Page 50 of The Highlander’s Defiant Bride

“Well done, daughter,” he said easily. “I knew you would not disappoint me. The Mackenzies will be grateful. Far more grateful than the Munros ever could be.”

Her stomach turned, not with fear for him, but with a cold, tightening dread.

Sorcha.

Destiny did not close the door behind her. She left it open, as if some part of her refused to seal this moment away. “Tell me,” she said, her voice steady despite the pounding of her heart. “Did you really kidnap Sorcha? Or was that just another lie to twist my hand?”

He laughed, the sound rough and dismissive. “Twist your hand? I call it persuasion.” He reached into his waistcoat and drew out a small bundle bound with twine.

Slowly, deliberately, he set it on the table and loosened the knot.

A lock of hair spilled free, thick, unmistakable, and fiery red. It was Sorcha’s hair.

Destiny’s breath left her in a sharp, broken sound. The room tilted, her vision blurring as if the stone floor itself had shifted beneath her feet. So, he truly had taken Sorcha.

She lifted her gaze to him, something cold and final settling in her chest. “You are evil.”

His eyes narrowed. “I did what had to be done,” he said flatly. “To keep us alive. To make us thrive.”

“Nay,” she said, the word cutting through the air like steel. “You did this to save yourself.” Her voice shook now, but it did not break. “You gambled us into ruin. You bartered me away. And now you threaten the life of my dearest friend to force my obedience.”

His smile thinned, his eyes hardening. “Respect will not save you when the Mackenzies burn these walls. They have promised me gold for their kinsman’s freedom. Do you think Cameron Munro will give you that?” He sneered. “Nay. He will give you duty and call it honour. Do as I command, or Sorcha pays the price.”

Destiny’s heart thundered, grief and fury crashing together. But she did not look away.

“The prisoner remains where he is,” she said. “If the Mackenzies want their kinsman, they can come for him in battle. I will not be the one to open the door.”

For the first time, fear flickered across her father’s face, not for Sorcha, not for Destiny, but for the loss of coin and control. “You would let your own blood be slaughtered?” he demanded. “You would let that girl die?”

The question tore at her, but the answer was already there.

“I will never again betray my husband,” Destiny said, her voice trembling but clear. “Not for gold. Not for threats. Not for you.”

Silence fell, heavy and final.

Her father’s face hardened. “So, you choose him over me.”

Destiny felt the last thread between them stretch and snap. She held his gaze. “I choose myself,” she said quietly. “And if Cameron Munro will have me beside him, then aye, I choose him.”

She turned before he could answer, her hand tight on the latch. As she stepped into the corridor, her legs shook, but beneath the fear was something steadier. For the first time, she had stood against her father and not bent.

The passage beyond his chamber felt longer than any she had ever walked. Her footsteps echoed hollowly on the stone, her pulse loud in her ears, the image of that fiery red hair burned into her mind. I will never again betray my husband. I choose myself.

And whatever her father chose to do next, Sorcha’s fate would no longer be bargained away by Destiny’s silence.

*

Cameron had not meant to stop. He had been halfway down the corridor when Destiny’s voice carried from within her father’s chamber. Her voice was tight, controlled, edged with something he had not heard from her before. Not fear. Not pleading.

Steel.

He slowed, then stilled altogether, standing just beyond the open door of the guest chamber. The firelight inside threw long shadows across the threshold. He remained in the dark.

“Did you really kidnap Sorcha? Or was that another lie to twist my hand?”

Cameron leaned back against the wall, listening, every instinct urging him to step forward, to end this now, but something in Destiny’s tone held him there.

He heard the scrape of movement, the low murmur of her father’s voice, oily and certain. Then silence.