Page 42 of The Highlander’s Defiant Bride

“In four days’ time,” he called, his voice carrying strong and sure, “we will hold a dance at Foulis. A celebration for the new mistress of this castle.” His gaze held Destiny’s, steady and unyielding. “Let it be known that she is not only my wife, but the lady who stands with me, for this land, and for our people.”

The crowd erupted into cheers, rough and warm. Destiny’s face flushed, her heart hammering as she looked at Cameron.

He leaned closer, his voice pitched for her alone. “And I will send for your father. Let him see with his own eyes the daughter he sold away. Let him see what she has become.”

Her throat closed, emotion choking her. She could not speak, could only nod. For in that moment, with the people’s voices rising around her, she felt not just belonging, not just respect, but the beginning of trust.

Chapter Thirteen

The evening of the celebration came far too quickly for Destiny’s comfort. It was not the prospect of seeing her father again that unsettled her most, but the questions his presence stirred within her. Had he changed at all in her absence, or was he still the man who measured love in obedience and found fault as easily as breath? And more unsettling still, had she changed enough to meet him without shrinking?

She found herself wondering whether forgiveness was something she owed him, or something she would have to choose for her own peace. The thought lingered, uneasy and unresolved, as she prepared to face the man who had shaped her, even as she had begun, at last, to shape herself.

Despite her inner turmoil, the castle hummed with preparations. Garlands of bluebells, wood anemone, and heather, all woven together around leafy ferns, were strung along the beams in the great hall. The scent of roasting meats drifted from the kitchens, and laughter echoed through the stone halls as the household prepared for the festivities. But in the solar, where the tailor’s apprentice laced Destiny into the first of her new gowns, she felt none of that ease.

The gown was a marvel; the pale-green silk that shimmered in the firelight, cut to flatter her figure in ways she had never imagined possible. The sleeves were embroidered with tiny vines and blossoms, and the skirts fell in graceful folds that whispered as she moved. Yet Destiny’s palms dampened, her breathing shallow.

She had never worn anything so fine since childhood, since before her father’s debts had reduced her to threadbare gowns. To don this felt almost dangerous. As though she were stealing a life that did not belong to her.

The apprentice stepped back with a pleased nod. “My lady, you are radiant.”

Destiny turned to the looking glass, an old piece of polished metal propped against the wall, and barely recognised herself.

Her throat tightened. “It is only a gown,” she whispered.

“Nay,” Cameron’s voice came from the doorway.

She startled, spinning to face him. He had come silently, his broad frame filling the arch. He wore his formal plaid and a sword belted at his hip, every inch the laird of Munro. But his eyes were fixed on her with a reverence that stole her breath.

“It is not only a gown,” he said, stepping closer, his boots firm against the rushes. “It is a statement. That you are no pawn, no shadow. You are mistress here, and every soul in this hall will see it tonight.”

Her cheeks burned. She smoothed her hands over the silk, unsure whether to thank him or to argue. “I feel more like a girl dressed in another woman’s skin.”

Cameron stopped before her, so close she could feel the warmth radiating from him. He reached not for her gown, but for her hand.

His fingers closed around hers, firm, steady. “Then let them see the girl,” he said. “Let them see her strength, her courage. That is enough. More than enough.”

The words, so gently spoken, undid her. She blinked back the sting of tears and dared to hold his gaze. For a heartbeat, the bustle of the castle vanished, and there were only the two of them. Destiny in her new gown. Cameron in his laird’s plaid, bound together not by politics, but by something far more fragile and precious. Choice.

When the great hall doors opened and the music swelled, the room blazed with torchlight, shadows dancing high on the rafters. Destiny entered at Cameron’s side. Gasps rippled through the crowd, followed by applause and cheers. But Destiny’s focus stayed fixed on the man beside her.

Three fiddlers, two pipers, and a drummer beat a steady rhythm, filling the air with life. The long tables had been pushed back to leave space in the centre for dancing.

Destiny stood in the doorway with him as Cameron raised his hand for silence. The music faded. “Tonight,” he said, his voice carrying over the hall, “we dance not for war, nor for victory, but for new beginnings. You have met your lady already in council, in the castle and courtyard, and during times of need, but now you will know her as I do—steadfast, strong, and worthy of Foulis.”

A cheer erupted, loud and heartfelt. Destiny’s cheeks burned, her heart thudding in her chest, but pride swelled within her.

Then Cameron extended his hand towards her. “Dance with me, wife.”

The words rang like a challenge, but his eyes held warmth. Destiny stepped forward, laying her hand in his, and he drew her onto the open floor. The music rose again, lively, the fiddles and pipes filling every corner of the hall. He moved with practised ease, steady and sure, guiding her through the steps. At first her feet stumbled, but his hand at her waist steadied her, and soon she found the rhythm.

Around them, the clan clapped, laughed, and cheered. She caught glimpses of smiles, of nods, of approval she had not dared to hope for. Destiny and Cameron moved as one, their steps in perfect rhythm with the music. The piper’s tune wound through the hall, lively and bright, drowning out, for one blessed moment, the heaviness of the days behind them. Cameron’s hand was firm at her waist, his other guiding hers with surprising gentleness. She let herself melt into the dance, into the circle of heat and motion they created. Her skirts flared with each turn, brushing against his legs, and a breathless laugh escaped her before she could stop it.

It felt good. Too good.

The clan noticed, cheering as Cameron spun her beneath his arm. But as Destiny lifted her gaze, her laughter caught in her throat.

Her father stood at the entrance of the great hall.