”

His ruined mouth sagged. Of course. The weapon had belonged to Ben’s grandfather, Laird Anakin Skywalker.

Rey gasped. Her shoulders burned as if she’d fallen on a firebrand. She collapsed against the rough-hewn wall at her back and slid to the floor. She couldn’t raise her arms. Her head lolled toward the pain: twin darts were embedded on either side of her collar bone. Grandfather always ensured they were poisoned.

Ben, my love, I’m sorry. Tears blurred her vision and scalded her throat. Have mercy on my soul, O Lord. Remember me when I come into your kingdom.

She tilted her head back to peer at Grandfather still teetering above her. If blood stained his robes, it didn’t show in the black weave. Rey’s tongue thickened beyond speech, and ink spots merged to veil her sight.

“Stand with him,” he choked out, “and ye’ll die with him.”

Chapter Text

Rey crab-crawled backwards, but she couldn’t scramble quickly enough. Spikes scorched through her shoulders and pinned her to the floor.

Grandfather’s ruined face drew closer, his blackened lips pulled back in the cruelest grin. Flames shot from his eyes and singed her skin.

Her neck strained to raise her head, but she was stuck fast.

His mouth yawned, wider and wider, a gaping abyss that consumed existence, consumed her, and she was falling, falling, falling in an endless scream—

Rey jolted awake. Light seared her vision. She slammed her eyes shut. Her heart thumped, and an immense pressure squeezed her chest. Soreness wracked every limb and muscle.

“Hush now,” a deep voice soothed, “‘twas naught but a dream.”

She soaked in the signs of Kylo’s nearness: the rhythm of his breath, the warmth of his body, the tenderness of his touch. He rubbed her arm. The pressure eased and her pulse slowed. She could breathe.

Last she recalled, the Dark Laird battled alone against the vast Nihiling navy. But if he lay beside her, was it only a terror in the night? That would mean Grandfather yet lived.

Her lips cracked apart. She was too parched to speak.

The mattress shifted beneath Kylo and his heat vanished. Rey squinted to track his movements. Bed-curtains came into focus. Daylight through a hide-covered window cast a gentle glow over their nuptial chamber. Had she slept through the morning?

Then his fuzzy head hovered above her. The raven hair swinging at his cheeks couldn’t mask the bruises that underscored his eyes and swelled his split lip. An angry wound sliced from forehead to jaw and disappeared beneath his clothes. Inflamed flesh outlined the tidy row of stitches. Definitely not a dream.

He sat on the bed, slid an arm behind her shoulders, and groaned as he lifted. More than his face must be injured, but she was too weak to protest. He tipped a goblet to her mouth, watered ale dribbled onto her tongue, and she choked.

“Easy,” he crooned. “Dinnae rush.”

Swallowing was agony, but then the liquid trickled a cool path behind her sternum and the burning began to abate. When she had enough, she worked her mouth and produced an unintelligible mewl.

“Ye’ve come through a trial.” He set the goblet aside and lowered her with care. “‘Twill take time to heal.”

She managed to croak a single word. “Grandfather?”

Kylo frowned. “He willnae trouble ye again.”

“Dead?”

“Aye, and by my grandfather’s dirk.” He didn’t say by her hand, though that was no less true.

Rey exhaled the breath she didn’t realize she was holding. The clans were free; she was free. But at what cost? She’d killed her own grandfather just as Palpatine killed her parents and Kylo—no, Ben—killed his father. Her chest constricted and she clutched a fist to her breast. The darkness that stained her soul couldn’t be rubbed away.

Ben stroked her hair. “Och, lass, dinnae fash yourself.”

She couldn’t find words to express the pain, and her brows pinched in pleading for him to understand.

He searched her face, his gaze earnest, and smoothed his thumb between her eyebrows. “Ye are alive. ‘Tis all that matters.”

That’s right. Despite incalculable odds, her husband was alive. They both were. Rey summoned the will to capture his fingers and hold his hand to her lips.

“Ben.” Her faint whisper caressed his bloodied knuckles. “My Ben.”

His eyes shimmered, or perhaps it was the light. He stretched his length beside her and draped a battered arm across her torso. In the shelter of his embrace, soul-deep weariness threatened to drag her under again. Millstones weighted her eyelids, and she ached to the marrow of her bones.

“Rest, my Raoghnailt.” His chest rumbled against her shoulder. “Ye are no’ alone.”

***

Rey slept.

When Ben was not with her, a rotating vigil kept watch outside the bed-curtains. Rey drifted in and out of consciousness. Sometimes her ladies-in-waiting murmured to one another, but following their banter demanded more effort than she could rally. And she slept.

Sometimes Father Beaumont or the grizzled monk with kind eyes and homespun robes the color of autumn wheat would pray for her and chant psalms in Latin. Their quiet drone lulled her into slumber.

She loved best waking to Lady Leia, often alone but occasionally accompanied. Rey would doze, her surface thoughts entranced by Leia’s husky voice reading aloud or holding hushed converse with the deeper, gravelly tones of her unknown companion.

Whenever Rey stirred, her husband was fetched. At first, Ben permitted none to touch her. To her mortification, he cleaned her body and tended to her personal needs with large and gentle hands. He spooned broth and then gruel into her mouth. He held her after the horrifying dreams and just as often reassured her they had won. It was enough to know the Highlands were safe; anything more sparked panic within her breast.

Yet even as Ben’s bruises yellowed and the redness around his wound faded, the creases deepened in his countenance and heaviness bowed his shoulders. She traced the grooves that bracketed his mouth and asked what burdened him, but he massaged her fingers between his own and smiled, saying, “Ye need no’ worry.” His smile didn’t reach his eyes.

Ben feathered slow kisses along her temple and whispered of his love and devotion. She slept again.

The aged monk monitored her recovery, administered healing herbs, and prescribed rest, rest and more rest. She admitted to uneasy sleep.

“The poison claimed ye, highness, and stopped your heart.” His sea-blue eyes were wise and compassionate. “Our merciful Lord heard your husband’s prayers and raised ye from death, but the effects may persist awhile yet. Ye must have patience.”

Wonder wrapped Rey’s spirit as with a warm plaid. Ben had prayed for her? Perhaps he was not so far from the light as he claimed. The monk traced a cross on her brow and departed.

The pungent aroma of anointing oil lingered like incense.

Chapter Text

Stubbornness and independence were Rey’s old bedfellows. They’d enabled her to survive her grim, lonely childhood and youth just as they now drove her impatience with convalescing. Eating and seeing to her personal needs without assistance were small victories, yet any exertion left her weak.

She often woke with the knotted prayer rope between her fingers. If she couldn’t aid in the recovery efforts, at least she could intercede. She marked her progress with the increasing number of decades before she drowsed. The nightmares abated, only to haunt odd waking moments.

As Rey’s need lessened, so did Ben’s presence. He frequently returned to her bed only to sink into motionless slumber. She learned he had toiled long to bury the dead and provide for the injured, though Exegol’s storehouses were nearly empty. Grandfather had not invested the Highlands’ tribute in food or supplies.

Questions began to intrude on Rey’s few waking hours, but she refused to compound Ben’s worries. So she burrowed against his sturdy back, soaked in his warmth, and slept.

***

Rey hesitated to interrupt Lady Leia’s hushed dialogue, but she’d rather not await another occasion. She parted the bed-curtains and beckoned.

Leia’s confidant stood abruptly and faced the window, his back to Rey. She strained to identify him but couldn’t distinguish details. Was it unusually bright, or were her eyes newly sensitive to the light?

“Do ye need summat, your highness?” Leia’s steady and hard-won calm wreathed her features. 

“Nay.” Rey hurried to reassure her. “But I would ken what happened the night o’ the battle.” It was a blunt request, but Leia had always been direct and Rey would not waste her limited strength on pleasantries.

“Shall I leave?” The gruff voice seemed familiar, though Rey couldn’t place it. He rotated slightly, but silhouetted as he was in brilliance, she couldn’t discern more than a strong profile.

“Best to have done, I think.” Leia addressed his backside. “If ye will wait.”

The man gave no verbal acknowledgement and moved from sight. Their exchange piqued Rey’s curiosity.

Leia tied back Rey’s curtain, helped arrange a pillow behind her neck and shoulders, and dragged her chair closer. “Ye’ll alert me if ye grow weary or distressed?”

“O’ course.” Rey gestured her eagerness to start.

Lady Leia folded prim hands in her lap. “Were ye aware the High King summoned Laird Hux and Laird Ren afore the clans converged for the Games?”

“Aye,” Rey said. How could she forget? Though she tried to manipulate a private moment with Laird Ren, the two young lairds had spent their days and taken their meals sequestered with Grandfather. After a year apart, silent glimpses of the Dark Laird had left her flushed and wondering if he felt the same. She pinched her lips against an inopportune smile. He had, though she would never have guessed at the time.

“The High King sent Laird Hux as emissary to guide the clans to Loch Exegol,” Leia continued. “But upon arriving to our camp, Laird Hux confessed Palpatine’s treasonous plans for the Nihiling invasion.”

Rey gasped. Laird Hux was a spy? How did he learn of the invasion while Laird Ren remained ignorant? Did Grandfather suspect Ben’s loyalties even then?

“‘Twas my reaction as well.” Leia arched her thin eyebrows. “Whatever his faults, Laird Hux would no’ see the Highlands overrun. The chieftains held council, but most didnae believe him.”

“And ye did,” Rey said.

“I didnae ken what to think.” Leia smoothed a hand over her skirts. “I didnae trust Armitage and yet, if he spoke true, the cost would be incalculable. I conferred with Father Beaumont and decided we could no’ risk inaction. Each clan sent messengers to rally support.” Her mouth tipped up. “And I sent word to my brother.”

“Brother Luke,” Rey murmured. She should have realized he was the monk who cared for her so faithfully.

“The elder lairds who had no’ traveled for the Games recruited every able-bodied man, from young to old, and many women too.” Leia’s eyes glistened. “At the last moment, when all seemed lost, they streamed out o’ the mist like a phantom army, from the shepherd with his staff to the farmer with his scythe to the smith with his hammer.”

Love for the Highlands and her people spread warmth through Rey like sipping a dish of tea. “I wish I could have seen it.”

“Aye, ‘twas a grand sight indeed. They fell upon our attackers with a savagery to rival the enemy. Laird Ren was at the vanguard, the mightiest warrior o’ all.” Leia rested her hand on her breast, and then a shadow passed over her face. “But ‘twas a fierce fight and dearly won. The Nihilings would no’ yield and countless Highlanders were lost.”

“I ken. Kylo—” Rey corrected herself. “Ben has labored with burying the dead and feeding those who survived.” She held Lady Leia’s eye and channeled the arch tone of a princess. “Why didnae ye tell me he’s your son?”

Leia’s posture stiffened. “What has he told ye?”

“Naught but his name,” Rey said. “‘Twas unsafe while Grandfather lived, and we’ve no’ had opportunity since.”

Leia sighed. “‘Tis no’ my story to tell.”

“Please.” Rey was not too proud to implore. “Summat preys upon Ben’s soul, but he willnae speak o’ it, though each day the shadow deepens. I must ken, if I’m to help him.”

Rey couldn’t decide if the quivery sensation that gripped her gut was from anticipation or exhaustion. Either way, she didn’t acknowledge it aloud.

“Och, he willnae be pleased.” Leia closed her eyes for a beat, her lips thinned to a line, and then she filled her lungs. “To understand Ben now, ye must ken the beginning. Han wanted him to foster with Laird Calrissian, but even at seven winters, the bairn was devout and scholarly. We sent him to study with his Uncle Luke.

“Nigh on a decade passed. Laird Snoke and old Laird Brendol Hux rose in power and, allied with the High King, none could oppose them. Ben caught wind of our fears and conceived a foolhardy plan. He would act the disaffected youth and infiltrate Clan Ren. He staged his drowning and disappeared from Ahch-To. Only Luke, Han and I knew the truth.”

“‘Twas all subterfuge?”

“At first,” Leia said.

Though Rey had early recognized the goodness in Ben’s heart, neither would she deny the shades that clung to Laird Ren, the evils he had perpetrated, or the urgency with which he begged her to abandon the past.

Leia ran her thumb along the edge of the blue-and-green Skywalker tartan wrapped about her shoulders. “Kylo Ren swore fealty to Laird Snoke and became the formidable Dark Knight, but he was naïve to the seduction o’ power and the lure o’ darkness. At some point, it ceased to be a charade.”

Had not Ben himself confessed it was many winters since he stepped from the path of light?

“When he killed Laird Solo.” Rey whispered her supposition.

“No’ ‘til after.” Leia shook her head. “O’ patricide, at least, his soul is innocent. ‘Twas a ruse to prove Ben’s loyalty to Laird Snoke and the High King.”

Rey’s jaw dropped. “But I remember Grandfather rubbing his hands and crowing because the Dark Knight had slain the Chief o’ Clan Skywalker. I was appalled. Laird Solo was naught but kind to me. He even sat me upon his horse when I was a wee bairn.” It seemed too much to hope. “Does your husband yet live?”

“Aye, he does indeed.” A third voice interjected. Rey recognized at once the gravelly tones that had punctuated her recovery. A chill swept through her.

Laird Solo stepped into view. His hair had gone gray and craggy lines defined his face, but the same blue-green kilt swung at his knees. “And if I dinnae have to pray the hours ever again, ‘twill be too soon.”

Leia leaned toward Rey in a mock whisper. “He’s hidden these many years on Ahch-To and was none too happy to play the monk.”

But Laird Solo had already taken Rey’s frail hand to chafe between his rough ones. “Are ye no’ a sight for sore eyes, lass?” He beamed. “I hear I can call ye ‘daughter’ at last. Welcome to Clan Skywalker.”

Rey blinked several times. She couldn’t catch her breath and didn’t know what to say, in any case. I’m grateful ye are alive seemed wholly inadequate.

His mouth quirked to the side. “Did ye ken we once petitioned the High King to foster ye?”

Leia squeezed Rey’s forearm. “I worried for ye being raised in that viper’s nest and continually prayed that Saint Michael might defend ye from all assaults o’ the enemy.”

“I thank ye,” Rey said, her voice hoarse. She looked from one concerned face to the other. Did tears blur her vision or had she reached the end of her endurance? She wished to know more, to speak more, but she could hardly think.

“She looks a mite peaked.” Han glanced at his wife.

Leia rose to stand beside him and touched Rey’s forehead. “Perhaps Ben was correct and we ought no’ have spoken.”

“Nay, a wee rest will set me to rights.” Rey allowed Leia to tuck the coverlet beneath her chin. “But ye must assure Ben that all is well.”

***

A violent clamor in the hall outside roused Rey. All was not well.

“I told ye she was no’ to be disturbed by any o’ this,” Ben’s volume rattled the door, “no’ until her recovery is certain.”

Rey couldn’t make out the quieter response.

Something crashed, and a man hollered.

She couldn’t bear for Ben to argue with his family and especially not over her. She slipped from between the linens, shivered in the brisk air, and teetered along the bed. Rushes poked her tender soles, and one hand gripped the curtains, though they were a tenuous crutch.

She paused at the footboard to gauge the steps to the door. They were not many, but nothing offered support.

Strident male voices clashed like swords. She dare not delay or they might draw weapons in earnest.

Rey wobbled and swayed across the floor. The handle was just out of reach when her legs buckled. She collided with the heavy wood, grabbed for and missed the latch, and crashed to the ground. Ow. That was like to bruise.

The hall fell silent.

Heavy tread approached, and the door shoved against Rey’s weight. Ben squeezed through and peered down to see what blocked his entry.

“Wheesht, lass,” he cried, “what are ye thinking?”

He scooped her into his arms and carried her back to the mattress. Then he sat on the edge, fussed with the covers, and chided her for her foolishness.

“Dinnae be angry.” She cupped his cheek where he loitered above her. “No’ with your parents. They love ye so.”

He pressed her palm to his cool skin, closed his eyes, and breathed. His pulse beat a visible tattoo in his neck. “I thought I lost ye, Rey. I could no’ bear it.” He meant the night she died.

“But ye didnae. Ye need no’ fear.”

Ben turned his head until his lips nestled into her palm.

A depth of gratitude such as she had never known welled within Rey and overwhelmed her with its force. She wanted to laugh and cry and hold him. She wanted to braid a heather wreath, place it on his ebony locks like a crown of laurels, and hail him as beloved.

“I thank ye,” she said. “I live because ye pled for my soul.”

“Nay,” he drew back sharply. “If ye will give thanks, then let it be to God alone. ‘Twas naught for any merit on my part.” If he realized as much, then he was closer to the light than he knew.

Rey stroked her fingers through his hair and tugged at his nape. Ben bent over, intent on pressing a swift, chaste kiss to her lips as had become his custom, but she seized his mouth and would not allow him to retreat. She kissed him with all the fervent love and depthless gratitude in her heart.

His forehead rested on hers and his rapid breath fanned her face. “Ye are fevered again. I said I would tell ye everything. Why didnae ye wait?”

She could have answered that he was too tired and preoccupied, but she didn’t. She could have asked that he tell her now, but she didn’t. He sat up, and the disquiet that dimmed his eyes and bowed his shoulders stirred her compassion. She tendered a soft smile.

“Because ye are no’ ready to tell me.” She splayed her fingers across his chest. “Are we no’ one heart and one flesh? ‘Tis my duty and desire to share your troubles, no’ be shielded from them. Ye wish me to rest and heal, but how can I ‘til ye ken peace?”

He stood, scrubbed a broad hand over his face, and turned away.  

***

A gap in the bed-curtains framed Ben where he’d drawn a chair before the hearth. His nightshirt exposed the thick musculature of his thigh, and his bare toes braced against a length of firewood, his heel lifting and lowering to a slow rhythm. There was something mesmerizing in the repeated contraction of his calf. Heat climbed Rey’s temples. She must be feeling better.

Her gaze traveled his form. An elbow rested on his elevated knee and his palm cradled his chin in an attitude of intense contemplation. The curve of his spine—he who usually bore perfect posture—spoke with eloquence of his weary soul.

Maybe he’d left their bed or maybe he had not yet retired. Rey wasn’t certain. She’d lost any meaningful sense of time. But she knew days had passed because she could pray two additional decades and cross the chamber without collapsing—which is precisely what she did.

Ben raised his dark head, lowered his foot, and straightened as she approached. “Och, I didnae mean to wake ye.”

Rey settled atop his thighs and draped an arm across his shoulders. “Ye didnae.”

“Ye ought to be asleep.”

“Sleep?” She laughed lightly. “‘Tis all I do.”

Humor flickered in his answering smile.

Her finger trailed down his shift’s open neck, mapping the rise and fall of his chest. Then she lifted her gaze. “Ye could come to bed with me. We dinnae have to sleep.”

His eyes flicked to hers. He understood, and she’d managed to surprise him. Good.

His hands closed around her hips. For an instant, her heart fluttered with the hope he would carry her to bed, but he only adjusted her seat on his lap. “Nay, my bonny wife. ‘Tis too soon to risk your health.”

She swallowed. Why did his care feel like rejection?

“There’s summat—” His stare grew distant and shifted to the fire. “There’s summat I must consider. Leave me sit awhile and then I’ll join ye.”

Rey drew her knees up, tucked her wrists beneath her chin, and curled into his chest. “Nay, husband. If ye will sit and think, then ye must tolerate my company.”

A rumble of amusement vibrated through his ribs to hers, but he clasped his solid arms around her.

Her perch wasn’t entirely comfortable, but with his heat on one side and the fire on the other, it was comforting. Perhaps he would find their proximity as soothing as she did. His respiration slowed and the tension leached from him by degrees.

“Rey,” he said after a long while, his pitch low and tentative.

She hummed.

“‘Tis the chieftains.” He cleared his throat. “They want—”

The pause agonized, but Rey held her tongue and persevered through the silence. The burning log sparked and sizzled.

Ben exhaled. “They want to make me High King.”

Chapter Text

High King?

Of all the noblemen eligible to take the high throne, why would they choose the one-time Laird Kylo of Clan Ren? Rey could hardly credit Laird Hux, let alone Laird Dameron or Finn, with lending support to such a scheme. Why not Laird Han and Lady Leia, now they were reunited? Yet why was Ben distressed by such an honor? Rey’s thoughts skipped from question to question like leaping from one rolling log to another.

Ben had admitted this much. Perhaps he would disclose more.

She stared into the hearth’s dancing flames. “‘Tis what’s been vexing ye?”

“Aye.”

In any event, it was the truth at last. Rey snuggled deeper into his chest.

His arms tightened around her. “I’m no’ a hero, yet the chieftains think me the Highlands’ deliverer. They hail my decade o’ deception as if ‘twere some noble sacrifice. They say I’ve freed our land. Laird Snoke and the traitor Palpatine are dead, while my father and their beloved princess are raised to life. What further proof do they need?”

“They’re no’ wrong.” A smile tugged at her lips, though with her head bowed beneath his chin, he couldn’t see it.

“Och, ye cannae believe that.” His mouth pressed to the back of her head.

“I do,” she said. “Didnae loyalty and patriotism drive ye from the start? In your heart o’ hearts, I ken ye are kind and good—” It was the wrong thing to say.

He set her roughly upon her feet and stood. She forgot sometimes how he towered over her. The disparity was more striking since he’d grown stronger with hard labor while she diminished during her recuperation.

Ben spun to pace across their chamber, and Rey sank into the chair still warm from his body.

“I’m no’ who they think I am.” He stretched out stiff fingers. His forearms were corded with muscle and twined with veins. “My hands are covered in blood. Ye said so yourself.”

She couldn’t deny having said as much.

“But ‘tis no’ only blood—‘tis bloodguilt. I’ve taken lives and no’ only that, I’ve taken pleasure in it. Ye may see summat good in me, but every evil I’ve done springs from the very same heart.” He pounded a fist to his chest. “Do ye no’ understand?”

Rey shook her head and stared with wide eyes. Nausea threatened each time she remembered the massacre in Snoke’s throne room or the dirk sliding between Grandfather’s ribs. When he was Kylo, she’d known his capacity for vicious brutality, but to take pleasure in it? The chasm between them had never yawned wider.

“‘Tis true I hated it at times.” His confession rushed out in a swollen river. “But I was proud to be the Dark Laird. I liked living free o’ morals and restraint. I liked leading the Knights o’ Ren in their depravity. I liked being feared. It answered summat in me—made me feel powerful and important, invincible even. But now—”

With every word, he drove an awl further into her fractured heart. Rey knew not how to counsel or console him.

He did an about face and strode to the chamber’s opposite end. “The chiefs believe I acted the part o’ Kylo Ren, but ‘tis Ben Solo that’s the fraud. If they ken the truth, they’ll take my head—no’ offer me a crown—and they’d be well within their rights. I’m no’ worthy o’ it.” He spread his palms. “Look what I did as Laird Ren! I cannae be trusted with the authority o’ the high throne.”

He groaned, dug his nails into his scalp, and wrenched. Rey winced. How did he not come away with fistfuls of hair?

“I had thought to find another way, some means to overcome the divisions among the clans and forge a new future, but ‘twas vanity. I dinnae ken what to do.” He resembled a cornered animal.

Compassion brimmed in Rey’s heart and she opened her arms in invitation. He came to her, dropped to his knees before the chair, and caught her hands.

His grip was hot and fierce. “I’m no’ worthy o’ ye either, my Raoghnailt. I thought—I thought ‘twould be enough—to marry ye, to have ye, to love ye.” He collapsed forward and buried his face at her knees. As he spoke, his breath steamed through her shift and heated her thighs. “If I could no’ have mercy, then ye would be my light and salvation. But I could no’ even protect ye, and now ye are bound to my damned soul as long as there’s breath in my lungs. Would that I had fallen in battle! ‘Twould have been a noble death and set ye free.”

“Dinnae say it!” Rey cried and curled over him. “I loved ye as Kylo and I love ye as Ben. Ye are the other half o’ my soul.”

She cradled his crown and rested her cheek against his dark mane. When she sat up, she placed her hands to either side of his face and lifted his heavy head. His eyes were red-rimmed and glassy, twin mirrors of agony.

“‘Tis never too late,” she said.

“Are ye a priest now?” His scoff couldn’t mask his anguish, and he sat back on his heels. “Do ye no’ ken? ‘Tis impossible for those once enlightened, who’ve tasted goodness and fallen away, to be brought back. Your innocence gives ye false hope. Your grandfather was right: ye dinnae ken who ye’ve married. Naught o’ forgiveness remains for the likes o’ me.”

Rey had learned as best she could, but her religious education in secret could never match that of a nobleman trained at a monastery. She could handle bow or dirk, but she would not win in a doctrinal duel.

Moisture beaded on his forehead as if he were the one to suffer fever. Rey brushed damp locks behind his ear. From his knees, he beheld her with such a perfect mix of despair and longing that she wanted to weep. What she wouldn’t give to take his pain and grant him peace.

“I dinnae ken about that.” Her fingertips stroked across an eyebrow, traced down his new scar, and rested under his jaw. “But I ken that ye are mine, I am yours, and I would have no other.”

He closed his eyes for a long moment and then pushed to his feet. In three strides, he had gathered the black-and-gray tartan of Clan Ren and tossed it over his shoulder.

“Did I say summat wrong?” Alarm spiked in Rey’s chest as she stood and approached him. It felt like a repetition of their wedding night, though that seemed ages ago and she a different woman.

He grasped his claymore’s hilt. “I need to clear my head.”

“Ye willnae do summat foolish?”

He barked a dry laugh. “All my life I’ve run from one foolish choice to another like stepping stones across a brook. What’s one more?”

She searched his eyes but found only unutterable weariness and sorrow.

“Dinnae wait for me.” Ben rested the back of his hand against her cheek, she leaned into his touch, and then he was gone.

Rey stared at the closed door. How long had she been standing here?

She twisted the silver band that illness forced her to wear on a thicker finger. She didn’t possess the stamina to chase Ben, and remaining alone in their bedchamber would be torture. But there was one place where she could unburden her soul and find solace.

***

The trek to the small chapel lengthened, exhaustion dragged at Rey’s limbs, and she nearly turned back more than once. Still, as she navigated the halls, she could not but marvel. Gone was the oppressive darkness. Instead, sconces burned at intervals such that upon leaving one pool of light the next was already within view.

She rounded the last corner, collided with a hooded figure, and stumbled. Firm hands caught and then released her.

“Princess Rey.” Brother Luke pushed back his cowl to reveal clear blue eyes. “Have ye come to join me?”

She blinked.

He gestured toward the chapel doors. “To pray matins.”

She stuttered a negative.

“Mayhap ye’ve come for summat else?” His wiry brows waggled.

Rey hesitated. Much as she wished for advice, she was now alert to the conflict between Ben and his uncle. Brother Luke had forbidden his nephew’s plot to infiltrate Clan Ren; young Ben ignored him and proceeded regardless. But Rey’s dread for her husband overcame her desire to please him.

As she related their conversation, the monk ushered her into the dim chapel and seated her on a bench before the altar. She paused to watch him light candles. His countenance sobered as he listened.

When she finished, she dashed the tears from her cheeks and straightened her spine. “I dinnae ken where he’s gone, but more, I fear for his soul.”

“Och, lass.” Brother Luke shook his head and closed his eyes. He sat silent and motionless, save for his steady respiration. The furrows in his brow eased.

Rey twisted her fingers together atop the gown she’d hastily pulled over her shift.

At length, he raised heavy lids. “I will answer ye, though it may not give ye peace.”

She leaned forward.

“I expect Ben’s gone to swim the loch.”

Rey gasped. “‘Tis bitter cold and the deep o’ night!”

“Aye.” Luke shrugged. “On Ahch-To, when he wished to ‘clear his head’ and drive me mad, ‘twas his preferred method.” He chuckled. “Ye need no’ worry.”

How could she not worry? Like Ben, she didn’t give credence to folk tales about mythological creatures, but the disorienting fog made the loch treacherous even in daylight—not to mention the cold could claim him.

“As for his soul—” Brother Luke stroked his beard and pursed his lips. “Did no’ the father watch for his lost son and run to embrace him when he was yet far off?”

Rey nodded, wanting to believe, to hope and yet—and yet—

“If Ben could no’ acknowledge his offenses, if he didnae hunger for mercy, ‘tis then ye should fear. But already his heart yearns for home. He’s dismayed and afeared because the way seems closed to him. We must pray.”

“Aye.” That’s why she’d come. Rey reached for the knotted cord at her belt.

“‘Tis at the end o’ ourselves we find the beginning o’ trust.” Luke murmured and stared past her shoulder. “Just like my father.” Then he gave a little shake, arched an eyebrow reminiscent of Leia, and leveled his most probing gaze. “Raoghnailt, is there aught to hinder your prayers?”

Her full name caught Rey off guard, and instant denial rose to her lips. She was shriven before her wedding, though she didn’t know how many weeks had passed, and Brother Luke had been with her every day since. What could she possibly—

She had murdered her grandfather.

Rey’s guilt burbled up and spilled over. She described the turmoil that yet dogged her days and the conflict that simmered unseen in her soul. Many had tried to relieve her conscience, but they didn’t know her anger and bitterness or the many occasions she wished him dead. They reassured her she was justified in defending herself. Had not Palpatine tried to kill her and did not his treason warrant death?

Brother Luke said none of these things. Instead, he listened. When he declared her forgiven, it seemed somehow, impossibly, that her fettered spirit was loosed. Rey closed her eyes to savor the breath of freedom. Och, that Ben might know the same!

When she looked at Brother Luke again, a quiet knowing radiated from his countenance.

He touched the knotted rope that had its genesis on Ahch-To and to which she’d been clinging. “Each one is tied with care for the warrior who will wield it.”

She smiled her gratitude.

“Now ye are ready,” he said. “Let us pray.”

***

The nocturn had nearly reached its close, but the cadence of Brother Luke’s chanting lulled Rey’s senses. Her mind drifted from the psalms and prayers, and she was once more abed, still fevered with toxins and shielded within her bed-curtains.

“Och,” Lady Jannah whispered to her companions, “that’s a tale to knock the wheesht clean out o’ ye.”

“I cannae credit it,” Lady Kaydel added, “but ‘tis said he scaled the very cliffs o’ the loch and shimmied straight up the castle wall to reach her.”

They referred to Ben.

“I was in the great hall tending to the wounded,” Lady Rose whispered in return. “I’ll no’ forget the sight o’ him, bloody and mangled from crown to calf and wild-eyed like the devil himself was on his heels.

“He staggered in and laid the princess on a trestle as gently as ‘twere her bridal couch, and the pair o’ them in no more than their bedded shifts. Her skin was grayer than the fog and her lips like ash. Any could see she’d breathed her last, but none dared contradict Laird Ren.

“He fell to his knees, set his hands upon her, and cried out to the Holy Trinity and the Blessed Virgin—indeed to every saint in the alphabet: Aidan, Brendan, Columba. I didnae ken Laird Ren could pray like that.”

Then Rey was on her back, the trestle table unyielding beneath her. She stared up into Ben’s strained face. Lank hair hung at his gaunt cheeks, and dark crescents beneath his eyes stood stark against his pale complexion.

“Will ye no’ watch with me one hour?” He pleaded, at once imploring and reproachful.

He shook her lightly.

Rey’s eyes sprang open, heart pounding. She was still in the chapel with Brother Luke.

“I didnae wish to disturb ye,” he frowned as he lowered his hands from her shoulders, “but ye fell into slumber and cried out in your dreams.”

“‘Twas no dream.” Urgency for her task vibrated through her. “I must remain and keep vigil.”

If Ben had interceded for her life, then could Rey do any less than intercede for his soul?

***

Why did Rey extinguish the candles? At the time, it seemed noble to join Ben in his darkness, but the tiny, ever-burning flame of the sanctuary lamp could not mark the passing hours.

Brother Luke had only departed after much persuasion and assurance she would end her vigil with sunrise. Did he already look in at lauds without her awareness? She had fallen into sleep more than once. Each time she snapped awake to the admonition: Will ye no’ watch with me?

Rey knelt until her knees protested and her hamstrings seized. Then she rose to pace. Worries assaulted and unwelcome thoughts distracted her. She spoke aloud and sang. She held Ben in her mind, her lips moved with the habits of her heart, and she lost count of the decades.

Why was intercession so difficult when she’d been certain of the calling? Her tired feet slowed to a shuffle and she knelt again. She repeated the cycle. Ben. My Ben. Her fingertips grew sore on the knots.

Fatigue overpowered her and Rey stretched prostrate before the altar. Lord, have mercy. Have mercy. Mercy. Words slipped from her grasp. She spread her arms and pressed her cheek to the cold, hard stone.

She stroked through endless, freezing waters. Her limbs were numb and her lungs ached. Her strength failed. She could go no farther.

She sank. The Nihiling dead reached up from their watery grave to clutch her ankles and drag her down, down, down into the depths until all was inky blackness. She was bereft and helpless.

But you are not alone.

A current of words, a psalm from matins, caught and carried her. She was borne aloft in its flow.

Where shall I go from your Spirit? Or where shall I flee from your presence?

If I ascend to the heavens, you are there. If I make my bed in the depths, you are there.

If I rise on the wings of dawn and dwell in the uttermost parts of the sea, even there your hand shall guide me, your right hand shall hold me fast.

If I say, “Surely darkness shall cover me, and the light about me be night,” even the darkness is not dark to you. The night is bright as day, for darkness is as light with you.

Even the darkness is not dark to you. She ceased to wrestle and let go.

Chapter Text

The chapel doors creaked on their hinges, alerting Rey to Brother Luke’s return. His stride down the aisle echoed with purpose and resolve. He’d come to begin the day with prime, which meant her long vigil was over.

But Rey didn’t open her eyes or move from kneeling before the altar. She’d been transported to a realm beyond her senses. What were the height and breadth and depth of such a love? Its enormity was immeasurable. Her worries for Ben had been drowned in so vast a sea—no, that wasn’t quite right. That made her intercessions seem inconsequential when they were the reverse.

No, her intentions had been carried to heaven’s ear by a love far exceeding her own. In its wake she knew peace—a peace surpassing comprehension—and the certainty this same all-encompassing love held Ben in a grip from which he could never be separated. This was the truest and deepest consolation; she was not ready for it to cease.

An orange glow flared behind her closed lids. Luke must be lighting the candles.

The wood beneath her knees groaned and fabric rustled as he joined her. Still Rey didn’t acknowledge him. His chanting would break the silence soon. Gratitude filtered through her veins. Let her first words unite her voice with his in a psalm of thanksgiving.

The quiet lengthened. Luke knelt near enough that his warmth permeated her side, and her focus shifted to the rhythm of his breathing. Rey cracked one eye on the altar cross engraved with the same pattern of interlocking knots she’d embroidered on her wedding gown.

Why did the monk delay? Now that she was distracted, she wished to begin at once. She dared to peek from the periphery of her vision.

Long fingers loosely interlaced and connected to hands that were larger than she recalled. Her eyebrows narrowed. Black sleeves rested on the shelf of the prie dieu, but Brother Luke customarily wore the warm shades of fields ripe for harvest.

Rey’s heart stuttered within her ribs. Was it possible?

Her gaze tracked up thick arms and broad shoulders to a strong neck, healing scar, and raven hair pulled into a queue. She stifled a gasp.

Ben.

His eyes remained sealed and his face at rest. Had his countenance ever conveyed such contentment? For that matter, had she ever seen him pray? The heavy grooves that oft furrowed his brow, creased above his nose, and bracketed his mouth had diminished to faint lines—not to mention his facial hair was neatly trimmed and his tartan brushed.

His eyelids lifted gradually. Perhaps he sensed her inspection. Fine lashes rimmed his honey-brown irises. Gone were the conflict, angst, and tortured pain. His burdens had fallen away; his spirit was unshackled. The same peace that emanated from his posture and softened his features shone from his eyes.

Rey’s breath caught. This moment, right here, she would remember this moment forever. It was as if she’d been chasing a deer through a shadowed glade, catching glimpses between the boles before it darted from sight. Then the woods opened into a clearing. The stag stood proud, antlers pointing to the sun that made his coat gleam like polished copper. Yet even that comparison fell short.

This man gazing back at her? She’d placed her trust in him as the Highlands’ best hope, when there was no reason to hope and only faith she’d chosen aright. She’d caught glimpses of him within the heart of Kylo Ren—when he pledged his troth and in moments of tenderness. Yet her soul knew him as her own. And now? He’d stepped fully into the light; she could do naught but behold him with awe.

“Ben.” Her lips parted around his name and curved into a gentle smile.

His did the same.

She scanned between his eyes, and he regarded her with new depths of warmth and affection.

Ben stood and extended his hand; she accepted. Her soles pricked with pins and needles after the prolonged stint in one attitude, and she listed sideways.  

He caught and folded her into his chest, and she wrapped her arms around his waist. Within his embrace, his heart beat steadily under her ear, as it had from the first night of their union. Not a day passed through her recuperation that she did not know the shelter of his arms, her solace in adversity. The plaid draped over his shoulder was scratchy beneath her cheek and savored of wood smoke and horses. His fingers moved in soothing strokes along her back.

A low noise, not quite hum or groan, vibrated through his chest. He set her away a little, enough to peer into her face, though his sturdy fingers braced her shoulders.

“Are ye well, lass?”

“Aye.” The smile that rounded her cheeks must be wide enough to force dimples beside her mouth, so immense was her happiness. She didn’t care. “But I should be asking ye.”

He grew solemn. “Uncle Luke said ye kept vigil for me the entire night through.”

He’d gone to Brother Luke first? Her disappointment must have shown because he trailed two fingers along her jaw and swiped his thumb across her cheek.

“Nay, dinnae be sad. Ye must ken ‘twas necessary. I would no’ come to ye without receiving absolution.”

“Then I thank ye,” she said. His words confirmed what his face and posture proclaimed. How could she do aught but respect his first inclination was to be restored to the kirk?

Ben slid his palms down her arms to fold her fingers between his and raise their joined hands. He kissed her knuckles and set her heart cavorting like a foal. Their wedding night seemed a distant a memory, a cherished dream. Surely she was healed enough. Perhaps soon—

He studied her over their hands. “I said it afore and ‘twas true: I’m no’ worthy o’ such devotion, my Raoghnailt. But I have promised to love ye and care for ye all my days.” He released his grip to thread his fingers into her sloppy braids—och, she must be a sight!—and cradle her face between his broad palms. “‘I will betroth ye to me forever. I will betroth ye to me in righteousness and in justice, in unfailing love and in mercy. I will betroth ye to me in faithfulness.’” His smile widened further. “I will rejoice o’er ye with singing.”

“Will ye now?” Rey bit her lips to contain her mirth. Only a man devout in his youth and schooled by monks would flirt using Holy Writ. She canted her head within his hold. “I should like to hear it.”

“No’ if I stop your mouth with a kiss.”

“Ye are a tease, Laird Ben.”

“I’m in love with my bonny wife is what I am.” His eyes crinkled and he leaned near, lips hovering above hers.

Och, how could her heart withstand such joy? Surely it would abandon its mooring within her chest and ascend on featherlight wings.

Rey lingered, not closing the distance between them, though Ben waited and her pulse fluttered in anticipation. The marriage liturgy did not provide for the bride to repeat the vows; it was not deemed necessary. But why should he not hear the promises her heart had made?

“Benjamin Skywalker Organa Solo.” Her voice puffed against his mouth, and she withdrew enough to hold his round-eyed gaze. “I take ye as my wedded husband and vow to love ye and care for ye so long as we both shall live.”

Scarcely had the words exited her lips before he was kissing her, not with the chaste kiss of peace they shared at their wedding, nor solely with the desire that concluded their nuptial feast, but with an intensity of love, longing and purpose that swept all else away. There was only Ben and their union made complete at last.

***

Ben’s hands still framed her jaw, his forehead tipped against her brow, and his rapid breath mingled with hers. How was it that something as simple as her husband setting his mouth upon hers could ignite her soul, set every sense ablaze, and fill her with such an incongruous mix of longing and satiety, of claiming and being claimed, of—

She wanted more. Were there as many kisses as days in the year? She wished to know each one.

“I’ve summat to show ye,” Ben said, recalling her to the present, “if ye are no’ too weary.”

Rey nodded brightly. She could scale a mountain with the vitality surging through her.

He grasped her hand and pulled her from the chapel. They left the candles burning for Brother Luke who would arrive for morning prayers soon.

Ben must have been likewise refreshed after his sleepless night. His longer legs led them with swift strides, but not so fast that Rey overlooked the clean passages.

Someone had swept the halls and scrubbed layers of soot and grime from the walls, only to expose urgent need for repairs. Och, if only Rey’d had the management. To her knowledge, the old castle was never once scoured since Grandfather laid claim for the high throne. His improvements were for security, such as replacing the drawbridge. What would happen when she and Ben removed to Glen Ilum? Would the stones crumble and return to the earth? Would their descendants visit the ruin hulking in the fog and recount the Battle of Exegol that freed the Highlands?

Ben rounded a corner, and Rey stumbled on his heels.

“Are we in a hurry then?” Why was she panting? Perhaps she was wearier than she realized.

“Aye.” He didn’t explain.

When she tripped on the stairs, he halted to plead forgiveness for his thoughtlessness and begged leave to carry her. Rey granted reluctant permission. Her spirit was more than willing, but her flesh was weak.

Ben swept her up into his chest, and she wrapped her arms around his shoulders. She buried her nose in the curve of his neck and inhaled. Dependence left her antsy, yet being carried by her braw husband satisfied something elemental within her.

His steps surged, carrying them higher and higher, past the archer’s walk where she’d made her last stand and Grandfather had taken his final breath to the battlement that crowned the castle. He balanced her with one arm and shoved the trap door with the other. Rotting planks flew open and juddered against the dirty stones.

Fresh, cool air and the pewter-blue before dawn greeted her.

Ben carried her to the parapet and seated her in a broad embrasure. He stood behind, one hand resting on the merlons to either side. The prospect fell away from the castle, down the cliffs, and across the loch that glimmered like a midnight sapphire. Colors were rendered in shades of blue to purple. The sky sparkled with patches of faint stars. Rey’s mouth fell open. Mountain silhouettes soared to either side, a scarf of lavender mist wreathing the feet of their violet slopes. They encircled the loch and overlapped in the distance opposite, where the River Reid began its winding course to the Firth of Byss.

She’d seen the geography sketched on a map, but not once had she seen it with her eyes.

“The fog,” she whispered. Her gaze swept from one horizon to the other. “It’s gone.”

“Aye,” he said with the nonchalance of agreeing that water is wet. “Though ‘tis the sunrise I brought ye to see.” Indeed, the pewter limning the eastern ridge was softening slowly.

“But the fog—” She’d dwelled beneath its damp, impenetrable blanket for as long as she could recall. High King Palpatine relocated the ruling seat to Loch Exegol for the fog’s obscuring properties. It shrouded her parents’ marriage, her birth, and her every memory, save those from rare visits to other locales. But this—to measure loch and land to the limits of her sight—what beauty! What delight! Even her breath came easier. Yet Ben wasn’t surprised.

She craned her head around to peer up at him. “Ye mean it didnae clear last night?”

“Nay,” he frowned, “‘twas the morning o’ the battle. The mist dissipated as we searched for the wounded and gathered the dead.”

That was many weeks ago. Here she’d thought her eyes sensitive to the light when it was the sun shining through her window for the entirety of her convalescence. “The fog’s no’ returned since?”

“Aye, on some days, but it behaves naturally.” He shrugged. “It disnae linger.”

Rey scooted around to wedge herself between the merlons, drawing her knees to her chest and wrapping her arms around her shins. She pressed her back to one pillar and her feet to the opposite. A shiver coursed through her, not so much from the cold but from suspicion the perpetual fog was somehow connected to Grandfather, like some shielding darkness for the evils he perpetrated.

Ben tucked her tartan tighter about her shoulders and stepped aside. He leaned his forearms atop the merlon at her feet and looked out over the view.

The blushing sky increased clarity and definition across the valley. The loch transformed to a mirror reflecting the dark mountains and clouds like mounds of dirty wool.

“Ben.” Her breath steamed in a small cloud. “Did ye truly swim the loch?”

His gaze cut to her and a self-deprecating smile flashed across his lips. “Uncle Luke told ye, did he?”

“Aye. I—I dreamed or maybe had a vision that ye drowned, yet somehow ‘twas then the struggle ended and ye were buoyed by hope.”

“‘Tis a fit metaphor.” He huffed, his chuckle likewise releasing a puff of vapor. “So long as we’ve been acquainted, have I no’ told ye to ‘let go?’”

She nodded.

“Yet ‘twas I holding on, clinging to my own way, determined to maintain control—and what a jumble I made. ‘Twas my will that had to die.” He shook his head and stared out across the loch. “Forgiveness is truly vast as the ocean and deep as the sea. Somehow I forgot.” Then he settled his dark-bright eyes on her. Peace still softened his features. “Ye proved wiser than I, my Raoghnailt.”

Rey smiled gently and stretched the fingers of one hand toward him. Ben clasped them in an exchange of mutual gratitude. What had she prayed on the day of their wedding, when she peered out the archer’s walk and listened to the men bathing in this same loch? So knit our hearts and minds that we may become one in soul as we will be in body. Had she not been answered beyond all imagining? She would never cease to give thanks.

A shadow crossed over his countenance. “Though I’m sorry ye must brave the consequences o’ my choices with me.”

“Dinnae say so,” she squeezed his fingers. “I love ye, and I’m with ye whate’er may come.” She meant it with her whole heart, but the challenges ahead weren’t difficult to conceive, what with the predictable opposition of Clan Hux and Clan Ren, not to mention the Knights and their legacy of destruction. If he were to accept the throne, leading wouldn’t be easy, even with the council’s support.

Ben leaned over to kiss her hand, then released her and straightened to point east. “Look ye now.”

As the sun crested the mountains, the underbellies of the clouds glowed like ripe peaches hanging low on their branches. Rays spilled over to wash the valley gold and gleam from the loch’s gilded surface. Rey could count on two hands the sunrises she’d witnessed. Several were with Ben in the dazzling snow at Glen Ilum’s mountain fortress when the Dark Knight smuggled her from under Grandfather’s watchful eye. But never had she observed such magnificence.

The orange ball paled and brightened as it climbed, the golden glory passed, and the radiance shifted, drawing back like a curtain and leaving vivid color in its wake. Where Rey had known only ash-gray dirt that packed the horses’ hooves, clung to her boots and soiled the castle with muck, a carpet in variegated green stretched to the foothills. The hue deepened and purpled as it ascended toward the mountains.

“Och, how is this possible?” Rey scanned from east to west, finding green in every direction, as if the land had skipped over autumn and winter in its haste to reach spring. “But nothing grows at Loch Exegol.”

“‘Twould seem life only lay sleeping, awaiting the soft Highland rains and the waking light o’ the sun.” He smiled. “‘Tis all the more beautiful when ye ken what ‘twas.”

“Aye.” She’d always counted on leaving the wretched fog behind forever when she married and departed Grandfather’s house, but a mirage formed in her mind: fields yielding a rich harvest, flocks of sheep and herds of cattle, hinds in leafy glades, villages alive with laughter and dancing, games and feasts. She blinked, the vision evaporated, and the land was empty. “Where are the clans?”

“Returned to their homes for winter. The lairds pressed for an immediate coronation, but I would no’ answer so long as ye were abed.” Though the delay was due to Ben’s reluctance, that he should wait on her opinion was still a credit to his character.

“Do ye think differently now”—Rey rested her chin on her knees—“about being High King?”

Ben’s shoulders rose and fell with the weight of his sigh. “Uncle Luke says my penance is to serve the Highlands.”

The monk had assigned Rey penance as well, though she didn’t mention it.

“As he sees it,” Ben continued, “I ran ahead o’ God’s will and tried to take the reins afore I could manage eight-in-hand as ‘twere.”

“And how do ye see it?”

“Who could e’er be worthy o’ such a role? Certainly no’ me. That has no’ changed. But I was mistaken to think the kingship’s about worthiness. ‘Tis a matter o’ servanthood, o’ laying down one’s life for the good o’ the people, as Clan Skywalker has always done, though I didnae appreciate it when I was a lad.” He sighed again and bowed his head, his profile sharpened by the rising sun. His voice dropped low enough that she struggled to decipher his words. “I’m still afeared o’ failure, that I’ll reap the seeds o’ my past, that I’ll fail God and fail the Highlands. That I’ll fail ye.”

Och, what courage for this proud man to admit as much! It hardly seemed possible that the Dark Laird, who had lived by his sword and the might of his arm, should effect such a transformation and be marked by such humility.

Rey lowered her feet from the embrasure to stand beside him. She splayed her hand in the hollow between the width of his shoulders.

“Whate’er ye choose, ye are no’ alone.” Was he not restored to the faith and surrounded by family who loved him? Rey reached into her bodice, withdrew the worn and fading scrap of vellum, and offered it.

He unfolded the note and his lips trembled. “I cannae believe ye kept this.”

“‘Twas my comfort on many a day.” She closed his hand around the vellum and folded hers around his. “Where’er ye go and whate’er ye do, I’m with ye, Ben. Ye are my heart and my home.”

He draped his arm across her shoulders, hers slipped to his waist, and he clasped her to his side. “With ye beside me, there’s naught we could no’ accomplish.”

She pursed her lips. “But ‘o this I’m certain: ye must no’ take the high throne from either obligation or penance—no’ even to please me, much as I love the Highlands—but only if ye are convinced ‘tis this to which ye are called.”

He looked into the middle distance—or perhaps inside himself. The luminous morning sparkled from the loch’s deep waters, and the surrounding fields and hillsides glittered like emeralds.

“In truth, ‘tis what I fear most,” he said, though fear did not mar his expression. His gaze remained fixed in the distance. “I’ve been devoted to the Highlands since I was a bairn, indeed since before I can remember. Ye were correct when ye said good intentions drove me from Ahch-To. I may have run ahead, I may have strayed far from the path, but let me no’ run away when the calling has ne’er changed. ‘Twas for this I was born, ‘twas with this I’ve wrestled all my life, and ‘tis why I yet live and breathe.”

Rey’s heart pattered. “A wise woman once said, ‘Never fear who ye are.’”

Ben didn’t ask who but probed her eyes. “I ken ye love me, and the Highlands could no’ ask for a better queen, but ‘twould require o’ ye the noblest sacrifice. I spoke true when I told the lairds I cannae accept without ye. Would ye still have me, Rey, as High King?”

“Nay, husband.” Rey faced him, twined her arms about his thick torso, and tipped her head back to gauge the uncertainty and hope writ plain on his beloved face. “I willnae have ye as High King.”

His eyebrows lowered, and she grinned.

“I will have ye as my king.”

Chapter Text

“‘Tis so long since I’ve been in company that I hardly ken how to comport myself.” Rey smoothed her hand down the soft wool of her wedding gown.

Even so, her attendance had been postponed, the nightlong vigil and sunrise viewing with Ben having forced her to rest once again. But she had yielded to her lady’s maid and taken care with her appearance for this, her first meal outside their nuptial chamber—and her sickroom.

“Dinnae fash yourself.” Ben covered her fingers where they curled around his corded forearm. “Ye look bonny.”

“Och, go on with ye now.” Her dress hung looser than the first time she wore it, and she was too thin then. Perhaps that explained her husband’s reticence, his chaste embraces and kind rebuffs. Ben still claimed concern for her health. She suppressed a sigh, set the thought aside, and resolved to eat more, regardless.

“Ye’d think ‘twas the coronation already and no’ a family dinner,” he said in gentle remonstrance, “all of whom love ye, by the by.”

His family did, though it never ceased to amaze Rey. She’d lost her parents, been raised by a tyrannical grandfather, and married Laird Ren with nary a guess she’d gain Laird Han and Lady Leia for parents or Brother Luke for an uncle. It defied belief.

A servant thrust open the doors to the great hall, Rey drew her shoulders back, and they entered to a chorus of welcome.

“About time ye deigned to grace us with your presence,” Laird Solo called from the table, but a crooked smile betrayed his affection.

“Dinnae listen to him.” Lady Leia swept forward, jeweled fingers outstretched, and clasped Rey’s hand. She tugged Rey’s free arm through her elbow. “Ye are loveliness itself. We’re delighted ye are well enough to join us.”

“Here, here.” Luke pressed his palms together and rendered a mock bow from his station near Han.

Rey promenaded between Ben and his mother to the single trestle set for five. Her heart brimmed to overflowing as she took her place beside her husband in the high seat, just as she had at their wedding feast, though that seemed a hazy, half-remembered dream. The others resumed their benches.

As with elsewhere in the castle, the great hall had been thoroughly scrubbed and fresh rushes spread across the floor. Fragrant boughs festooned the pillars and lintels. Given the newness of vegetation sprouting at Loch Exegol, the evergreens must have been imported from beyond the valley.

A rusted chandelier, long relegated to the dusty rafters, had been restored and lowered on new ropes. Tall candles fitted to the wrought iron illumined all but the farthest corners. A merry fire sparked and popped in the massive hearth.

“To Princess Rey,” Laird Solo raised his goblet, “Defender of the Faith and our future High Queen. Long may she reign.”

The others echoed him, and Rey inclined her head to receive their toast with the grace they deserved, though such attention overwhelmed.

In the near future, these heroes would bend their knees to their new High King and Queen. How could they greet with equanimity the prospect of swearing fealty to the next generation within their own family?

Han, Leia, and Luke had lived decades before either she or Ben were born. They had faced other battles and remembered earlier wars. They had seen their fortunes rise and fall. They had known plenty and want. Their patriotism had been refined through fire and proved true; they had loved the Highlands far longer than Rey. It was humbling. Ben was correct; reigning wasn’t about worthiness but about servanthood.

Yet these respected elders talked, goaded one another, and loaded their trenchers like ordinary folk. Dinner proceeded with a bounty of good humor surpassing the bounty of salmon, haggis, turnips, and potatoes. Rey couldn’t resist smiling and laughing with them.

Ben was more reserved, his posture straight as ever, yet his keen eyes missed nothing and amusement flickered across his features. Even his fraught history with his family could not disturb his peace.

***

“Have ye given any thought with which clan name ye shall claim the throne?” Brother Luke speared another slab of vibrant salmon onto his platter.

Rey looked between the monk and his nephew, to whom the question was directed. Ben had taken her into his confidence about myriad concerns, but he had yet to discuss clan names.

“Aye.” Ben’s eyes cut to her and he pressed his lips together with a shrug of apology. “But I’ve no’ decided.”

“I’d offer ye Solo,” Laird Han said, “but ‘tis no more a clan than Ren.”

Though Ben seemed as proud of his surname as his father, its origin was questionable at best, which was why Laird Han had been folded into the Skywalkers, the clan to which his son was born. Did that make Rey the next Lady Skywalker, like Leia, or was she still Lady Ren as when she married?

She angled her head toward Ben. “Ren’s no’ a clan?”

“Nay, ‘tis but a collection o’ the disaffected that Laird Snoke gathered unto himself.” Ben grimaced and lowered his voice for her hearing alone. “As with the Knights.”

Rey shuddered. Not only had Ben fought the Nihilings in the Battle of Exegol, but his own Knights had allied with her traitorous grandfather and turned on Laird Ren. Ben considered it his responsibility to ensure any survivors were brought to justice. The Knights of Ren were formidable and merciless. Braw warrior that Ben was, Rey still couldn’t help fearing for him.

“Ye are welcome to Skywalker. I forfeited the title when I took holy orders.” Brother Luke spoke around a mouthful of fish, recalling Rey from her troubled thoughts.

“Or Organa.” Lady Leia dabbed a serviette to her lips. “‘Tis yours by right and perhaps less incendiary.”

“I dinnae think ‘twill make a difference,” Ben said. “Laird Hux will lead opposition no matter which name I take.”

“I’d no’ be certain o’ that,” Han chuckled and stabbed his table knife to the air in emphasis, “no’ if Lady Rose has summat to say about it.”

Rey lowered her bite of neeps and tatties. “Lady Rose?”

“Aye.” Leia laughed lightly. “When Laird Hux arrived in our camp with word o’ the Nihiling invasion, Rose’s distrust was pointed. She hounded him like a cornered fox and would no’ leave off. Then mutual irritation turned to mutual fascination that has, I suspect, developed into summat more.”

How could sweet, determined Rose throw away her future on an undeserving character like Hux, even if they did owe victory to his espionage? But Rey left her objection unvoiced. Was not the same said of her when she chose Laird Ren?

“I could ne’er have predicted such a match,” Rey said. “‘Tis certain Laird Hux could no’ do better.”

“Ye need no’ worry, lass,” Leia said. “‘Twould take more than Armitage to break the spirit and will o’ Lady Rose.”

***

When their appetites were sated and the fish bones cleared, they lingered over dried fruits, cheeses, and conversation. No one was inclined to retire. The replenished fire crackled and hours remained to the candles.

“I’m that grateful to ye, my lady,” Rey said, taking advantage of a lull to express her thanks, “for overseeing the feast this night and, indeed, the castle. I assume ‘tis ye who’s made the stones gleam as they ne’er have afore.”

Lady Leia hummed and her eyes roved around the great hall as if she were assessing it for the first time. Had Rey conjectured in error? Perhaps Leia was not responsible for the restorations.

“Ye are most welcome,” Leia said at last, “though my motivations were no’ entirely unselfish.”

“Leia,” Han said, warning in his tone.

“Nay.” The half-smile she cast him faded swiftly. “‘Tis time they ken the truth.”

What mystery was this? Rey raised her eyebrows at Ben, but he gave a slight shake to his head. He didn’t know either. She leaned forward and he folded his arms across his chest.

Leia looked from her husband to her brother before returning her gaze to the younger couple and fortifying herself with a deep breath. “Afore ‘twas Exegol, both loch and castle went by a different name: Varykino. ‘Twas the country seat o’ Clan Naberrie, which had ruled the Highlands for many generations preceding.”

Varykino? Naberrie? Rey frowned. “I’ve no’ heard o’ these names.”

“Aye, lass. High King Palpatine forbad the telling.”

“What happened?” Ben said, dread plain in his low pitch.

“The last generation o’ Clan Naberrie were all daughters—sisters and cousins—the eldest o’ whom was Crown Princess Padmé. The High Council convened to choose her husband, who would then become the next High King, but she was found to be with child, having secretly wed Laird Anakin Skywalker.”

Ben’s eyes tracked from his mother to his uncle. “The parents who gave ye birth.”

“Aye,” Luke said.

“The Council was outraged,” Leia continued, “and would no’ endorse Laird Anakin as High King, e’en though he was eligible. They accused him o’ manipulating the outcome and taking advantage o’ Padmé. She defended him and their love as genuine, but the Council refused to trust them. Stalemate prevailed for many months as various nobles bid for power. Then, in the midst o’ delay, the capital—Theed—was sacked.”

“‘Tis when the Stone o’ Theed disappeared?” Rey asked.

Leia traded a look with her brother. “Aye, just so.”

Rey couldn’t tally how many times Grandfather had bitterly recounted the Stone’s fate. The ancient block on which all true High Kings were crowned was also known as the Stone of Destiny but vanished from Theed and was never seen again, to Palpatine’s endless vexation. Had he been a benevolent and wise ruler, it likely wouldn’t have mattered, but as it was, rumors stirred that his kingship was unlawful.

“My da, Laird Bail Organa, told o’ mass confusion and duress. Much o’ Clan Naberrie was slain. The Crown Princess was fatally wounded, delivered o’ twins that very night, and died. Word was sent to Laird Anakin at Varykino. ‘Twas said he lost his wits to grief and laid waste the castle.” A shadow passed over Leia’s countenance, her gaze flitting around the great hall again as if she could peer behind the curtain of history. “‘Twas said that night the veil o’ Padmé’s tears fell upon the loch and would no’ lift ‘til her soul was at peace.”

How tragic. Rey’s heart clenched and she dabbed the moisture gathering in her lashes. Was that truly when the fog had descended? It would be almost too fantastical to credit, had she not witnessed the miasma’s withdrawal for herself.

“In the chaos, Laird Palpatine seized control o’ the Highlands and ruled for twenty winters with Laird Skywalker at his right hand. ‘Twas only when Anakin met the grown children who’d been hidden from him for their safety”—Leia tapped her chest and inclined her head toward Luke—“that he discovered the truth, that the very king to whom he’d pledged allegiance was responsible for the sacking o’ Theed and the death o’ Padmé, his wife and true love.”

Rey wasn’t surprised Grandfather was to blame, and Anakin’s motive became clear at once. No wonder her grandfather gaped over the dirk between his ribs. How little Rey had understood her role in their long game, why Grandfather was pleased she chose Ben Solo, or the significance of the fog dissipating with his death.

“So it was vengeance,” Rey said, “when Laird Skywalker burned Palpatine’s castle to its foundations.”

“Aye,” Leia said. “Ye ken the rest.”

Rey did, but this altered her perspective. Clan Skywalker ruled for a brief period, until Palpatine recovered and relocated to what had once been Varykino, not only concealing the high throne in a cloak of mists but something akin to thumbing his nose at Luke and Leia, who were the legitimate heirs by birth.

Exegol—Varykino—was not Rey’s inheritance after all, not when Grandfather was a thief. She couldn’t decide if she was disappointed or relieved, perhaps both, but she felt an unexpected connection to Ben’s grandmother. Padmé was a princess too; she slept beneath this same roof and roamed these halls on slippered toes. Somehow Rey’s past seemed less lonely.

Leia stroked her palm across the trestle’s plank. “‘Tis here my parents found love and arranged a clandestine marriage, perhaps in the very same chapel as ye. ‘Tis the place o’ their happiest memories—and their darkest.” She held Rey’s eye. “I ken ‘tis your home, highness, but I wished to honor their memory. ‘Tis why I did what I could.”

At some point in the telling, Ben had covered Rey’s hand where it rested on the table. She turned her arm to weave her fingers between his and met his solemn gaze.

“Mayhap ye ought to consider one more name”—Rey squeezed his strong, deft fingers—“Clan Naberrie.”

***

A soft tap to the door interrupted Rey’s prayers—and the penance Brother Luke had assigned. She called an invitation to enter. Lady Leia slipped through the portal on silent soles.

“I trust I’m no’ disturbing ye?” The older woman peered about as she crossed the chamber to where Rey reclined upon her mattress.

“Ben’s at the chapel with Brother Luke.” Rey tucked the knotted cord away. Now that Ben was restored to the faith, he observed the daily office as often as he could. She wouldn’t complain, though. “I was too weary to join them.”

“Och, I feared dinner might be too much for ye.”

“Dinnae fash yourself.” Rey smiled. “‘Twas perfect.”

“I willnae keep ye long, but I did wish to bring ye this.” Leia detached the chatelaine from her belt and pressed it into Rey’s palm.

Rey traced the cold metal as if it were a precious gemstone. How long had she dreamed of and longed for the keys granting her responsibility over the castle’s management? While she’d lived under Grandfather’s dictates, it represented freedom. She closed her fist, let the hard edges bite into her flesh, and swallowed the tightness in her throat. They might as well be the keys to the kingdom.   

“Perhaps we can begin inventorying the stores on the morrow. I dinnae ken if ye’ll be returning to Glen Ilum or staying on at Exegol—”

“Varykino,” Rey interjected. “From this day forth, ‘tis Varykino once more.”

“That’s generous o’ ye,” Leia said, her eyes glossy. “I will stay until ye are on your feet—or as long as ye need. But I ken ye are still newlywed, despite all that’s occurred. Ye ought to have time together to become better acquainted afore ruling the Highlands demands your attention.”

Rey resisted an unladylike eye roll. She and Ben certainly didn’t behave as newlyweds were purported to do, not if Lady Kaydel and Lady Jannah were to be believed. It would make for an awkward question, but—

“Afore the bedding”—Rey wet her lips—“ye said I might ask ye anything.”

“‘O course, my dear.” Ridges appeared along Leia’s forehead. “Does aught trouble ye?”

“I—my menses ne’er came on, no’ since we were wed, though they should have more than once. Do ye think—? ‘Tis possible?”

“Och, lass, ye wish to ken if ye are with child?”

Rey nodded, grateful for Leia’s forthrightness.

“There are other symptoms: nausea, fatigue”—Leia rested a hand on her bosom—“tenderness and the like, but in your circumstance, any could be credited to the poison. It made ye very ill. Mayhap ‘twould delay your blood as well. I cannae say. Luke is the more knowledgeable healer than I.”

“Nay, I cannae speak with him on this.” Talking to Leia was difficult enough. Rey plucked at the coverlet, but Leia’s fingers slid under her chin and lifted.

Her insightful, dark eyes probed Rey’s. “Do ye wish it to be true?”

Did she? How could Rey not? And yet— Her fears tumbled out. “‘Twas only the once that we— But then Grandfather declared I was with child and credited success to the crone. How can I wish for a bairn tainted o’ witchcraft? I—och, I dinnae ken—” The chatelaine jangled in her lap.

Leia covered her hand and quieted her fidgeting. “Hush, lass. Dinnae let his specter steal your hopes. Hear me now: any bairn born o’ your union is born o’ blessing and all the more if ‘tis born o’ your bedding. Didnae Father Beaumont sprinkle ye with holy water and ask the Lord’s favor upon ye? Only time will tell. But if ye are with child, then ‘tis answered prayer and great cause for rejoicing.”

Rey exhaled and released the anxiety that had wound her tighter than a bowstring. Leia was right, of course. She had permitted private worries to blind her to the truth.

Leia leaned close and her husky voice lowered as if she were conveying a secret. “Ye do ken it customarily takes more than once and sometimes many months or years o’ trying?”

Och, why did she introduce this topic with her husband’s mother? What was she thinking? Rey’s face flamed, but she’d come this far. “Aye, that’s the rub. He disnae try. I—I’m afeared he disnae desire me, at least no’ any longer.”

“Nay, child.” Leia’s fingers were cool against her heated cheek. “No’ with how he gazes upon ye, as if the very sun rises and sets in your eyes. ‘Tis summat else. Has he said aught?”

“Only that he fears for my well-being.”

Leia huffed through her nose just shy of a snort. It was the most indiscreet sound Rey had ever heard from the refined lady. “Och, that’s a laird for ye, thinking his bride’s delicate when we’re the ones who carry the wee bairns for many a long moon and then labor to give them breath.” Leia shook her head. “Now, where’s that princess who had the audacity to march onto the archer’s field and claim her groom, hmm? Methinks she could persuade her husband that she’s strong enough.”

Leia grinned, patted Rey’s hand, and bade her goodnight.

Where was that princess indeed? Had Grandfather stolen more than her vitality? Had Rey allowed him to sap her courage too?

She rattled the keys on the chatelaine and a gradual smile crept across her face. Did she not hold the keys to her husband’s heart? She knew precisely what to do.

***