Chapter Eighteen
The gates had long since closed behind Kenzie, Uncle Alastair, and the chosen warriors, their departure leaving the courtyard strangely hollow. The echo of hooves had faded to nothing, and now only the banners stirred in the breeze, snapping softly above the stone walls.
Cameron stood unmoving on the steps, his gaze fixed on the empty road beyond the gates. His hand rested on the hilt of his sword, knuckles white against the leather. Destiny lingered at his side, watching him as the silence stretched.
“They will be safe,” she said gently, though she could hear the doubt in her own voice.
Cameron’s jaw clenched. “Part of me says I should have gone,” he admitted.
“If something turns on the road, if the king doubts our intent . . .” He broke off, exhaling sharply.
“But Foulis needs its laird. If the Mackenzies strike while I am gone, there will be no one to hold this place.” He glanced towards the darkened walls, already counting sentries and weak points.
“Alastair and Kenzie are capable. I have trusted them with my life before. Now I must trust them with this.”
Destiny laid a hand on his arm, gentle but sure. “You chose rightly. You protect your people by staying. Let them carry your voice to the king while you stand guard here.”
“I should send a message to the Mackenzies, informing them that there is no longer a need to attack with their kinsman gone.” He released a heavy sigh. “Though I should wait until I am convinced Kenzie and Alastair are at or near the king.”
“That is wise,” Destiny replied with a smile, then looked around the courtyard.
The clansfolk who had gathered to watch the departure were drifting away, their faces sombre, their shoulders weighed down with worry. A heaviness hung over the castle still, one that even sunlight could not banish.
“Cameron,” she said softly, “our people are anxious. They have seen the prisoner taken away, and they know the Mackenzies circle us still. Fear will fester if we do nothing.” She hesitated, then drew a breath.
“The day is fair, and the chance of attack is small. What if we gave them something else to think about? A gathering in the garden, perhaps a picnic with food, music, laughter. A reminder of life beyond conflict.”
His brows rose, surprise flickering across his face. “A picnic?”
“Aye.” Destiny’s eyes brightened as she spoke.
“It need not be grand. Bread, ale, the music of the pipes. The children can play, the men and women can breathe without fear pressing down their throats. It would strengthen their hearts to see you walking among them, not only as their laird, but as their kinsman.”
Cameron studied her for a long moment, the corner of his mouth twitching as though torn between disbelief and admiration.
Finally, he gave a short laugh, rough and low. “A laird who sets aside his sword for a picnic. My father would call it folly.”
Destiny’s smile softened. “And yet your people would call it hope.”
The words struck him deep in his core, and slowly he nodded.
The tightness in his jaw eased, replaced by something quieter, steadier. “Very well. Send word to the kitchens. We will take to the gardens at midday. Let them eat, let them laugh, let them remember they are more than the wars we fight.”
Her heart lifted, warmth blooming in her chest. “They will thank you for it, Cameron. More than you know.”
He looked at her then, truly looked, and for an instant the weight of his obligation to his clan seemed to slip from his shoulders. “Nay,” he said quietly. “They will thank you.”
Destiny lowered her gaze, the heat rising in her cheeks, but inside her heart soared. For all his strength and burdens, he listened to her, trusted her. And in that trust, she felt her love for him deepen until it nearly stole her breath.
Together, they turned back towards the keep, the sun climbing higher, carrying with it the promise of something brighter than fear.
By midday, the meadow beyond the castle walls was alive with sound.
Long tables had been carried down from the hall and laden with loaves of bread, wheels of cheese, smoked fish, and jugs of ale.
Children darted between the benches, their laughter ringing in the warm spring air.
The pipes began to play, joined by the steady beat of a drum, and the sombre mood that had clung to the people since the prisoner’s capture began to loosen, replaced with cautious cheer.
Destiny stood at the edge of the gathering, the wind tugging playfully at her hair.
She watched as a group of women spread blankets for the younger children, while the men passed around tankards and spoke in voices no longer weighed down by fear.
It was a simple thing, this meal in the sunshine, but the change it wrought was unmistakable.
Cameron joined her, his presence drawing glances and murmurs of respect from the clansfolk. He surveyed the scene with arms folded across his chest, his expression unreadable at first. Then, as a child’s shrill laughter rang out, the corner of his mouth softened into a faint smile.
“You were right,” he said quietly, so only she could hear. “They needed this.”
Destiny turned to him, her voice gentle. “And so did you.”
His gaze lingered on her for a moment before sweeping back to the meadow. When one of the older men raised a tankard in his direction, Cameron lifted a hand in acknowledgment. A ripple of cheers followed, and for the first time in many days, the clan’s spirits rose higher than their fears.
A group of children broke into a game of chase, weaving through the legs of their elders until one tumbled at Cameron’s feet. The boy scrambled upright, wide-eyed, but Cameron bent down, lifted him easily to his feet, and ruffled his hair. The people around them laughed.
Destiny’s heart swelled as she watched Cameron. He was no cruel, thoughtless butcher. He was a shield, a leader, a man worth following.
As the pipes quickened their tune, a circle formed for dancing.
A few young women tugged Destiny forward with bright smiles, urging her to join.
She laughed, protesting at first, but soon found herself swept into the circle, her skirts swirling as she matched the rhythm.
When she glanced back, Cameron was watching her, his hazel eyes intent, his expression softened with something that made her pulse stumble before his expression changed, becoming guarded once more.
She had hurt him with her betrayal and was determined to do everything in her power to show him he could trust her once more. The music swelled, and she was pulled into a more frenetic pace. Destiny drew in a long breath, leaned her head back, and allowed herself to simply live in this moment.
*
The garden pulsed with life as the pipes skirled, and the drum beat a steady rhythm.
Cameron watched as his people ate, danced, and laughed.
For the first time in weeks, the tightness in his chest eased.
The clan looked less like a people bracing for war and more like what they truly were—families, kin, souls who deserved peace.
And then he heard it.
Destiny laughed.
The sound startled him. He had heard her speak in anger, in sorrow, in measured reason, but never had he heard that bright, unguarded music spill from her lips.
It struck him like sunlight breaking through storm clouds, piercing and warm.
Without meaning to, he found himself smiling, his heart lifting in response.
But as quickly as the warmth came, he caught himself. He forced his shoulders stiff again, his expression schooled back into restraint. It was not so simple. Things between them were not what they had been before her would-be betrayal.
A shadow lingered in his memory; the night he had nearly lost her trust to her father’s command. She had stood between him and that prisoner, torn between her loyalty to the Munros and the poisonous grasp her father still held over her. She had almost undone everything he had fought to protect.
Cameron wanted to trust her again; God help him, he did. But something held him back, a shadow that would not lift.
It was her father.
The scout he had sent returned before dawn, bringing news Cameron had half expected and wholly despised.
Alexander Gunn had ridden straight back to the Mackenzies.
Not into hiding. Not away from danger. He had chosen his side, and it was not his daughter’s.
Gunn was already preparing to bargain again, to trade allegiance for coin and protection, as though Destiny were no longer part of the reckoning.
That knowledge settled heavily in Cameron’s chest. He had seen enough to know the man cared nothing for her safety.
Gunn had treated Destiny as currency, not kin, something to be spent when it suited him.
And yet, despite all of it, Cameron sensed that some part of her still clung to the man.
Not to his schemes or his threats, but to the fragile truth that he was her father.
That was what frightened Cameron most. Not that Destiny was weak, but that she was not yet entirely free.
Blood bound her still, tugging her backwards, even as she tried to step forward.
Perhaps it was because her father was the last living tie to the world she had known before Foulis, before Cameron.
The last thread connecting her to a life already gone.
And Cameron could not help but wonder, if pressed again, whether she would be able to sever it. That doubt lingered, quiet and dangerous, even as he stood beside her and willed himself to believe.
Music swelled, laughter rose, and his gaze was drawn despite himself.
Destiny moved within the circle of dancers, her smile unguarded, her eyes bright with a joy that seemed almost unfamiliar to her.
For a fleeting moment, she looked free, lighter than he had ever seen her, as if the burdens she carried had loosened their hold.
Cameron’s hand tightened unconsciously on the hilt of his sword.
He realised then that he wanted—nay, needed—that laughter to belong here.
To belong to Foulis. To belong with him. But doubt whispered still.
Could he truly trust her? Could he give her his heart while the spectre of her father lingered between them, tugging at loyalties even she might not yet fully understand?
His chest ached with the weight of it, desire braided tight with caution.
Every instinct urged him to step into the circle, to take her hand, to claim that laughter and make it his own.
Instead, he remained where he was, rooted in place, torn between the pull of her joy and the shadow of betrayal that had not yet released its hold.
As the sun began to dip towards the hills, the music died down, and families began drifting back towards the safety of the keep. Children yawned against their mothers’ shoulders, their laughter fading to murmurs. The day had given them a measure of peace, and that was something.
Cameron lingered at the edge of the garden, watching Destiny as she bent to gather a basket left on the grass.
Stray wisps of hair had slipped free from her plait, golden in the last rays of light.
He thought again of her laughter earlier, the brightness of it.
The memory stirred something sharp and sweet in his chest.
She caught him watching.
Straightening, she lifted the basket to her hip and smiled faintly. “It was a good idea, was it not? For a little while, they forgot the Mackenzies. I even forgot them myself.”
Cameron’s lips twitched into the ghost of a smile. “Aye. You were right. They needed it.” He hesitated, then added in a lower voice, “I needed it.”
Her eyes softened, and for a moment he thought she might step closer. He felt the urge to close the space himself, to tell her how her laughter had shaken something loose inside him. But the words stuck in his throat, caught by the memory of her father and the shadow of her near betrayal.
Instead, he cleared his throat and straightened his shoulders. “You have given the clan peace and joy, and a small measure of hope, Destiny. For that, I am grateful.”
Something flickered in her gaze. Hurt, perhaps, at the formality of his words.
She shifted the basket against her hip and nodded. “Hope is what we all need, Cameron. Even you.”
He almost said, Especially me, but the confession caught and withered before it reached his tongue. He only inclined his head, letting the silence stretch between them until the moment passed.
Together they walked back to the keep, side by side but not touching, their steps matched yet divided by the unspoken.
Her laughter still rang in his ears, sweet as sunlight, and he longed to believe in it.
But trust was not so easily restored, and the weight of her father’s betrayal still lay between them.
*
The glow of the day lingered in her body long after Destiny returned to the keep.
She had parted with Cameron belowstairs and carried her shawl back to her chamber.
The sound of children’s laughter and the drone of the pipes still echoed in her ears, but what stayed with her most vividly was Cameron’s face as he had watched her dance.
For a heartbeat, his eyes had softened, unguarded, as though she had reached him.
Yet the moment had passed too quickly. When they spoke after, his words had been careful, measured, spoken like a laird thanking an ally, not a husband sharing joy with his wife.
Inside her chamber, she lit a single candle, the flame casting a fragile circle of light. From beneath her pillow she drew out the brooch from Cameron’s tartan. The metal was cool at first, then warmed in her hand as she held it close.
She pressed the brooch against her heart, eyes closing.
Today, she had seen another side of Cameron.
He was a man who could smile at a child tumbling at his feet and a man who could walk among his people and give them hope instead of fear.
She loved him for that, loved him more fiercely with each passing day.
But love alone could not mend what was broken. His restraint tonight had been plain. She had felt it in the weight of his silence, in the way he had stepped back when she might have stepped closer. He still doubted her, still measured her loyalty against her father’s shadow.
Destiny curled onto her bed, clutching the brooch in both hands. “I will prove my loyalty to you. Somehow, I will prove it,” she whispered into the quiet, the words trembling with both joy and ache.