You can hear the sounds of the camp before you see it: the low murmur of men speaking, the clink of armor, the dull thud of horses' hooves. But it’s the sight of him that makes your heart race—Cregan, home at last. He’s covered in blood, dirt, and the weariness of battle, but his eyes immediately find yours. He’s alive. That’s all that matters.

You step forward, though you want nothing more than to throw yourself into his arms, to hold him close, to forget everything that’s been hanging over you since he left for war. You’re pregnant, your belly swollen with his child, and the anxiety gnawing at you is impossible to ignore.

"You're back," you say, your voice sounding too small in the vastness of the camp.

"Didn't expect me so soon, did you?" His voice is rough, but there’s a flicker of something softer in his eyes as they roam over you. He seems to hesitate, as if he’s afraid of something.

Before you can answer, the tension of the moment hits, sharp and sudden. His men have begun to gather, and your sons run up to him, but your gaze never leaves his. You can’t keep the frustration inside. You’ve been holding this back for weeks—his absence, the fear, the loneliness of carrying his child while he's out there fighting for the North. The world feels like it’s caving in on you.

"You’ve been gone for months, Cregan. Months," you bite out, unable to keep the sharpness from your tone. The words feel like acid on your tongue, but they come out all the same. "I’m left here to worry about everything. And now that you’re back, what? You think we’re just supposed to pick up where we left off?"

His eyes narrow, and for a moment, there’s a flicker of the man you’ve always loved. But then, it hardens again. "I’ve fought for this family," he growls, the edge in his voice telling you he’s been holding his own frustrations in check, too. "I’ve fought for the North, for you. For this child."