Chapter Twenty #2
His cry met hers, deep and rough, the sound of it blending with her own until neither knew where one ended and the other began.
The candlelight flickered across their skin, gilding them in a soft, golden haze as the world narrowed to the rhythm of their hearts and the shuddering release that left them trembling and spent.
For a time, there was no war, no Mackenzies, no father’s betrayal, only the heat of their union, and the rhythm of their hearts.
At last, he shifted, rolling slightly to one side, keeping her gathered close against his chest. Their breath came ragged and uneven, mingling in the quiet air. The fierce urgency that had driven them moments before melted into a warm, languid peace.
Destiny rested her cheek against Cameron, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath her palm. When he lifted his head, a stray lock of dark hair fell across his brow. She reached up to smooth it back, her fingers lingering there, tracing the line of his temple as if memorising the feel of him.
For a long moment, neither spoke. The silence was full, soft and sacred, broken only by the faint crackle of the fire and the rhythm of two hearts still finding each other in the dark.
Cameron pressed his lips to her hair. “Whatever comes, Destiny, this I will not regret.”
Her hand found his, their fingers locking tight. “Nor I.”
And in the quiet after, with the fire dying low and their bodies still joined in warmth, they held on to one another as if sheer will could keep dawn from coming.
*
Morning came grey and cold, the sun hidden behind a veil of mist. The bells of Foulis tolled to rouse the men, though most had scarcely slept. In the courtyard below, the sounds of preparation began anew—sharpening steel, hauling water, tightening leather straps.
Destiny had awoken alone. Cameron no doubt slipped out of bed in the quiet of the pre-morning.
Missing his presence, Destiny stood at the narrow window of her chamber, her shawl pulled tight around her shoulders.
Behind her, the bed was still warm from the night she and Cameron had stolen together, but the harmony they had clung to was already fading in the light of morning.
The door creaked open. Destiny turned as Cameron entered, already dressed for the day, plaid slung over his shoulder, sword belted at his side.
His eyes softened when he looked at her, but his voice was clipped with the edge of duty. “The eastward scouts have returned. The navy ship has anchored at Invergordon.”
Her breath caught. “Do they come for us?”
He shook his head. “Not yet. The men say the ship lies at harbour, her sails furled, her crew ashore to speak with the magistrate. They fly the king’s colours openly, but we do not yet know their intent.”
Destiny turned back to the window, her fingers tightening on the sill. “Help might be on our very doorstep, and yet the Mackenzies march nearer with siege towers and a ram. Time is not our ally.”
Cameron crossed the chamber, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder. “By nightfall, we will know what their presence means. They could be here to help us, or not.”
The silence stretched between them, heavy with all that meant, until Destiny laid her hand over Cameron’s. “Then until we know, let us do all we can to be ready.”
He drew her into his arms, resting his forehead against hers. “Aye. And when the fight comes, we face it together.”
Destiny closed her eyes, letting Cameron’s body warm her against the chill that had settled inside her.
Beyond the walls, the Mackenzies moved closer, their engines of war no doubt creaking south.
At the harbour, visible from the towers of Foulis, the king’s ship sat idle, its flag snapping in the wind.
Between the two, Foulis waited on the edge of hope, on the border to ruin.
A cry from the watchtower broke through the moment. “Rider from the east. Bearing the king’s banner.”
Dressing in haste, Destiny and Cameron hurried from their bedchamber, down the stairs, and out into the courtyard. Work stilled as every eye turned towards the gates.
The portcullis groaned upward, and a lone rider thundered through, a navy-blue cloak snapping behind him, the crest of the Crown flying from a lance at his back. His horse stumbled to a halt, foam streaking its flanks, and the rider swung down, dropping to one knee before Cameron.
“My laird Munro,” he said, breath ragged. “I come from Captain Greaves of His Majesty’s Navy, anchored at Invergordon.”
A ripple moved through the yard, part relief, part fear. Destiny’s heart leapt.
“Speak plainly,” Cameron demanded. “Has the king heard us?”
The rider lifted his head, his face streaked with dust and sea salt.
“He has. Your brother Kenzie and your uncle Alastair reached the king’s court six days ago.
They delivered the prisoner into royal custody.
His Majesty received them with honour, and word has been dispatched to all loyal commands to support Clan Munro in this conflict.
Captain Greaves has orders to hold at Invergordon and await the arrival of reinforcements from the south. You are not forgotten.”
A cheer went up from the people crowding the courtyard, ragged but fierce. Destiny pressed a hand to her lips, tears burning her eyes. Kenzie. Uncle Alastair. They had made it. They had done what she had urged Cameron to trust them with.
But the messenger’s expression sobered. “I must warn you, my lord, aid from the south will take time. Weeks, perhaps. Until then, Captain Greaves cannot march inland with the men he has. The navy will patrol the coast, but the defence of Foulis lies with you.”
The cheer faltered, the sound dimming to a murmur of unease.
Cameron’s jaw tightened. “Then we hold,” he said, his voice ringing like steel across the courtyard.
“Ride back and tell your captain the Mackenzies march with siege engines at their back. Foulis will not fall before help arrives. When the king’s soldiers reach these gates, they will find our walls, and our people, still standing. ”
The rider bowed low. “I will carry your words, m’laird.”
Cameron stepped closer, laying a steady hand on the man’s shoulder. “Take a fresh horse from the stables and fill your belly before you depart. You have ridden hard to bring this news. Do not ride harder on an empty stomach.”
The rider’s eyes shone with gratitude. “Your kindness honours me, m’laird.” He straightened and led his weary horse towards the stables, renewed purpose in the man’s stride.
As he turned away, Cameron faced the courtyard, his gaze sweeping the gathered men and women. “You heard him. The king knows our plight. Help will come. Until then, we keep the walls strong and our hearts stronger. We will not yield.”
This time the cheers came louder, steadier. The cry of “Munro” shook the walls, and for a heartbeat Destiny felt hope bloom in her chest. The king had heard them. Reinforcements would come.
But she also knew the truth. The Mackenzies were already moving.
Siege towers and a ram were not far behind.
Hope was coming, but until it arrived, they and their brethren stood alone.
The cheer for the king’s name still echoed in the courtyard when the watchtower bell clanged again. Hard, fast, urgent.
“Smoke to the near north,” a guard bellowed. “They’re coming.”
The roar of hope died into silence. Men scrambled for their weapons, while the women gathered the children and rushed for the keep, the portcullis slamming down in a deafening crash.
Cameron’s head snapped up, his jaw set like stone. “To the walls,” he barked. “Archers, ready your bows. Spears to the gates.”
Destiny’s heart slammed against her ribs as she followed the rush towards the battlements. She gripped her shawl tighter, climbing the steps until she could see over the wall.
And there they were.
The Mackenzies stretched across the northern plain, a dark sea of plaid and steel.
Banners snapped in the wind, drums thundered in steady rhythm.
Siege towers rolled forward on thick wheels, taller than the walls of Foulis, their frames bristling with ladders.
Behind them came a heavy ram, chains clinking, oxen straining to drag them south.
The ground itself seemed to shake beneath their advance.
Destiny’s stomach turned cold. Her father was with them. He had to be. Cameron stepped to the wall beside her, his presence a bulwark of calm. His eyes swept the enemy ranks, no doubt measuring distance, counting engines, assessing without a flicker of fear.
“They come in force,” Gavan said grimly, arriving at his brother’s side, his arm now out of this sling. “Twice the number we faced last time.”
Cameron’s mouth was a hard line. “We conquer them nevertheless.” He lifted his voice so that it carried across the battlements, firm and unyielding.
“Do not fear their numbers. Do not fear their engines. These walls have stood a hundred years, and they will stand another hundred. Foulis will not fall!”
A ragged cheer rose from the men, steadied by the strength of his voice. Destiny’s own throat tightened at the sound.
But as the Mackenzie drums pounded louder, the siege towers inching ever closer, she pressed a hand against the stone of the wall and whispered a silent prayer.
Not for herself, but for the people within these walls who had become her people, and for the man beside her, who held their fate in his hands.