Page 44 of The Highlander’s Defiant Bride

Her father’s features tightened. Cameron shifted onto the balls of his feet, his stance protective, as if he would rush to her side should she give him the signal. But Destiny lifted her chin, determined.

“I am mistress here now. You no longer speak for me, and you cannot make me be your eyes and ears amongst the Munros as you threatened before I left.” In that moment, she felt the weight of the shadow her father had always cast begin to lift.

His eyes hardened then, the warmth draining away as though it had never existed.

He stepped closer, lowering his voice so only she could hear. “If you are truly mistress here,” he said quietly, “if you have any power at all, then prove it.”

Destiny stiffened.

“The Mackenzies have paid me well for their kinsman’s freedom,” he continued. “You will see to it that the prisoner walks free. Quietly. By tomorrow’s first light.”

Her breath caught. “Nay,” she whispered. “Why would I—”

He tightened his grip on her arm, not cruelly, but firmly enough to make his meaning clear. “Because Sorcha is at Clyth.”

The world tilted.

“You sent for her,” he said, watching her face closely. “I told her you had returned. That you were unsettled. She came willingly, poor fool. She always would, for you.”

Destiny’s chest tightened painfully. “You lied to her.”

“I used what I had,” he replied coolly. “Just as I taught you to.”

“What have you done to her?” Destiny demanded, her voice shaking now.

“Nothing,” he said lightly. “Yet.” His gaze sharpened. “But she is alone, Destiny. No kin near enough to intervene. No husband to shield her. Accidents happen in old castles. Illness. Falls. Or . . .” He paused, letting the silence do the work. “A marriage could be arranged quickly. One that would put her well beyond your reach.”

Destiny’s heart hammered, dread flooding her veins. “You would not dare.”

“I already have,” he said. “And if the Mackenzie does not walk free, Sorcha will remain my guest. A very compliant one, I should think. She has always been one to endure what she must. Her first marriage was proof of that.”

The threat settled like ice in Destiny’s bones.

“You see,” he went on softly, “this has nothing to do with what the Mackenzies might do to me. I am of little consequence to them now. Sorcha, however . . .” His mouth curved in a thin smile. “Sorcha is quite valuable to you.”

Her voice broke. “You would use her against me?”

“I am using her,” he corrected. “To remind you where your loyalties truly lie.”

Destiny wrenched her arm free, her breath coming shallow and fast. He watched her struggle, untroubled.

Sorcha was at Clyth.

The truth crashed through Destiny with sickening clarity, and guilt followed close behind. I sent her away. She had been the one to insist Sorcha leave Foulis, the one who had told herself it was necessary; that the clan had to come first, that Cameron’s people needed fewer vulnerabilities, not more. She had chosen duty over friendship, believing it the wiser, braver course.

What had she done? Destiny’s chest tightened until it hurt to breathe. This was not merely her father’s cruelty; it was the cost of her own decision.

“I told her you needed her,” he said, watching the realisation dawn in her eyes. “She did not hesitate.”

Destiny closed her eyes for a heartbeat, shame burning hot behind them. Because she never would. Sorcha had always been that way, loyal to the point of danger, brave in the quietest, most devastating ways.

“Release the prisoner,” her father said. “Tomorrow before the sun sets. And Sorcha returns to you unharmed. Refuse . . .” His gaze flicked meaningfully away. “And you will learn how much suffering a single, unprotected woman can endure while the world looks the other way.”

He straightened, smoothing his coat as though the matter were settled. “The choice is yours, Destiny,” he said calmly. “Mistress of Munro, friend to the girl who would follow you anywhere.”

Cameron’s gaze sharpened as he watched them. Destiny felt it like a prickle along her spine. Did he sense the poison her father poured so carefully into her ear? She glanced at her husband, her laird, the man who had begun to trust her, and her stomach twisted hard enough to steal her breath.

Her father’s eyes never left hers. “One prisoner, and all is settled.”