Chapter Seventeen #2
He sat on the edge of the bed, his hands braced on his knees, thoughts circling back to the courtyard.
To Destiny’s eyes, steady and unflinching as she had stood before him, offering counsel as if she had been born to it.
She had spoken with the wisdom of a laird’s wife, not a pawn in her father’s games.
And yet she had almost betrayed him.
He dragged his hand down his face, trying to banish the memory of how close she had stood, how the torchlight had caught the curve of her mouth, how her breath had hitched when his fingers brushed her throat.
God’s truth, it had taken every ounce of restraint not to close the distance, not to claim the kiss that hovered between them, despite doubts that pulled at him.
And then there was the moment she had touched him, brief, instinctive, and how his body had answered before his mind could stop it.
He had wanted to pull her close then, to forget everything but the heat of her and the connection between them. Sanity alone had stayed his hand.
Shoving himself to his feet, he crossed to the chair where his plaid lay folded. He reached for the brooch, an old piece carved with a Celtic knot, but his hand met only wool. He stilled, checked again. The brooch was gone.
A frown tugged at his mouth. And then he remembered the night they had shared. In his haste he had tossed the brooch aside. A slow breath left him, his frown easing into something softer, though no less conflicted. Perhaps she had found the brooch.
He sank back onto the bed, leaning his head against the carved post. She carried part of him now, whether she knew it or not. The thought filled him with a warmth that spread through his chest, battling the heaviness that had taken root there since he had witnessed her betrayal.
Could he forgive her? He did not yet know. The wound was fresh, any trust bruised. But even with that doubt, the image of her lingered in his mind. She had been courageous, steady, and breathtakingly beautiful in the torchlight.
Cameron closed his eyes, and for the first time in many nights, a very unexpected and perhaps unearned sliver of peace touched him.
*
Early morning’s cold light spilled over the battlements, casting thin stripes across the courtyard.
Bowstrings snapped in practised rhythm below, arrows thudding into straw with merciless precision.
Clansmen murmured among themselves, their voices hushed, their faces set.
At the foot of the tower stood the guards, stern and unmoving, while above, the Mackenzie prisoner waited in silence, condemned to whatever judgement the king would soon deliver.
Destiny stood beside Cameron, her shawl wrapped close against the chill, the weight of last night’s conversation still between them.
He would remain at Foulis, though she knew that decision had cost him.
Obligation clung to him heavily, yet he held it up with the steady resilience of a laird who had no choice but to endure.
The doors of the castle opened, and Kenzie strode into the courtyard, his cloak fastened, his step brisk with readiness.
Uncle Alastair followed more slowly, leaning on his staff, his eyes sharp despite his years.
Behind them came a half dozen of the Munro’s finest warriors, each chosen by Cameron at dawn, men seasoned in battle, their tartans snapping in the morning breeze.
Cameron’s voice carried over the courtyard as he stepped forward.
“I have made my decision. The prisoner will not remain in the tower, nor will he be executed here. He will be taken to the king by my brother, Kenzie, and my uncle, Alastair. Together they will ride under our banner, present the prisoner, and petition the king to claim him. Clan Munro must show the Crown that we seek peace and justice, not more bloodshed.”
Uncle Alastair inclined his head, stroking his beard thoughtfully. “A bold plan. A wise plan. And I am glad to be a part of it. The king cannot ignore such loyalty. He will see that our clan puts the good of the Highlands above vengeance.”
Kenzie straightened. “’Tis a four-day journey to Stirling, but if we ride hard, we might be able to do it in three.”
Uncle Alastair stepped forward, laying a hand on Cameron’s arm. “You have chosen well, lad. It honours both Crown and clan.” His gaze shifted to Destiny, softening. “And I see your wife’s hand in this wisdom.”
Heat rushed to Destiny’s cheeks, but Cameron only gave a short, approving nod. “Aye. We stand as one.”
The warriors closed ranks around Kenzie and Alastair, readying for the journey south.
Above them, the tower loomed, silent and grim, holding the prisoner whose fate might shape the Highlands.
The air was cold, the morning tense with uncertainty, yet for the first time since the man’s capture, Destiny felt a spark of warmth.
The courtyard swelled with noise as the company prepared to ride.
Horses stamped and tossed their heads, the clink of harness and the creak of leather echoing off the stone walls.
The prisoner was led down from the tower, shackled and guarded on all sides.
His dark eyes burned with defiance, but his silence remained unbroken.
Destiny stood beside Cameron on the steps of the keep, the morning wind tugging at her hair. Clan members gathered around the edges of the courtyard, their faces etched with worry and hope. All eyes turned to Cameron as he stepped forward, his presence commanding.
“You ride with the honour of Clan Munro,” he told Kenzie, Alastair, and the chosen warriors. “Guard the prisoner well, but guard our name even more. Show the king that we are not reckless nor weak, but faithful to the Crown and kin alike. May your journey prove the strength of our people.”
Kenzie swung into his saddle, his expression resolute. “We will not fail you, brother. By my oath, the king will know Clan Munro seeks peace.”
Uncle Alastair, already astride his horse, met Cameron’s gaze as Cameron stepped forward, withdrawing a sealed parchment from within his plaid. The wax bore the Munro crest, unmistakable, unbreakable.
“This carries my word to the king,” Cameron said, pressing the parchment into Alastair’s waiting hand. “Proof of my intent and of the path I mean to take.”
Alastair closed his fingers around the document, the seal catching the morning light. His eyes softened with a flicker of pride. “Hold strong here, lad. Keep the clan safe. Trust that we will see this through.”
Cameron nodded once, though there was tension in the set of his jaw. He wanted to be the one riding south, she knew it, but his choice to stay spoke louder of his devotion to his people than words ever could.
The prisoner was assisted onto a mount with one of the warriors sitting behind him. Once complete, the other warriors mounted and tightened formation around the prisoner. The gates creaked open, and sunlight poured through as the party moved out.
Destiny felt a pang in her chest as she watched them pass through the gates and vanish down the road that wound towards the low hills. The crowd dispersed slowly, their murmurs hushed with both fear and faith.
At her side, Cameron remained motionless, his gaze fixed on the disappearing column. Destiny slipped her hand into his, a small, instinctive gesture. For a moment, he did not move. Then his fingers closed firmly around hers, anchoring them both.
“They carry our hope with them,” Destiny whispered.
Cameron’s jaw eased, his voice quiet but sure. “Aye. And I will carry our people’s strength here.”
Together, they turned back towards the keep. Behind them, the gates shut with a resounding thud, sealing Foulis against whatever storm the Mackenzies might send.