Page 53 of The Highlander’s Defiant Bride

Cameron squeezed her hand once, his voice pitched low for her alone. “Do not let his words root in you. The Mackenzies may call me Butcher, but I will not let them, or your father, make you believe I am less than the man you have seen.”

And though the sting of her father’s words lingered, Destiny felt the truth in Cameron’s touch. Yet deep inside, a new fear took root. Her father’s bitterness had not ended here. It would find its way to the Mackenzies, and when it did, they would strike Foulis Castle and the Munro clan again.

Chapter Seventeen

The castle slept as Destiny walked through the corridors, her slippered feet whispering against the stones. No rest would come to her tonight, not with her father’s threats against Sorcha still lurking in her thoughts, nor with the burden of the Mackenzie prisoner pressing down on them all. Hoping the cold might clear her mind, she slipped into the courtyard, pulling her tartan shawl tight around her shoulders.

A spark of movement drew her eye. At the far end, Cameron stood alone, the torchlight painting his broad frame in shifting amber. His whetstone rasped along his blade, slow and steady, the sound both harsh and strangely soothing. He looked every bit the laird he was—strong, immovable, carrying the weight of his people without complaint. She kept walking towards him.

He lifted his head, surprise flickering across his face when he saw her. He set the sword aside, straightening. “You should be abed,” he said as she drew near.

Destiny hesitated, her skirts brushing the flagstones. “I could not rest.”

For a moment, silence descended, filled only by the hiss of the torches and the restless wind tugging at her shawl. Then Cameron crossed to her, his movements unhurried. When he reached her side, he caught the edge of her shawl and pulled it higher, tucking it close against her throat. His fingers lingered, warm against her skin, and her breath stilled in her chest.

“You should not wander alone,” he murmured, his hand finally falling away. “The guards keep watch, but shadows can hide much.”

“Is there nothing but danger and unrest in this castle?” Her voice held more anguish than she had intended.

His mouth tightened. “It must seem that way. But it is not you who brought this trouble, Destiny. The Mackenzies have long sought reasons to strike at us.” His gaze slid towards the looming tower. “And holding the laird’s son only sharpens the blade.”

She followed his look, then whispered, “What are you going to do with him?”

Cameron did not answer at once. His gaze was fixed beyond the battlements, where the hills lay dark and watchful. “Six men are already on the road to Clyth,” he said at last. “They rode out after nightfall. Quietly.” His jaw tightened. “If the Mackenzies are watching, and they always are, darkness may buy my men a measure of safety and spare them their lives.”

Relief loosened something in her chest, sharp enough to steal her breath. “You sent them already?”

“I would not wait,” he said. “Every hour Sorcha remains in your father’s hands is an hour too long.” Cameron’s gaze held hers. “I also sent a scout to follow your father. I want to know where he goes and what he does next.”

“That was wise,” she said quietly. “He has made it clear his ambitions reach far beyond anything settled by our marriage.”

Silence settled between them once more, broken only by the wind moving through the heather below the walls.

“I grow weary of this,” Destiny said finally. “Of clans circling one another, waiting for blood.” She shook her head. “The king may demand peace, but even without him, life would be simpler if the fighting stopped. If people could wake without wondering whose kin would die next.”

Cameron’s expression darkened. “Peace is spoken of easily by men who do not have to hold it.”

“And yet you try,” she said. “You sent men to Clyth, knowing the risk. You hold a prisoner, knowing the Mackenzies will not forgive it.” Her voice caught. “You still choose restraint.”

He studied her then, searching, wary. “Restraint does not erase what nearly happened.”

“Nay,” she said quietly. “It does not.” She hesitated, then reached for him, her fingers brushing his arm, a small, instinctive gesture she did not fully think through.

The warmth of him startled her. So did his reaction.

Cameron’s breath caught, just barely. His muscles tightened beneath her touch, as if every instinct warred within him to draw her closer or to step away.

She felt it. And she pulled back at once. The space between them returned, heavier for having briefly vanished.

His gaze flicked briefly towards the keep. “The Mackenzies will test us again. They will strike where they think us weakest.”

“And you believe that is me,” Destiny said in a heavy tone.

“I believe,” he corrected, “that you are still choosing who you will be.”

She nodded, accepting the truth of it.

“There is another path,” she said after a long moment. “One that does not end with clans tearing one another apart.” She drew a fortifying breath as an idea came to her. “Stirling Castle is near, and the king comes to Scotland each April, holding court there while he stays.”