Page 5 of Promised to the Forbidden Laird

Donaldina froze. The waves crashed into Dun Ard's black rocks beneath the path, sending white spray upward in ghostly blasts. The fall was brutal, sharp, and steep. She had been walking this trail since she was a child. She knew where the stones loosened after rain, where moss left the ground slick underneath the foot, and where the wind came around the curve and struck at the body like a sneaky enemy from the side.

As a girl, she raced Lachlan here once and was soundly scolded for it. She remembered his hand closing about the back of her cloak, his voice stern and shaking as he told her that pride would not teach the sea to spare her.

Lachlan was behind her now, lying helpless upon his bier while another man tried to steal what remained of his house. The grief that had been bound by duty all morning split open, turning into fury.

Donaldina struck Cormac's boot with her heel. He let out a hiss and, for a brief moment, his grip relaxed. She yanked her arm away and lurched toward the inner side of the path. She took no more than three steps forward when, once more, Cormac grabbed her by the waist and pulled her back against him, knocking the wind out of her.

“Ye foolish lass,” he snarled. “Must every kindness be forced upon you?”

“Kindness?” she gasped, struggling against the iron band of his arm. “Ye call this kindness?”

“I call it necessity. Yer brother is dead. Yer men are divided. MacIver comes under a King’s paper tae take ye, yer hall, yer coast, and yer name, and ye still stand there as if dignity will save ye.”

“Better dignity than cowardice dressed as counsel,” she hissed, his hold tightening even more. Tilting his head toward hers, his voice came out like a threat, cold and ominous.

“Ye were meant tae stand beside me. Had ye possessed sense, the clan would have gathered under strength, nae under some foreign-bred decree from a Lowland court. I would have ruled Dun Ard well.”

There it was. None of this was about her safety, the clan’s grief or Lachlan’s honor.

Rule.

Donaldina looked back at him and saw with perfect clarity the future he made in his own mind: herself seated beside him because her blood would make his ambition respectable.

“I would have seen Dun Ard burn before I gave it tae ye,” she said through clenched teeth.

His eyes hardened. The next pull dragged her toward the outer stones. Her foot slipped and, for one sickening instant, there was nothing beneath her heel but wet air and the roaring white of the tide below. With her free hand clutching wildly for balance, Donaldina let out a cry. Her fingertips slid against the rock. Then, out of possession rather than mercy, Cormac pulled her upright once again.

“Be still,” he barked, though she felt the tremor of effort in him. “Dae ye mean tae kill us both?”

“I mean,” she said, breathless, “tae be very inconvenient tae ye.”

Even then, with death below her and a madman’s arm about her, some bitter fragment of her own temper survived. It steadied her more than tears could have done.

Then, a shout rose behind them. Cormac’s head snapped toward the ridge. Donaldina followed the movement and saw him.

Roy MacIver stood upon the higher path, black against the rain, with his sword drawn in his hand. He must have taken the upper track from the courtyard, climbing where the rock rose steeply behind the burial way. His cloak streamed in the wind. His hair, unbound and darkened by rain, lashed across the scar at his jaw.

He descended at once. There was no hesitation in him, no glance toward the men gathered uselessly below, no shouted question, no plea for reason. He came down the wet ridge with the deadly certainty of a man who had long ago ceased expecting the world to be reasonable and trained himself to answer it otherwise.

Cormac dragged Donaldina backward.

“Stay where ye are, MacIver!”

MacIver did not. He moved faster than any man should have dared upon that path. Donaldina’s breath caught despite herself, half in fear that he would fall, half in astonishment that he did not.

Cormac shifted the knife higher against her throat. MacIver slowed. Only then did she understand the terrible difficulty before him. He was close enough now for her to see the gray of his eyes, but not close enough to strike without risking her. One wrong movement, one reckless lunge, and Cormac needed only the smallest pressure of his hand.

“Let her go,” Laird MacIver said calmly.

Cormac laughed, though his hold had grown damp and uncertain against her gown. “Yer commands mean naething here.”

“I gave nae command,” he utter, taking one careful step forward. “I offer ye the last courtesy ye are likely tae receive.”

Donaldina felt Cormac’s chest rise sharply against her back.

“She is bound tae this clan before she is bound tae ye.”

“I am bound,” she said, each word forced between clenched teeth, “tae nae man who drags me like stolen cattle along me own cliff path.”