Chapter Nineteen
Three days later, the clang of the portcullis echoed through the courtyard as the gates creaked open.
Destiny shaded her eyes against the rising sun, watching the columns of riders approach.
Banners snapped in the wind, blue and green for Clan Sutherland, red and blue for Clan Ross.
Horses stamped and snorted, the glint of spear points catching the light as two companies of men rode under the stone archway and into Foulis.
Cameron stood at the front steps, broad-shouldered and steady, his plaid thrown across his chest, his sword belted at his side.
He had summoned these clans, calling in old ties of blood and oath to strengthen Foulis while Kenzie and Uncle Alastair carried the prisoner and their message south.
He should have been able to summon the Gunn clan and their warriors as well—that, after all, was what their arranged marriage was supposed to provide—but her father had destroyed that by siding with the Mackenzies.
The Earl of Sutherland was the first to dismount, his grey beard trimmed neat, his bearing proud. “Laird Munro,” he said, clasping Cameron’s arm in greeting. “Word reached us of your plight. We have come as you asked, to stand with you should the Mackenzies test your walls again.”
“And you will have my men as well,” Laird Ross, younger but no less formidable, his eyes sharp as he looked around the stone walls, added. “If the Mackenzies think to strike, they will find no weakness here.”
Cameron inclined his head, his expression unreadable. “You honour me, both of you. Foulis is all the stronger when her allies stand with her.”
Destiny stood behind Cameron and felt the moment keenly.
Their strength had doubled overnight, but so too had the strain.
Hosting allied clans meant feeding them, housing them, smoothing old rivalries so they did not flare into quarrels inside the very walls they sought to protect.
And she could see the guarded tension in Cameron’s jaw.
He trusted these men in battle, but trust within Foulis itself was a rarer coin.
If she wanted to prove herself to him, here was her chance.
As the men began dismounting, Destiny stepped forward before Cameron could speak further. “You are most welcome at Foulis,” she said, her voice carrying across the courtyard. “Provisions have been laid in the hall, and quarters are prepared for your men. All of Foulis will see to their comfort.”
Cameron turned his head sharply towards her, surprise flickering across his face.
Destiny held steady beneath his gaze. “The clans must see not only strength of arms, but unity of spirit,” she added in a soft tone so that only he could hear her. “If they know they are valued here, they will fight all the harder when the time comes.”
Lord Sutherland gave a satisfied nod. “Spoken well, Lady Munro. A warm welcome strengthens the hand as much as any sword.”
Even Ross’s sharp gaze softened. “Your lady speaks with wisdom, Munro.”
Cameron’s jaw worked, but he said nothing until the two allies had moved away to oversee their men.
Only then did he lean close, his voice pitched low. “You take much upon yourself.”
Destiny stood her ground, gaze unwavering. “Because it must be done. They will look to you for command, but they will look to me for belonging. Let me prove I can be more than a burden, Cameron. Let me stand beside you.”
For a long moment he studied her, his hazel eyes unreadable. Then, slowly, he gave a short nod. “Very well. See to it. But know this—if you falter, the clans will remember it, and so will I.”
His words were stern, but Destiny caught the shift between them. He was giving her a chance.
She inclined her head, her heart hammering. “I will not falter.”
The great hall buzzed with voices as the Sutherlands and Rosses filed in, their warriors taking benches at the long tables.
The hearth fire roared high, casting light across the stone walls and chasing away the chill that had clung to the morning.
Platters of food and jugs of ale were carried in by the castle servants, the scent of roasted venison and oat bannocks filling the air.
Cameron sat at the high table, his posture taut, his expression carefully neutral as he studied his allies.
Their presence strengthened Foulis, yet he knew as well as Destiny did that pride and rivalry could sour goodwill if not managed well.
The clans had fought beside one another, but they had also fought against one another, and old wounds could be easily ripped open.
Destiny slipped into the role she had imagined for herself, moving among the tables with quiet confidence.
She stopped to greet Lord Sutherland, who sat with his eldest son.
“My lord,” she said warmly, “I trust your men find the food to their liking? The kitchens were eager to show their skill to such honoured guests.”
Sutherland’s eyes lit with amusement. “They have outdone themselves. You do your hall credit, Lady Munro.”
From across the table, Lord Ross lifted his tankard. “Ale flows freer here than in half the Highlands.”
Laughter rippled along the benches, and the tension in the air loosened.
Destiny leaned closer, lowering her voice just enough to be heard by both lords.
“Foulis is honoured by your presence. Together, we will show the Mackenzies their threats hold no sway. Our strength lies not only in numbers, but in unity.”
The men nodded, pleased, and returned to their cups. As Destiny moved on, offering words of welcome to the warriors, she felt the eyes of the hall upon her. Not just the allies, but Cameron’s people as well, watching their new lady take her place among them.
When at last she returned to the high table, Cameron’s gaze met hers. His expression was unreadable at first, but then it cleared and approval shone clearly in his eyes.
He nodded once, firmly, before raising his goblet to the hall. “To our allies,” he declared, his voice carrying over the tables. “To the strength of the Highlands.”
The hall erupted in cheers, and Destiny’s heart swelled. This was her place. At Cameron’s side. With his people. And perhaps, if she were steadfast enough, with his trust, and in time, his heart.
*
The next morning four scouts left Foulis to search the north, south, east, and west. The Mackenzies lay quiet, but it was supposed they would not stay that way for long. The men who remained sparred in the lists, readying for the battle to come.
Cameron moved through the motions of swordplay with his, the Sutherland, and Ross warriors, yet every strike felt heavier than it should, his focus unravelling with each swing.
Not from lack of sleep, even though he had lain awake half the night, staring at the beams above his bed, remembering last night.
He had watched her move among the Sutherlands and Rosses with a grace he had only just begun to expect, her words softening old rivalries, her presence lending warmth to a hall filled with wary men.
She had steadied them better than he could have with a dozen commands.
And she had done it not as his pawn, nor as a figurehead, but as his equal.
Her voice still echoed in his mind, bright and clear. “Our strength lies not only in numbers, but in unity.” The men had listened. They had nodded. And for the first time in many long days, he had seen his people look not only to him, but to her.
Relief should have settled in. Her skill should have been a welcome thing—and it was.
Still, unease lingered beneath it. The desire to trust her came hard and sharp, an ache lodged deep in his chest. When she stood beside him tonight, gaze unwavering, voice low with conviction, vowing to prove her fidelity, something inside him had shifted.
A restless pass of his hand through his hair accompanied his pacing the hearth’s edge.
She had given the clans hope today. She had given him hope today, though he would not say it aloud.
He had even caught himself almost smiling as she had moved about the great hall tonight, her cheeks flushed.
When she had stood before him, he had wanted so desperately to reach out and touch her.
He almost had. Her breath had caught. He had heard it.
Felt it. And for one perilous heartbeat, he had wanted nothing more than to close the scant space between them and taste her lips.
“Brother,” Gavan’s voice broke through his thoughts, sharp as a blade.
His younger brother stood at the edge of the yard, shoulder bound in fresh linen from the wound that kept him from training.
Gavan’s eyes narrowed. “Your guard slips.”
Cameron stilled, lowering his sword. He would not admit aloud what consumed his thoughts. He could not. Not when his brother was already irritated by his connection to Destiny, and through her, Sorcha.
“See to your own healing before you lecture me,” Cameron said evenly.
But the barb lacked its usual bite, and Gavan’s answering frown told him so.
Cameron dismissed the men, sending them back to their drills, and turned towards the keep.
Each step up the stone stairs was weighted.
He should be thinking of the Mackenzies, of defence lines, of war preparations.
But instead, his thoughts circled back to Destiny’s whisper of a smile, her eyes gleaming with questions she was too proud to ask.
She was trying so hard to win back his trust. And even though he kept her at arm’s length, she stood her ground before him like no other had dared.
The contradiction gnawed at him. She was both his fiercest critic and his most loyal ally, though she herself did not yet see it.
He reached the top of the stairs and paused, looking down the corridor towards her chamber. The urge to go to her nearly overcame him. But he clenched his jaw and turned away. Trust could not be demanded. It had to be built, stone by stone, no matter how long it took.
Even if the waiting burned him alive.
*