Page 48 of The Highlander’s Defiant Bride

She stopped just outside the reach of the candlelight, her shadow stretched thin across the stone floor. Her hand trembled as she reached for the ring of keys on the wall opposite the cell. The metal was cold, heavier than it had any right to be.

This one act would destroy everything Cameron had begun to build with her. Their fragile trust. Their tender night together. The foolish, aching hope that she might at last belong somewhere. All of it would turn to ash.

And yet, Sorcha was alone.

Destiny crossed the few remaining steps and pressed the key into the lock.

The Mackenzie prisoner turned towards her at once, the movement quicker than it should have been for a wounded man.

Torchlight caught the angles of his face, his mouth curving into a wolfish grin. “So,” he said softly, “the laird’s pretty bride comes to visit again.”

“I come because I must,” she said, the words torn from her throat.

“Aye. Your father came to see me.” His eyes gleamed. “Whispered the plan in my ear. Your betrayal of your vows.”

Her grip slackened. “Be silent,” she hissed, though shame burned hot along her cheeks.

He rose from his pallet, chains rattling. “I knew it. A woman of bargain and barter, just like the man who sold you. The Munros think they’ve won a treasure. But you”—he leaned closer, voice low and taunting—“you’ll gut them yet.”

Her heart thundered. Sorcha’s face filled her mind—frightened, helpless. Sorcha is alone.

Destiny turned the key a fraction. The lock groaned.

Then she stopped.

Her breath shattered in her chest. She could not do it. She would not. She could not betray Cameron, not like this, not ever. With a sharp, almost painful motion, she twisted the key back and pulled it free, her hand closing around it as if it might burn her skin.

Behind her, footsteps sounded.

“Step away.”

The command froze her where she stood. Deep. Low. Edged with steel.

Cameron.

She turned slowly. He filled the doorway, the tail of his plaid thrown back over his shoulder, his face carved from fury in the half-dark. From where he stood, all he could see was her hand near the lock, the key still gleaming in her grasp.

For a long moment, there was no sound but her ragged breathing and the prisoner’s soft, mocking laugh.

“Cameron . . .” Her voice cracked. “I had no choice.”

His gaze never left her. “You always have a choice.”

Tears blurred the candlelight. “My father has kidnapped Sorcha. He holds her at Clyth. He said he would harm her if I did not—” Her throat closed, the words breaking into a sob. “I could not let that happen. I did not know what else to do.”

The prisoner laughed again, bitter and triumphant. “See, Munro? Even your wife was willing to betray you.”

Cameron stepped forward and wrenched the keys from Destiny’s hand. The lock clanged as he secured it fully. The prisoner’s curse echoed from behind the bars.

Cameron turned back to her, towering now, his jaw rigid with fury. “You would have freed him.” Not a question, but a verdict.

Her shoulders shook. Her hands clenched in the fabric of her gown.

“I do not want to betray you,” she whispered. “But I cannot condemn Sorcha to suffering.”

The silence stretched between them, raw and jagged. She braced herself for his wrath, for the cold judgement she knew she deserved.

Instead, his voice came low and rough, threaded with something far more dangerous than anger. “You should have trusted me. Told me.”