Chapter 22
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Duncan was standing at the edge of the market square, with his attention fixed on the scout before him, though his mind was already turning over the implications of what he was hearing.
“Say that again,” he demanded.
The scout shifted slightly, glancing around before continuing. “Men have been asking questions, me laird. Nae loudly, nae enough tae draw notice at first, but enough. They’ve been asking about the castle, about who comes and goes.”
Duncan’s jaw tightened. “What else?”
The scout hesitated only briefly. “About the healer.”
A cold stillness settled in Duncan’s chest. His gaze hardened, while his thoughts sharpened instantly. “What did they ask about her?”
“I have naething precise, but enough tae make it clear they were nae asking out of idle curiosity.”
Duncan exhaled slowly, his mind already moving ahead into calculating, assessing and piecing together the pattern.
“How many men?” he asked.
“Hard tae say. They keep changing. Never the same face twice, from what I’ve gathered.”
That was enough. It was too careful and too deliberate. That meant it was not coincidence.
Duncan’s posture shifted. “Ye should have brought this tae me sooner.”
“I wanted tae be certain,” the scout replied.
Duncan nodded once, already preparing his next order, when something sharp cut through the air.
It was a scream, not close and not distant either.
Duncan stilled. His head turned slightly, his senses sharpening in an instant.
Another shout followed. Then, he smelled smoke.
The scent hit him like a strike to the chest. Everything inside him went cold.
His instincts surged forward, overriding thought and overriding reason, while leaving behind only certainty.
Elaina.
His head snapped toward the direction he had left her. Time seemed to fracture.
“Raise the alarm,” he ordered immediately, his voice cutting through the noise with authority that allowed no hesitation. “Get men tae the fire. Contain it before it spreads.”
“Me laird—”
“I will join ye shortly,” Duncan continued, already moving. “Go.”
The scout did not question him. He ran. Duncan did not wait.
He turned and pushed through the crowd. His stride was fast and purposeful, then faster still as the noise around him grew louder and more chaotic.
People were beginning to run. Shouts overlapped, with panic spreading like wildfire through the square. The smoke thickened.
But Duncan saw none of it. He heard none of it. Only one thing mattered.
He reached for his sword as he moved, his grip tightening around the hilt as that same instinct roared louder within him.
“Duncan!” Her voice cut through everything, his name, in panic.
Duncan stopped just long enough to find the direction of the sound, then he moved. He forced his way through the crowd, ignoring the resistance and ignoring the confusion around him, his entire focus fixed on reaching her.
He reached the stalls and saw them. The guard was there, and two unfamiliar men, who had their hands on her. They were dragging her.
Something inside him snapped.
He saw her struggling. He saw the way they had hold of her, dragging her through the chaos as if she were nothing more than something to be claimed.
Her voice carried through the noise, sharp with desperation as she called for him again, and the sound drove something deep and violent through his chest.
The men only laughed.
“There’s nay use in that,” one of them jeered, tightening his grip on her arm. “He willnae hear ye over the chaos.”
Duncan closed the distance before the words had fully left the man’s mouth.
The first strike was swift and merciless.
Steel cut cleanly, and the man released her with a choked sound, then recovered and struck back, injuring Duncan’s arm.
Duncan struck back immediately, in rage, pushing his blade between the man’s ribs.
He collapsed before he even understood what had happened.
The second barely had time to turn, his expression shifting from amusement to shock before Duncan struck again, in a movement that was controlled and lethal. He went down just as quickly.
Duncan did not slow. He moved straight for the guard.
The man stumbled back, because he knew that it was too late to run and he could not defend himself. Duncan’s hand caught his weapon, wrenching it free before forcing him down to his knees with brutal efficiency.
“Me laird…” the guard began, and there was panic breaking through his voice.
Duncan’s grip tightened. There was no hesitation in him now, no restraint beyond what was necessary.
“Ye will answer fer this,” he snarled. He did not wait for a reply. “Take him,” Duncan ordered, not even looking as his men closed in. “Dungeon. He daesnae leave it.”
The guard’s protests were cut short as he was dragged away.
Only then did Duncan turn. Elaina stood where they had left her, with her breath unsteady and the remnants of the struggle still evident in the tension of her body.
Her hair had come loose, strands falling around her face, and her hands were clenched as if she were still prepared to fight.
Duncan stepped toward her, his focus narrowing entirely to her.
“Elaina.” Her name left him quieter now, but it carried something heavier beneath it.
He stopped just in front of her, his gaze moving over her quickly, searching for injury, for any sign that they had managed to harm her before he reached her.
“Are ye hurt?” he asked.
Elaina nodded, though the movement was small and her breath still uneven. “Nay… I am well.”
Duncan did not answer. It was not enough.
Her words did not settle the sharp edge still cutting through him, did not quiet the image of her being dragged away, of her calling for him. He needed certainty. He needed proof.
Before he could stop himself, his hand lifted.
He cupped her face gently but firmly, his fingers brushing against her cheek as he tilted her head slightly. His eyes were watching her more closely now, her skin, her jaw and the line of her throat, searching for bruises, for blood, for anything he might have missed in those first frantic seconds.
“Elaina…” he murmured, more to himself than to her.
She stilled beneath his touch. For a moment, the world narrowed to just her and the fact that she was here, safe and sound.
Only then did the tension in his chest ease, if only slightly. His hand lingered for a fraction longer before he forced himself to pull it away, as he stepped back into himself, back into control.
Before he could say anything else, Elaina’s gaze moved to his arm. Her expression changed instantly.
“Duncan,” she stepped closer, her voice threaded with concern. “Yer arm.”
He glanced down, as if only just remembering. The wound was deep enough to bleed freely, and the fabric of his sleeve was already darkened where the blade had caught him in the struggle. He had not felt it, not truly. Not while she had been in danger.
“I am fine,” he said, waving his other hand dismissively.
“Ye are nae,” she replied, already reaching for him. “Let me see.”
Her hands hovered near his arm, careful but insistent, and he noticed how her healer’s instincts were taking over without hesitation. “Ye need tae let me look at it.”
Duncan’s expression hardened slightly not at her, but at the situation, because there was still chaos unfolding around them.
“We are leaving,” he said firmly. “Now.”
Elaina frowned, glancing past him at the smoke, at the people still shouting and moving in confusion. “There are others who might be hurt,” she insisted. “I can help—”
Duncan shook his head, and his voice left no room for argument. “It is nae safe fer ye.”
Her gaze snapped back to his. “It is nae safe fer ye either.”
His chest tightened at that. Even now, even after what had just happened, her concern was not for herself, but for him and for others. He looked at her for a brief moment, fighting the urge to envelop her into his arms and inhale her scent until everything around them disappeared.
“I ken,” he said more quietly, bringing himself back to the present moment.
And he did. He admired the strength in her, the instinct to help, to heal, even when she herself had been moments from being taken. But admiration did not outweigh risk, not today, when he had nearly lost her. He refused to even consider the thought.
“It is being handled,” he continued, his tone steady but firm. “Me men will see tae the injured. The fire will be contained.”
He stepped closer again, lowering his voice slightly, though the intensity in it did not lessen. “Ye are nae staying here.”
He expected resistance. He expected her to argue, to insist, to push back, to challenge him as she always did when she believed she was right.
“If ye’re staying, I’m staying. If ye’re going back home, then I’m going back home.”
Duncan blinked once, caught off guard. For a brief moment, he simply looked at her. There was no fear in her expression now and no hesitation.
Stubborn lass.
Despite the fire, the chaos and the blood still on his hands, he felt the faintest pull of a smile threatening at the corner of his mouth.
Of course, she would say that. Of course, she would not yield easily.
He exhaled through his nose, shaking his head slightly as he studied her.
“But I am the laird,” he said, his tone carrying a quiet challenge.
Her lips curved. “The healer is supposed tae be where the laird is.”
Duncan said nothing. He was looking for some flaw in her reasoning, some angle he could use to argue, to insist, to maintain control of the situation as he always did. He found none, because, in her own way, she was right.
A quiet breath left him, something between resignation and reluctant acceptance.
“Ye make that difficult,” he muttered, though there was no real frustration behind it.
If anything, there was something dangerously close to admiration.
Duncan straightened slightly, the laird in him settling back into place as he turned away from her. He called over two of his men, issuing quick, precise orders.
“The fire is tae be contained before it spreads further. Anyone injured is tae be seen tae immediately. Double the watch on the square. Nay one leaves without being questioned.”
“Aye, me laird.”
He held their gaze a moment longer, ensuring they understood the weight of it. “Everything is tae be reported tae me by nightfall.”
They nodded and moved without delay. Only then did Duncan turn back to her. The tension in him had not fully eased, but it had lessened.
“Fine,” he told her.
His eyes met hers.
“Let’s go home.”