Chapter 33
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Lachlan MacKenzie did not tolerate failure.
The man kneeling before him knew it well.
He had been dragged into the tent scarcely an hour past, still reeking of smoke and fear.
His words were tumbling over themselves in a desperate attempt to explain what could not be excused.
Around them, the low murmur of the camp had fallen into an uneasy quiet, as though even the wind itself hesitated to intrude upon Lachlan’s temper.
“Ye lost her,” Lachlan’s voice was dangerously calm.
The man swallowed. “She was taken back tae the castle, me laird. They—”
“I am aware of where she is,” Lachlan interrupted, his tone sharpening just enough to still any further speech. “What I am less inclined tae understand is how ye allowed her tae slip through yer grasp again.”
The man faltered, his gaze dropping. Lachlan watched him for a moment longer, his pale eyes devoid of patience, of sympathy, of anything that might soften the judgment already made.
“Stand,” he ordered.
The man obeyed at once, though his movements were unsteady. Lachlan rose slowly to meet him, his height and breadth casting a long shadow in the dim light of the tent. He circled him once, deliberately, as one might inspect a flawed weapon before deciding whether it was worth the trouble of repair.
“Ye were given a simple task,” Lachlan’s tone was almost conversational. “Retrieve the lass. Naething more.”
“Me laird, it was Laird Grant—”
“Laird Grant,” Lachlan repeated with quiet disdain, “is a lad playing at war, who imagines himself capable of standing against me.” His lip curled faintly. “And yet, ye allowed him tae interfere.”
The man said nothing. After all, there was nothing he could say.
Lachlan stopped before him. For a moment, there was only silence. Then, with sudden, brutal efficiency, Lachlan struck him. The blow was swift and merciless, sending the man to the ground with a sharp crack against the packed earth. He did not rise again.
Lachlan did not look down.
“Remove him,” he said, already turning away.
Two guards stepped forward at once, dragging the unmoving body from the tent without question.
Only when they had gone did Lachlan return to the table at the center of the space, where a rough map of the Grant lands lay spread beneath the flickering light of a single lantern.
A handful of his remaining men stood nearby, silent and waiting.
Lachlan rested both hands upon the table, with his gaze sweeping over the drawn lines, symbolizing the walls, the gates and the surrounding woods.
“She will nae be taken in the open again,” he said at last. “That mistake will nae be repeated.”
“Nay, me laird,” one of the men answered quickly.
Lachlan’s mouth curved slightly not in amusement, but in anticipation.
“The castle will be more difficult,” another ventured cautiously. “The clan Grant are on guard now. They will expect—”
“They will expect an attack,” Lachlan finished for him. “Which is precisely why we shall give them one.”
Everyone looked surprised, but no one dared to question the plan. Lachlan straightened, tapping a single point upon the map.
“Their walls are strong,” he continued, “but they arenae impenetrable. There are always weaknesses, places overlooked, trusted too easily, guarded out of habit rather than necessity.”
His gaze lifted, settling upon his men with cold precision.
“And men,” he added, “are far more easily breached than stone.”
A murmur of understanding passed between them.
“There are those within who may be persuaded,” Lachlan went on. “Gold, fear, promises, each has its use. We shall employ all three, as needed.”
“And the lass?” one of them asked.
Lachlan’s expression darkened.
“She will be taken,” he spoke each word measuredly. “Quietly, efficiently and before Grant even realizes she is gone.”
His fingers curled slightly against the edge of the table.
“She was promised tae me first,” he continued, and every word he spoke was edged now with something far more possessive than mere political ambition. “And I dinnae relinquish what is mine.”
There was no room for doubt in the statement.
“She will be brought tae me,” he ordered. “Alive.”
A pause followed.
“And if any man, Grant or otherwise, stands in the way…” His gaze hardened, cold as steel. “They will be removed.”
No one questioned him. No one dared.
Lachlan looked once more to the map, his mind already moving several steps ahead, shaping the outcome as though it were merely a matter of time.
The first attempt had failed, but the second would not.
It would be cleaner, quieter.
Final.
The morning had not yet fully broken when Elaina made her way to the stables.
A pale grey light lingered over the grounds, while the air was still speckled with the remnants of night.
The world felt quieter at this hour, as though the castle itself had not yet woken to its duties, and for the first time since the evening before, Elaina found she could breathe without the weight of too many thoughts pressing in at once.
The familiar scent of hay and leather greeted her as she stepped inside. Horses shifted softly in their stalls. She felt their presence steady and grounding. She moved among them with ease, her hand brushing along a warm neck here, smoothing a mane there, finding comfort in their quiet acceptance.
It had always been that way, even at home… especially at home.
She had just closed her eyes, allowing the stillness to settle around her, when she heard the sound of footsteps behind her. She did not need to turn to know who it was.
“I thought I might find ye here,” Duncan spoke, and his voice momentarily awakened her every sense.
Elaina turned then, allowing a small flicker of surprise to cross her features despite herself. “And how did ye ken ye’d find me here?”
A faint smile touched his lips as he stepped closer. “Ye told me,” he replied simply. “The day we rode intae the forest. Ye said the stables were the only place ye ever found any peace.”
Elaina regarded him for a moment. “I am impressed, me laird,” she commented playfully. “Ye remember a great deal.”
Duncan’s expression did not waver, though there was a quiet intensity in it now that had not been there before.
“I remember everything ye have told me,” he revealed without hesitation. “Since the moment we met.”
Elaina stilled. She watched him take another step closer.
“So much so,” he continued and somehow, his voice had gotten deeper, carrying within itself that rumble that made her skin erupt in gooseflesh, “that I followed ye when ye left the tavern that night.”
Her brows lifted, genuine surprise now evident. “Is that so?”
“Aye.”
There was no apology in it and no attempt to soften the admission. That alone was enough to make her heart skip a beat, in addition to the fact that they were alone and he was standing dangerously close to her.
“I couldnae quite bring meself tae let ye walk away,” he admitted.
Elaina held his gaze, searching it, though she found no uncertainty there, only truth.
“And why was that?” she asked, though her voice had grown quieter.
Duncan did not look away.
“Because I was drawn tae ye, from the first moment I saw ye.”
Elaina felt the tightening of the air around them.
“I didnae understand it then,” he continued. “I only kent that walking away from ye would be… difficult.”
He paused, just briefly.
“And staying away that night,” he added, more quietly now, “was the hardest thing I have done in a long while.”
Elaina’s breath caught. He was closer now, close enough that she could see the way his gaze lingered on her as though she were the only thing anchoring him in place. The space between them had all but disappeared. She should have stepped back.
She did not.
“Duncan…” she began, though the word faltered as soon as it left her lips.
His hand lifted slowly, as though giving her every chance to pull away. Once again, she did not. His fingers brushed lightly against her arm, then stilled, waiting. Elaina’s pulse quickened, as the quiet of the stables suddenly felt far too small to contain what was building between them.
“Tell me tae stop,” he murmured.
She could not.
Instead, her hand rose of its own accord, resting against his chest, feeling the steady, undeniable rhythm beneath her palm.
“I dinnae wish ye tae,” she whispered.
That was all it took.
The restraint he had held so carefully seemed to give way at once. He closed the remaining distance between them, his hand moving to her waist, drawing her gently but firmly closer. Elaina felt the warmth of him, the strength of his hold, and any lingering hesitation dissolved beneath it.
When his lips met hers, it was a crash of longing.
The kiss deepened almost at once, shaped by all that had gone unspoken between them, by every moment of restraint that had led here.
Elaina’s fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt as she leaned into him, her breath catching as the world seemed to narrow to nothing but the closeness of him.
His hand tightened slightly at her waist, anchoring her there, while the other traced upward along her back, as though committing the shape of her to memory.
He slammed her against the wall, keeping her wedged between two hard places, neither willing to move. She could feel his raw desire for her, pressing against her lower abdomen. The thought of being claimed by him inflamed her entire body, and she felt as if she were on fire.
His hand cupped her breast, and she moaned under the touch. He was not gentle, and she didn’t want him to be. She wanted him to tear off her clothes and take her, right then and there.
But the sound of the stable doors opening broke the spell of the moment.
Cold morning light spilled across the floor, cutting sharply through the dim warmth of the stables.
They both looked in that direction, only to see a young stable boy standing frozen in the doorway.
His eyes were wide and his entire body gone rigid at the sight before Elaina pressed against the wooden wall, Duncan far too close and his hand still firm at her waist.
For a long, unbearable second, no one moved.
“Me laird… me lady… I…” the boy stammered, his face flushing a deep, furious red as his gaze darted anywhere but at them.
He swallowed hard, stepped back, and then quite abruptly, turned on his heel and fled. The door slammed shut behind him.
Silence fell. Elaina blinked once. Then she looked up at Duncan. Duncan looked down at her.
For a heartbeat, they simply stared at one another.
And then, all at once, the tension broke.
Elaina let out a breath that turned into laughter, bright and unrestrained, her hand lifting to cover her mouth as she shook her head.
Duncan followed a moment later, with a low, disbelieving laugh escaping him.
“Well,” he spoke in amusement, “I imagine that will be the talk of the stables before the hour is out.”
Elaina laughed again. “Ye think only the stables?” she teased, her eyes glinting. “I should say the entire castle will ken of it by supper.”
Duncan huffed a quiet laugh, though his hand had not yet left her waist.
“Then I suppose,” he murmured, his gaze softening as it lingered on her, “there is little use in pretending otherwise.”
Elaina met his eyes, feeling slightly embarrassed by the whole ordeal, but no less certain of the decision they had made prior to it.
“Nay,” she said softly, feeling her heart full. “I suppose there is nae.”