Page 51 of The Highlander’s Defiant Bride

A heartbeat passed.

Then Destiny’s breath broke.

Cameron’s gaze fixed on the open door just as her father spoke again, smug and satisfied. He could not see what lay on the table between them, but he heard the shift in Destiny’s voice, the way it hardened around pain.

“You gambled us into ruin,” she said. “You bartered me away. And now you threaten the life of my dearest friend to force my obedience.”

Cameron closed his eyes once, briefly. Mackenzie threats were one thing. This was worse. This was rot that began at the bone.

“If the Mackenzies want their kinsman,” Destiny said, “they may come for him in battle. I will not be the one to open the door.”

Cameron’s breath went shallow.

She had gone to the cell. She had taken the keys. That much he knew. But she had not yielded.

Her father laughed then, sharp and ugly. “You would let your own blood be slaughtered? You would let that girl die?”

Cameron’s jaw clenched.

“I will not betray my husband,” Destiny said. Her voice shook, but it did not bend. “Not for gold. Not for threats. Not for you.”

The words struck deeper than he expected. Not I could not. Not I was afraid. I will not.

There was a pause, thick and dangerous.

“So,” her father said at last, “you choose him over me.”

Cameron waited. He did not breathe.

“I choose myself,” Destiny replied. “And if Cameron Munro will have me beside him, then aye, I choose him.”

Something fierce and painful tore through him all at once. Pride, anger, and fear braided together so tightly he could scarcely tell one from the other. She had stood alone against a man who had broken her all her life. And she had done it without knowing he was there.

The door creaked.

Cameron stepped back into the shadows as Destiny emerged, her face pale, her eyes bright with unshed tears. She did not see him. She walked past, her steps unsteady but determined, carrying the weight of that choice on her shoulders.

He remained where he was long after she had gone. She had gone to the cell. She had taken the key. She had stopped. He swallowed roughly. It did not erase what she had almost done. It did not mend the fracture between them, but it changed the shape of it.

Cameron pushed away from the wall at last, his chest tight, already counting men, routes, risks. Sorcha would be rescued. That much was certain.

As for Destiny . . . trust, he knew grimly, would not come so easily again. But neither would he ever look at her as a pawn.

*

When Destiny reached the great hall, she paused at the entrance. She would wait here for Cameron and live with whatever consequences her actions brought. She took a chair near the hearth, perching on the edge of the seat. She could not be at ease, not until there was some reparation for the damage she had done to the clan, to her marriage, to her husband.

When Cameron entered the chamber an hour later, his broad shoulders were tense, his features dark. He turned at once to her, his eyes unreadable. For a heartbeat, Destiny thought he might turn away from her, but then he headed in her direction, ignoring the other men who vied for his attention.

When he stopped before her, she stood. “I need to tell you something,” Destiny said, forcing her voice steady.

He said nothing, only gesturing for her to continue.

“My father came here under false pretences,” Destiny said quietly. There was no rush now, no need to defend herself with too many words. “Not to make peace. Not to protect me.” She met Cameron’s gaze. “He sold himself to the Mackenzies. They promised him coin for their kinsman’s release.”

Cameron’s jaw tightened. He did not look surprised.

“And you?” he asked. The question was measured, careful. “Where do you stand now?”