Chapter Twenty
The clang of hammers rang across the courtyard.
Men hauled timber to shore up the gates while others stacked barrels of water and sand along the walls.
Cameron paused to take it all in. He had fought battles with his father and brothers before, shoulder to shoulder, answering steel with steel when the call came.
More recently, he and his brothers had withstood two Mackenzie attacks at the gates of Foulis, hard-fought skirmishes driven back by discipline and resolve.
But the moment before them was different.
This was no probing raid meant to test defences.
This was war.
Now, every command was his to give, every decision his to bear. The fate of the clan rested not on chance or strength alone, but on his judgement.
The air carried the acrid scent of smoke from the forge as blacksmiths repaired bent blades and reforged nails for the barricades.
Cameron moved among them, encouraging his men as he went.
They would all face the harsh realities of war soon enough.
Today was a day for preparation, but also for praise.
He did not show enough appreciation for what they would sacrifice in the days and hours ahead.
Cameron also spoke with the Sutherland and Ross chieftains about how their men would rotate guard shifts through the night.
Everywhere he went, men straightened, spirits steadied by the sound of his voice.
He bore the weight of their fear as though it were his own, his jaw set, his eyes unflinching.
The only time his gaze ever softened was when he sought out Destiny.
She gathered the women and those too old for battle, setting them to tearing linens into bandages, others to boiling herbs for the healer, still others to carrying buckets of water and filling jars with salted meat.
In the great hall, she walked among the children, pressing them into small tasks, such as rolling bandages and carrying messages, so that none felt useless, none felt forgotten.
The day passed in a blur of work and worry. At the edge of the courtyard, the air was thick with the sound of stone grinding on stone as the portcullis was tested. And through it all, the thought of the Mackenzies moving ever closer hung over them.
By evening, the courtyard quieted. The clang of hammers ceased; the fires banked low. Men ate hunched over trenchers in the hall, their voices subdued, the weight of what was to come pressing down on every person.
Cameron sat next to Destiny. Neither of them ate much. The stew was hearty, the bread fresh from the oven, but the taste of it turned to ash in Cameron’s mouth.
“This may be our last meal in peace,” Destiny murmured, her gaze fixed on her plate.
Cameron glanced at her. “Aye. Tomorrow, or the next day, we will hear whether the king’s navy brings aid or more chaos.”
She swallowed hard. “Do you think the navy men come for us?”
His silence stretched, and when he answered, his voice was measured.
“The Crown does not tolerate clan conflicts any longer, which is why the Crown stations ships along Scotland’s coast. They could be here to put an end to the battles between both the Mackenzies and the Munros.
But the ship could also be a sign that Kenzie and Alastair reached the king and were able to tell him of the Mackenzies’ defiance of the king’s order for peace among the clans. ”
Her fingers toyed with her spoon. “And if they did not?”
Cameron’s hand came to rest on hers, rugged and steady. “Then our spirits will prove stronger and hold what is ours.”
She turned her hand beneath his, their fingers twining. The hall bustled around them with the scrape of spoons, the low murmur of many voices.
“Then let us finish this meal together,” she whispered. “Whatever comes tomorrow, let us face it as one.”
Cameron’s lips curved in the faintest of smiles. He lifted his cup, and she did the same. Their hands brushed as they drank, silent in the fragile peace of that moment.
For all they knew, it would be the last.
*
After supper, Destiny excused herself and retired to her chamber. She doubted she could sleep as she sat on the edge of her bed. The meal in the hall had left her unsettled, not for lack of food, but for the silence between every spoonful, the way men avoided speaking of the morrow.
Her thoughts would not still. Would the Munros stand under threat if not for her father’s relentless grasping after wealth to sustain a life beyond his reach? When he demanded she choose, she chose Cameron—chose this clan. And in doing so, she had brought ruin to the gates of Foulis.
Destiny shuddered and wrapped her arms around herself despite the warmth from the fire. Was there anything she could do to stop her father’s madness? The Mackenzies’ destruction? Or at least prove to the Munros that she did not carry her father’s shadow inside her?
The door creaked open. Destiny looked up, startled, but then eased when she saw Cameron filling the doorway. His plaid was unfastened, his hair damp from the night air, and his face drawn with fatigue. Yet when his eyes found hers, something gentler softened them.
“I thought you might be abed,” he said quietly.
“I cannot sleep,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. “I know I should be thinking solely about the attack, but I find myself worrying about Sorcha.” Her voice thinned. “That she will be rescued. That she will be safe. That my father did not harm her.”
“My men will bring her home,” he said, with a certainty that offered her a fleeting thread of comfort, one that slipped even as she tried to hold it.
Destiny’s gaze drifted past him, towards the dark hills beyond the walls. “And I worry about the battle pressing so close,” she added softly, “and about my father standing at the heart of it.”
Cameron crossed the chamber, slow and measured, until he stood before her. For a long moment he said nothing, only looked at her as if weighing all the words unspoken between them. Then he sat beside her, the mattress dipping under his weight, and his hand finding hers.
“You are not him, Destiny,” he said at last. His voice was low, steady, carrying the weight of certainty. “Whatever he does, whatever vengeance he seeks, it is not on your shoulders. You have carried enough of his burdens.”
Her throat tightened, tears burning her eyes. “But it is my blood, Cameron. When the Mackenzies come, it is because of him. Because of me.”
He cupped her face, turning her towards him. “Nay. They come because they are greedy for land and power, because your father cannot see beyond his own pride. That is not you. You chose differently.” His thumb brushed away a tear before it could fall. “You chose me. You chose this clan.”
Her breath hitched at his words, and then she let go, falling against him.
His arms wrapped around her, strong and sure, pulling her into his chest. For a long time, neither spoke.
They simply held each other in the quiet, the only sounds the crackle of the fire and the steady beat of his heart beneath her cheek.
When at last she tilted her head, his lips were there to meet hers. The kiss was not born of passion alone but of need, of desperation, of the knowledge that tomorrow might take everything from them. His hands slid into her hair, hers clutching at his shoulders, both unwilling to break the moment.
He whispered against her mouth, rough with emotion, “If this is the last night before the walls are tested . . .” His voice was hoarse, breaking. “I would spend it with you.”
Her heart swelled, and for once she did not hesitate. “Then tonight, Cameron, let there be nothing but us.”
His answer was not in words but in the way his mouth found hers again, in the way he eased her back onto the bed, his weight a comfort, his touch reverent and hungry all at once. Their hands moved with urgency, pulling away the barriers of cloth, until only skin met skin, warm and trembling.
Every kiss, every brush of his hand, carried both promise and plea—that they were here, alive, together, in defiance of the darkness gathering beyond the walls.
His hands moved over her breasts, her abdomen, and lower to tease the soft curls at the apex of her legs. Indescribable sensations shot through her. He cupped her buttocks and lifted her gently. “Wrap your legs around me.” His tone was guttural.
She did as he asked and was rewarded when he plunged inside.
She gave a low cry and clutched him with her thighs and hands as his palms held her, sealed her to him.
He slid out and back into her with slow, deliberate thrusts that grew harder, deeper, as flesh met flesh.
She tried to choke back the unbidden cries of pleasure each measured thrust produced, but it was impossible.
Instead, she gave herself over to the ecstasy, arching up, meeting each plunge of his hips with an eagerness that took her breath away.
A groan rumbled from his chest as he braced himself on his arms. Candlelight spilled over him, highlighting the hard lines of muscle and shadow.
Destiny’s breath caught. He had never seemed so unguarded, so utterly real.
Every barrier between them had fallen away.
And in his eyes, she thought she saw something she had never imagined she would.
Not command, not desire alone, but something perilously close to love.
The sight of him above her, the solid warmth of his body pressed to hers, even the faint, musky scent of their joining sent a tremor of pleasure spiralling through her.
She gasped his name as the tension coiled tighter, higher, until it broke in a rush that stole her breath.
Her legs clenched around him, holding him close, refusing to let the moment slip away as wave after wave of pleasure washed over her.