Chapter 11
CHAPTER ELEVEN
The garden offered everything Norham’s dungeon had stolen—sunshine warming her shoulders, clean air filling her lungs, the simple pleasure of earth beneath her fingers instead of cold stone.
Moyra sat on a low bench beside Catriona, weaving stems of white clover into chains while the maid chattered about castle gossip.
“And then Cook said tae him, ‘If ye think I’m serving that tae the laird, ye’ve lost yer wits’—”
“Me lady?” A guard’s voice interrupted Catriona’s story. Moyra looked up to find one of Euan’s men approaching, his weathered face neutral. “The laird requests yer presence in his office.”
Her pulse stuttered. “Now?”
“Aye, me lady. If ye’d follow me?”
Moyra stood, brushing flower petals from her skirts. Beside her, Catriona’s expression had gone worried. “Should I come with ye?”
“Nay.” Though part of her wanted it. “I’ll be fine.”
The walk through Dunvegan’s corridors felt endless. With each step, her mind raced through possibilities. Word from her father? A decision about her fate? Or perhaps just more questions about her imprisonment, her knowledge of Keith MacKenzie’s plans?
The guard stopped outside Euan’s office door, knocking twice before pushing it open. “Lady Moyra, me laird.”
Euan stood behind his desk, his broad shoulders silhouetted against the window. He didn’t turn when she entered, and something about the rigid set of his spine made unease coil through her stomach.
“Close the door,” he said quietly.
The guard obeyed, leaving them alone in heavy silence.
Moyra moved closer, studying what she could see of Euan’s profile. The scar that traced his face seemed more pronounced today, and tension radiated from him in waves that raised every instinct she had for self-preservation.
“Ye wanted tae see me?”
“Sit.” He gestured toward the chair across from his desk without looking at her.
The coldness in his voice—so different from the man who’d shared whisky and oatcakes under the stars—made her throat tight. But she sat, folding her hands in her lap to hide how they trembled.
Finally, Euan turned. Those eyes that had looked at her with such warmth just a few nights before were shuttered, empty of everything except grim determination. He moved around the desk but didn’t sit, instead leaning against it with arms crossed over his massive chest.
“We received word from yer faither.”
The words hit like a physical blow. Moyra’s breath caught, hope and dread warring in her chest. “And?”
“He’s refused our offer.” Euan’s voice remained carefully neutral. “He has nay interest in negotiating fer yer return.”
The room tilted. Moyra gripped the chair’s arms, trying to process what she’d just heard. “That’s nae possible. He wouldnae—”
“I’m sorry, lass.”
“Ye’re lying.” She stood abruptly, her voice rising. “Me faither sent me away fer protection. He told me the priory would keep me safe. He wouldnae just abandon—”
“Moyra—”
“Nay!” The word came out sharp as broken glass. “I dinnae believe ye. This is some trick, some strategy tae make me compliant—”
“It’s nay trick.” Euan straightened, and the movement reminded her just how large he was, how easily he could overpower her if he chose. But his eyes held only weary sadness. “I wish it were.”
“Then ye’re mistaken. Ye misread his letter, or—”
“I read it perfectly clearly.” His jaw clenched. “Keith MacKenzie has made his position abundantly clear. He considers ye a complication he’s better off without.”
“Liar!” She advanced on him, fury burning through the shock. “Me faither loves me. He sent me away tae protect me from his enemies, from men like ye who would use me as leverage—”
“Lass.” Euan’s hands shot out, catching her upper arms as she tried to push past him. His grip was iron-strong yet measured, pinning her in place without bruising. “Ye think I’d invent such cruelty?”
“Let me go!” She struggled against his hold, but he was immovable as granite. “Let me—”
“Look at me.” His voice dropped to that whisky-rough rumble that had made her pulse race on the battlements. “Moyra, look at me.”
She did, rage and heartbreak making her vision swim. This close, she could see every line of concern etched into his scarred face, could feel the heat radiating from his large frame, could smell him. It made her want to either strike him or collapse against his chest.
“I dinnae want this tae be true,” he said quietly. “But it is. And I’ll show ye the letter if ye dinnae believe me.”
“Show me.” The words came out hoarse. “Show me this letter that says me faither daesnae want me back.”
Euan released her arms slowly, as if afraid she might bolt. He moved to the desk, retrieving a piece of parchment that looked like it had been read and reread multiple times. The MacKenzie seal glinted in the morning light.
Her father’s seal.
Moyra took the letter with shaking hands. The words swam before her eyes at first, refusing to make sense. Then, slowly, their meaning crystallized like ice in her chest.
The words tore through her, vicious and final. The sentences landed like stones, each one heavier than the last. Twice, three times she read them, hunting for mercy hidden between the words—but found only cold dismissal.
There was nothing. Just her father’s complete indifference to her fate, his willingness to let her remain in enemy hands without even attempting negotiation.
The letter slipped from her fingers, drifting to the floor like a fallen leaf.
“Moyra—”
“Thank ye fer showing me the letter.” She moved toward the door, needing to escape before she shattered completely. “I’ll just return tae me chamber now—”
“Wait.” Euan’s voice stopped her mid-step. “There’s more we need tae discuss.”
Of course there was. Because this nightmare couldn’t possibly be over yet.
She turned slowly, wrapping her arms around herself. “What more could there possibly be?”
“Me Council met this morning.” Euan moved closer, and she saw something in his eyes that made her stomach clench. “They’ve made their position clear. Under this sort of threat from yer father, they believe there’s only one way forward.”
“And what way is that?”
“Marriage.” The word fell between them like a stone. “Between us.”
For several heartbeats, Moyra simply stared at him. Then understanding crashed through her shock like a wave.
“Nay.”
“Moyra—”
“Absolutely nae.” She backed away, her voice rising. “Ye must be mad if ye think I’d ever agree tae that.”
“It would protect ye.” Euan followed her retreat, his expression grim. “As me wife, ye’d have status, security—”
“As yer prisoner, ye mean!” The words came out sharp as blades. “Just a prettier cage than Norham’s dungeon.”
“It’s nae a cage—”
“It’s exactly a cage!” She whirled to face him fully. “Ye want tae chain me tae ye legally, use me tae neutralize whatever threat me faither poses. Dinnae pretend this is about protection.”
His jaw clenched. “I’m trying tae dae what’s right—”
“By forcing me intae marriage with a man from a clan that’s been my family’s enemy fer generations?” She laughed, the sound holding no humor. “By taking away what little choice I have left? That’s yer idea of safety?”
“It would prevent war.” His voice hardened. “Between our clans. Hundreds could die—”
“I am not responsible fer men going tae war,” she said her voice shaking with anger. “They would have gone tae war regardless of what I did. Me faither’s ambitions, yer clan’s lands—none of that has anything tae dae with me. I’m just the excuse ye’re all using.”
Euan’s hands shot out, catching her shoulders before she could storm past him. His grip was careful but unyielding, and when he spoke, his voice carried that absolute authority she’d heard him use with his men.
“Think about this, lass. Truly think. What future dae ye have now? Yer faither’s cast ye off. Nay other clan will want tae deal with this problem, risking his anger. But as me wife—”
“I’d rather die alone than marry ye.” She jerked free of his hold, putting the desk between them. “Find another way tae solve yer political problems. I’m nae interested.”
“Moyra—”
“Is that all, me laird?” The formal address tasted like ashes. “Or dae ye have more ways tae demonstrate how I’m naething but a piece on yer chess board?”
Something flickered in his eyes—hurt, maybe, or regret. But his voice remained steady. “I’m asking ye tae consider it. That’s all. Just think about how this could help both our clans return tae normalcy. How it could prevent bloodshed. How it could protect ye and give ye a future and status.”
“There’s naething tae think about.” She moved to the door, needing to escape before the tears burning behind her eyes could fall. “The answer is nay. “
“Moyra, wait—”
But she was already through the door, fleeing down the corridor with her father’s betrayal and Euan’s proposal chasing her like demons.
Behind her, she heard his voice one more time, rough and impossibly sad:
“I’m sorry, lass. Fer all of it.”
But sorry changed nothing.
Sorry didn’t unwrite her father’s letter or undo Euan’s cold calculation.
Sorry was just another word for trapped.