Chapter One #3
She pressed her forehead against her knees, her breath catching.
The Munros. Their name alone turned her stomach.
Every story she had ever heard as a child came flooding back.
The night raids, the burning of crofts, the wailing of widows left behind.
And now the Gunns would align themselves with that clan.
She wished her father had shared this scheme before he left, had given her a chance to wrestle with it, to formulate her own response.
To what? To craft a way to refuse such a match?
But would she have really done that? Nay.
Her father understood her far better than she cared to admit.
He knew she would bristle at the notion, which was exactly why he delivered his cruel ultimatum the way he did.
And he knew, with an almost infuriating precision, that she would object fiercely, only to relent in the end, just as she always did.
A trembling laugh broke from her lips, bitter and hollow. “This is how the Gunns survive,” she whispered to the empty hallway. “We sell our daughters for cattle, protection, connections, and call it salvation.”
Destiny scrubbed at her face, drawing in a shuddering breath. She would not let her father see her broken. She would not give him that victory.
When at last she rose, her legs were unsteady, but her chin lifted. The tears had dried, leaving only a quiet, dangerous calm behind.
She turned towards where she had left Sorcha, whispering under her breath. “If I am to be bartered, then I will choose what remains of me.” And though her heart was breaking, a spark of something fierce stirred beneath the grief, something that felt almost like defiance.
Destiny began the slow walk towards the drawing room.
Each step echoed along the corridor like a drumbeat of finality.
When she reached the door, she paused, her hand hovering over the latch.
For a moment, she wanted to turn away, to flee to her chamber and let the world crumble without her.
But then she heard Sorcha’s soft humming from inside, the familiar tune of a Highland lullaby.
The sound of it cracked something open in Destiny’s chest, and she pushed the door open.
Sorcha turned at once, her smile brightening, then fading at the sight of Destiny’s face. “What has happened?” she whispered, crossing the room in an instant. “You look as though you have seen a ghost.”
Destiny tried to answer, but no words came. Her throat ached, and the composure she had fought so hard to reclaim slipped away in an instant.
Sorcha caught her hands, gripping them tightly. “Tell me.”
Destiny shook her head, the tears rising again despite her will. “He has pledged me in marriage,” she managed at last. “To a Munro.”
For a heartbeat, Sorcha said nothing. Then her eyes widened, disbelief and anger chasing each other across her face. “Nay.”
“He has.” Destiny’s voice broke. “He has arranged it all. The heir will send for me in a fortnight.” She tried to laugh, but the sound was brittle. “Father said I should be grateful. That I would be safe. That I would thank him one day.”
Sorcha’s expression hardened. “Safe? With them? Has he lost his wits? The Munros would burn a kirk if it stood between them and what they wanted.”
Destiny’s hands trembled in Sorcha’s grasp. “He says their strength will protect me. That the cattle they offer and the coin it will produce will save the clan. But all I hear is the sound of chains.”
Sorcha pulled her close, wrapping her arms around her. Destiny resisted at first, stiff and trembling, but then she collapsed against her friend, clutching her tightly.
“I cannot do this,” Destiny whispered. “I cannot be sold like a beast.”
“Is there some relative you can flee to?” Sorcha’s voice softened, fierce with love.
Destiny shook her head.
Sorcha lifted her chin. “Then make the best of the situation. The Munro might take your hand, but not your soul. You will find a way to make this arrangement work, Destiny Gunn. You always do.”
Destiny closed her eyes, the comfort of those words sinking deep.
For a long while they stayed that way, two women holding each other in the quiet flicker of the fire.
When Destiny finally lifted her head, her tears had dried, leaving only a fragile calm.
“Father thinks he has won,” she murmured.
“But he does not know me as well as he believes. If I must marry a Munro, then I will do it on my own terms.”
Sorcha searched her face, apparently seeing the steel beneath the sorrow, and gave a single, resolute nod. “Aye then. We will face it together. I will send word to my brother that my stay is extended. I will travel with you to Foulis Castle so that you will not have to bear this situation alone.”
“Thank you, my friend. That means everything to me.” Destiny’s gaze drifted to the window, where the afternoon sun had begun to fade. “A fortnight,” she whispered. “Two weeks to say farewell to everything I have known and to prepare for whatever comes next.”