Page 19 of The Highlander’s Defiant Bride

“Most gladly, mistress.” Mrs Featherstone gave a warm smile. “Shall we begin your tour now? I will show you your new private rooms and then the solar, library, and drawing room, so you may familiarise yourself.”

Destiny nodded, her heart steadying. “That would be lovely.” And as they set off, Destiny smiled. Her new life as mistress of Foulis Castle had begun.

Chapter Six

The next morning Destiny woke groggy, tangled in linen that smelled of lavender and man, though Cameron had never lain beside her. She sat up slowly, pressing her hand to her brow. Her dreams had been restless, filled with shadows and his voice. Until you ask. The words clung to her like cobwebs.

She dressed quickly in a plain light-blue dress before anyone could enter and help her. She brushed her hair back and gathered it at her nape, allowing a few thin tendrils to fall against her face. It was her usual style, simple and unadorned. As she and Sorcha had discussed, she was determined to find a few small ways to prove herself to Cameron and his people.

When she descended into the courtyard, the keep was already alive. Men trained with pikes in the yard, the clang of steel ringing through the morning air. Others led horses to water or carried sacks of oats. And at the centre of it all, giving orders with clipped efficiency, stood Cameron.

He was dressed in the red and black tartan of the Munro clan and a linen shirt, sleeves rolled to the elbow, forearms corded with muscle as he gestured to a group of men. His voice carried, calm and commanding, and the clansmen moved quickly to obey. He looked every inch the laird of the castle.

Destiny’s breath caught against her will. The daylight revealed strength, discipline, something steadier, something far harder to resist. Her stomach responded traitorously at the sight.

She forced her eyes away, focusing instead on the training yard, the rhythm of boots and the grunts of men. But when Cameron glanced up and caught her standing there, the flicker of heat in his eyes pinned her where she stood.

She told herself it was anger, suspicion. That he still thought her too soft towards their enemies. But deep inside, she knew it was more complicated than that. She shifted her gaze to the men who mock-battled beside her. They watched her, their curiosity evident in their faces.

Destiny stiffened her spine. Aye, they were watching. The Munros wanted to see what kind of bride their laird had taken. Whether she would be meek, proud, or weak. She could not falter.

Her gaze shifted back to Cameron as he strode across the courtyard towards her, his dark hair lifting in the morning breeze. Destiny’s pulse betrayed her. Each step he took tightened something inside her, an invisible cord pulling her closer. When he stopped before her, the men behind him fell silent, waiting for his next command.

His eyes, however, never left hers. “You are awake early,” he said, voice low, pitched for her alone.

Destiny swallowed hard, cursing the rush of heat in her chest. She forced her tone cool. “I have slept enough and am eager to be useful.”

He studied her face for a long moment, as though he could see every thought she struggled to bury. Then, with the faintest curve of his mouth, he turned back to his men and barked his next order.

Cameron’s men obeyed at once, dispersing across the yard, though several still cast quick, measuring looks at her as they passed. Destiny kept her chin high, her fingers tightening around the folds of her skirts. She would not cower. Not here, not before them.

Cameron waited until the clang of steel resumed, the rhythm of training filling the courtyard again, before turning back to her. He regarded her in silence for a long beat, his hazel eyes unreadable. She fought the urge to fidget beneath that gaze.

“You wish to be useful,” he said finally, his voice steady, but not unkind. “There is a way.”

Hope and fear warred inside her. “Tell me how,” she said quickly. Too quickly. She drew in a calming breath, willing her voice softer. “Tell me what I can do to help, Cameron.”

He studied her again, eyes narrowing as though measuring her words for truth. His gaze flicked, for the briefest moment, to the men who trained only a few paces away. “Not here,” he murmured. “This is no place for such talk.”

He stepped closer, lowering his voice so that only she could hear. “Later this morning, I will meet with the council to get their approval of my plan for the prisoner.” His eyes caught hers again, holding her still. “If you are so eager to be of use, you may attend.”

The words struck her like a blow, unexpected, thrilling, and terrifying. A council. With his kin, his advisers, his men. A place where she would be scrutinised, where every word could betray her ignorance, her loyalties, her worth. Her heart stuttered.

“I would be welcome there?” she asked carefully, afraid to hope.

“You are my wife,” Cameron said simply, though his voice carried weight enough to still her doubts. “If you mean to stand at my side, then you will see what that requires.”

For the first time since the vows were spoken, Destiny felt a glimmer of possibility stir in her chest. A chance not only to observe, but to prove to him, to the men, and to herself, that she could be more than the bride bartered across clan lines.

Her lips parted, and she gave a short nod. “Then I will be ready.”

A shadow of a smile flickered across his face, so quick she almost thought she imagined it. Then, just as swiftly, it was gone. He turned back to the yard, raising his voice to command the men once more. The clang of steel rose sharp and sure, echoing off the castle walls.

But Destiny stood taller now, her pulse steadying. She had been given her chance. And she would not waste it.

*

The council chamber smelled faintly of old oak. A long table stretched before the hearth, its surface scarred by years of elbows, spilled ale, and dagger points. Around it gathered Cameron’s men.