Page 43 of The Highlander’s Defiant Bride

The torches cast long shadows behind him, stretching like claws across the stone floor. His expression was unreadable—part pride, part suspicion, and something sharper beneath. Conversation stalled. A few dancers slowed. Even the musicians softened their playing.

Destiny stumbled for half a step. Cameron steadied her, his hand tightening ever so slightly.

“He came,” she whispered.

“Aye,” Cameron murmured, though his jaw had gone hard. “And he means to make himself seen.”

They broke away from the circle of dancers, the crowd parting instinctively as they crossed the hall towards him.

Destiny felt every eye on them. “Father,” she said, dipping her head as they reached him.

“Daughter,” he replied, bowing with a flourish that was just shy of mocking. His eyes flicked to Cameron. “Laird Munro.”

Cameron inclined his head. “You honour Foulis with your presence.”

“Aye.” Her father’s smile was tight. “I heard the hall filled with music and thought I should see for myself whether the celebration was as grand as the sound from the courtyard.”

Destiny forced a small smile. “We were only dancing, Father.”

“So, I see.” His gaze slid over her, lingering perhaps a heartbeat too long, as though searching for proof of a foul deed he could use or twist. Then, to Cameron, “You’re light on your feet for a man with your reputation.”

Cameron’s expression did not change. “Aye. I have many skills, some more useful than others.”

A flicker of irritation passed over her father’s features before he nodded once. “Well then. Do not let me keep you. You have a hall full of folk expecting their laird and lady to lead them.”

Destiny exhaled quietly. “We will speak again later, Father.”

“I look forward to it,” he said, though his tone suggested the opposite.

Cameron placed a guiding hand at the small of her back, steering her gently away. Only when they had rejoined the dancers, blending once more into the swirl of movement, did Destiny allow her shoulders to ease.

They resumed the steps of the reel, though the cheer had shifted to something sharper, more fragile. Cameron’s hand found hers again, grounding her.

“You dance well,” he murmured under the music.

“You lie well,” she whispered back, a hint of rue in her smile. “And I survived seeing my father again, though I wish I were done caring what he thinks.”

Cameron’s mouth twitched with the hint of a grin. “One battle at a time, Destiny.”

But even as he spun her again, she could feel the change in herself and in the heaviness of the chamber. Her father’s presence lingered at the edge of the hall, like a shadow she had not yet learned to step fully out of no matter how far she moved.

After she and Cameron shared several more dances, her father came forward. “I would like a dance with my daughter,” he said in a cutting voice.

Cameron’s fingers tightened on hers for a moment as he turned his gaze to her, silently asking if she wished to honour the request. At her subtle nod, Cameron released her hand and stepped back.

“Father,” she said as she accepted his hand.

He pulled her forward and into the dance.

A smile touched his lips. “My dear girl. You’ve grown into quite the spectacle. Mistress of Foulis, admired by the clan. I must admit, you have done better than I expected in such a short time.”

The faint praise stung, though she tried not to show it. “Better than you bargained for, you mean?”

Cameron stood against the wall, his gaze following her as she and her father moved through the steps of a country dance.

When she returned her gaze to her father, his smile had faded. “I made the choices I had to, Destiny. For our family’s survival. You will understand that, in time.”

“I understand this,” she said, her voice low and certain. “Whatever you believed you were saving, it is no longer mine to defend. I am done living as payment for your mistakes.”