Page 30 of The Highlander’s Defiant Bride

Her stomach clenched, waiting for his rebuke.

Instead, after a taut pause, he added, “And yet you may have spared us another breach.”

Before she could draw breath to answer, the door creaked open. Gavan stepped in, his face drawn, his shoulder bound tightly in bandages. The cloth beneath was still stained dark.

“Brother. I cannot wait any longer,” Gavan said, his jaw hard. His eyes slid past Cameron to Destiny. His gaze sharpened, bitter as a blade. “I want Sorcha gone before the Mackenzies attack us again. I will not have peace under this roof until she is on her way.”

Destiny’s stomach tightened. “Is it safe to send her away now?”

“There are many ways back to Wick from here,” Gavan said in a bitter tone. “She will be safe under the protection of our warriors. I can promise you that much. Safer than if she stays here.”

Cameron stood silent, and Destiny’s heart hammered in response. She might lose her friend at this moment, depending on which way her husband’s loyalty cut.

*

Cameron had faced down Mackenzie steel, had stood unflinching at the weight of a hundred men charging his gates. But his brother’s voice, rough with bitterness, struck deeper than any blade.

“She shot me, Cameron,” Gavan said again, his hand twitching towards the bound shoulder, fury burning beneath the pallor of pain. “I will never lift a sword the same. And still she walks free here, as if nothing happened.” His glare cut to Destiny.

His wife’s spine stiffened, though her hands clenched at her skirts. He could see she was preparing herself for whatever answer he gave.

Cameron folded his arms, studying Destiny and Gavan. The weight of lairdship pressed hard across his shoulders. Gavan was not only his brother but the man who had fought at his side since boyhood, who had fought for this clan as hard as Cameron himself. If Gavan demanded redress, half the men of Foulis would echo it.

But Sorcha had shot his brother in fear and out of desperation, not treachery.

And Destiny . . . the way her eyes searched his now, steady, daring him to cast her friend aside. If he stripped her companion from her, would she see it as betrayal? He ground his teeth, the silence stretching long enough that even the fire seemed to hold its breath.

Finally, he said, his voice low but firm, “Gavan, your pain is not dismissed. But Sorcha will not be cast out like a criminal. She fired her pistol in chaos, not in malice. She will remain, under Destiny’s watch.”

Gavan’s jaw worked, fury darkening his face. “You would choose her over your own blood?”

Cameron’s gaze hardened. “I choose justice. Not vengeance.”

The words fell heavy between them. Gavan’s eyes blazed, but he said nothing more. He turned sharply, storming from the chamber with a muttered curse, the door slamming in his wake.

When the echo of Gavan’s footsteps faded, the chamber seemed to exhale. Cameron stood rooted, jaw clenched, staring at the door as if he could will his brother’s fury to dissolve through the oak.

Behind him, Destiny shifted, her skirts whispering against the floor. “You spared Sorcha,” she said softly.

Cameron turned, the firelight sharpening the lines of Destiny’s face. Her eyes glistened, but not with triumph. With something quieter. Sadder.

“You defied your brother for Sorcha,” Destiny continued, her voice steady, though it trembled at the edges. “But Gavan will not forgive easily. And the men—” She broke off, shaking her head, strands of hair loosening around her face. “The men will not forget either.”

Cameron’s brows drew together. “You would have me cast Sorcha out after all?”

For a long moment, Destiny said nothing.

Then, with a breath that seemed to cost her dearly, she met his gaze. “If the keep is to have peace, Sorcha cannot stay.”

Destiny’s words struck him harder than Gavan’s demand had. He had expected her to fight, to beg, to dig in her heels in stubborn defence of her friend. Instead, she had seen what he had seen, what any laird must weigh, the balance between blood, loyalty, and the harmony of the clan.

“You would give her up?” Cameron asked, his voice low, rough with disbelief.

Destiny’s throat worked as she swallowed. “I love her as a sister. She has stood by me when no one else would. But I am not blind. The men murmur against her, and Gavan’s wounds, both physical and emotional, are plain to see. Every time he passes Sorcha in the hall, the emotional wound is opened anew. To keep her here is to keep the clan divided.”

Her voice wavered then, the first crack in her composure. “If I am to be mistress of this keep, I cannot cling to what I want above what is needed. Sorcha must leave if it is indeed safe for her to do so.”

Cameron’s chest tightened. He had been ready to carry the weight of the decision alone, ready to suffer for it. But now Destiny stood before him with that fierce pride in her eyes, willing to cut her own heart to serve the clan.