Chapter 21
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Gundor Castle had not known such unrest since the rebellion years. Torches flared to life, boots pounded across wet stone, and servants hurried through the corridors with pale faces and shaking hands.
At the center of it all, Robert McLaren stood perfectly still.
The torchlight carved harsh shadows across his face, catching the sharp planes of his jaw and the hard line of his mouth. Only his eyes betrayed him, lit with a cold fury that burned beneath a thin layer of control.
Scarlett was gone.
He had known the moment he entered her chamber. Cold hearth, untouched bed, sketchbook open on the table, charcoal still beside it. She had been here an hour ago. Less.
He looked at the connecting door. Then at the window. Then at the sketchbook again. A half-drawn castle wall, abandoned mid-line, which meant she had not chosen to leave.
Which meant someone had taken her.
He heard footsteps behind him but didn’t turn until Leon spoke. “She’s nowhere in the keep. The guards at the north tower saw
nothing, but the gate watch said one of the stable lads had gone missing an hour before dawn.” Leon’s voice was taut. “Robert…”
“Seal the gates.” Robert’s tone was absolute. “No one in or out without me order.”
Leon hesitated. “Aye, but…”
“Search every road and ridge within ten miles,” Robert continued. “Send two riders north, another pair along the glen road. And I want eyes on the forest path by the hour.”
Leon didn’t argue this time. He barked commands to the guards waiting in the corridor, their armor clattering as they ran off into the rain.
When the last of them were gone, Leon turned back. “Rob,” he said carefully, “ye ken who did this, don’t ye?”
Robert’s gaze lifted to the window where the rain streaked down the glass like blood. “Aye,” he said. “Mack Little.”
The name left his mouth like a curse.
Leon swore quietly. “Christ, that fool. I told ye he’d had a look in his eye that night at supper. Thought he’d drink himself quiet, but—”
Robert moved before Leon could finish, his stride controlled but filled with a cold, steady rage. “He’ll not drink anything again if he’s touched her.”
They reached the great hall in silence. Guards had already dragged in a man, one of Mack’s minions, soaked to the bone and reeking of ale and fear. He dropped to his knees the moment Robert entered.
The hall fell silent.
Robert didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t need to. “Where is he?”
The man’s head jerked up, eyes wide. “M–me Laird, I swear, I daenae ken!”
Robert’s boots struck the flagstones as he crossed the space between them. “Think carefully,” he said, his voice cold. “Because I’ll only ask once more.”
The man hesitated, a fatal mistake. Robert’s hand shot out, fisting his collar and dragging him upright before slamming him against the edge of the table. Dishes rattled, and a candle toppled.
“I’ve no patience for liars,” Robert said quietly. “Tell me where Mack took her.”
The man sputtered, his face turning red. “I—I daenae ken, I swear it! He was mad, talking about making ye pay, about taking what was rightfully his.”
Robert’s hand shifted, tightening around his throat. “Where?”
A strangled sound escaped him. “The woods!” he gasped. “North, near the old hunting hut by the ridge! He said he’d kill ye first then claim her for himself!”
A muscle ticked in Robert’s jaw. Slowly, he released him.
The man crumpled to the floor, coughing and clutching at his neck. Leon exhaled sharply. “Rob—”
But Robert was already striding toward the doors.
“Wait!” Leon caught up with him. “Ye cannae go alone!”
Robert stopped, turning around. His expression was pale and furious. “If I wait, she dies.”
Leon shook his head. “Then take men. Let me gather-” “There’s no time.” Robert’s tone left no room for argument. Leon swore under his breath. “Then I’m coming with ye.”
Robert’s gaze softened slightly. “Ye’re needed here. If I fail, ye’ll know where to start burning.”
Leon frowned. “Burning?”
“The forest,” Robert said simply. “If I’m not back by dawn, burn it to the ground.”
He didn’t wait for a reply.
The courtyard was chaos, stable lads shouting, horses stamping in the mud. The rain came harder, drenching him before he even reached the gate.
“Me Laird!” one of the guards called out. “The roads will flood before ye make the ridge!”
Robert swung into the saddle in one movement. “Then I’ll swim,” he said and drove his heels into the horse’s flank.
The animal lunged forward, hooves pounding against the sodden earth.
Behind him, the gates slammed shut.
Wind tore at his cloak, and rain struck his face, but he didn’t slow. The road north twisted through the moors, black mud rising in waves beneath the horse’s hooves.
Every stride echoed with the same thought.
Scarlett.
He rode harder.
Lightning split the sky, revealing the ridge ahead, the jagged outline of trees against the storm. Somewhere beyond that lay the old hunting hut Mack had used years ago.
Robert leaned low, urging the horse onward. The rain hit his face like a blade and he didn't slow for it.
The ridge was ahead. The trees. And somewhere past both, she was waiting.
The ropes burned Scarlett’s wrists each time she moved. She had struggled until her skin was raw, but the knots held firm. Mack’s handiwork, done with the care of a man who had spent too long imagining this moment.
The small hut stank of damp wood and spilled ale. Wind rattled the shutters, and the weak candlelight flickered with each gust. Mack paced back and forth, his boots thudding against the warped boards, muttering words that made little sense.
Scarlett forced herself to breathe. To look at the room properly. The door, the shutters, the ropes, Mack's pattern as he paced.
He'll come.
She knew that with a certainty that surprised her. But knowing it wasn't enough. She needed to still be in one piece when he did.
Her voice came out, quieter than she meant. “Mack. Ye can still stop this.”
He spun toward her, wild-eyed. “Stop? After what he did to me?” His laugh was sharp. “Nay, lass. There’s no stopping it now.” “He’ll kill ye,” she said flatly.
He barked a laugh and leaned close enough that she could smell the dram on his breath. “Ye think yer Laird so invincible? He bleeds the same as any man. And when he does, I’ll have what’s mine.”
Scarlett’s stomach twisted, but she held his gaze. “Ye’re delusional.”
“Delusional?” Mack’s smile stretched. “Ye were meant to be mine, Scarlett. Before him. Before his fancy titles and his damned charm. Do ye ken how it feels, watching him take everything?”
“Ye’re talking madness.”
His jaw flexed. “Madness is losing the life ye were promised. The land, the place, the lass.” His hand twitched toward the dagger at his belt. “He took ye to hurt me.”
Scarlett's voice softened though her pulse raced. "He took me for peace between clans, Mack. Nothing more. Whatever story ye've built in yer head, it isn't real."
He glared at her.
She kept going. "And even if it were, even if everything ye believe is true, what happens after? Ye kill him, and then what? His men ride ye down before morning. Ye've thought about that part, aye?"
Something crossed his face. Not doubt, not yet, but the ghost of it.
"It's real enough when he's dead," he said, but his voice had changed slightly.
Outside, thunder rolled across the hills.
Scarlett felt the chill of the night through the gaps in the walls. Her wrists had gone numb. She had worked at the knots until her fingers stopped cooperating.
She made herself be still. Listened past the wind for anything. A horse, a voice, boots in the mud.
He was coming. She was certain of it. She just needed to last long enough. She closed her eyes briefly, whispering a prayer she hadn’t spoken since childhood.
Hurry, Robert.
The wind howled through the cracks in the door, carrying with it the faint sound of hooves.
The door whipped open.
Wind and rain hit the room before he did. Then Robert filled the frame, soaked through, a blade in his hand.
"Step away from her."
The wind howled through the open door, whipping rain across the floor. The fire guttered low, spitting as cold air rushed in. Mack froze, his shoulders rigid, knife half-drawn.
Scarlett could hardly breathe. Relief and terror collided inside her chest, sharp and dizzying. Robert’s gaze didn’t waver. Every inch of him was carved from fury and restraint, soaked to the skin, mud splattered up his boots. The storm clung to him like a second skin.
“Step away from her,” he said again, quieter this time but no less dangerous.