Chapter Twenty-Two
The courtyard smouldered, smoke rising in thin trails from the battered gates and scorched timbers. Men staggered to the infirmary, their wounds bound hastily, while women knelt beside the fallen with whispered prayers. The night smelled of ash and blood.
Cameron stood at the centre of it all, sword still loose in his hand, his chest heaving.
Torchlight burned hot against his skin, shadows shifting at the edges of his vision.
His people, wounded, weary, frightened, looked to him, and he knew for the first time that they saw not only their laird but also a man who had just watched his wife taken from him.
“What now?” Gavan asked. His voice trembled as though he already feared the answer.
For a heartbeat, Cameron could not speak. The urge to order an immediate charge clawed at him, to tear through the darkness until he found her. But Destiny’s last words echoed in his brain, Do not yield. Trust me, Cameron.
He closed his eyes, forcing himself to breathe, to master the storm within.
When he spoke, his voice was iron. “We hold the walls. We do not break ranks. Scouts will shadow their camp, but no one moves without my word.”
There was a murmur of unease, but no one defied him. They needed his strength, even as grief hollowed him. He sheathed his sword with a hard snap and strode towards the keep. Only when the heavy doors shut behind him did the mask crack, leaving him alone with the truth.
He had let her be taken.
*
Destiny’s arms ached where ropes bit into her wrists. She stumbled as her captors dragged her through the camp, the jeers of warriors following her every step. The flicker of firelight threw grotesque shadows across faces hungry for vengeance.
Her father strode ahead, tall and unyielding, as though parading her for the Mackenzies’ approval. When at last he halted before their chieftain’s tent, he turned to face her, his expression a mask of satisfaction.
“You see now, lass?” he said, his voice low, meant for her alone. “I wed you to the Munro because it served my purpose. Now that it does not, there are better things ahead for you.”
“Better? Sold to yet another clan for your benefit?” Destiny stiffened her spine despite the tremor in her limbs. “Cameron is my husband. I will have no other.”
His mouth twisted. “While he lives, he is your husband. That is easily remedied. But you also give the man too much credit. He’ll let you rot in my hands before he risks his walls.”
Her throat tightened, but she forced herself not to flinch at the threat of Cameron’s death. “Even if he betrays me, I will not betray him again.”
A spark of fury lit her father’s eyes at that, but he only jerked his hand towards the guards. “Take her inside. She’ll see soon enough where loyalty leads.”
Dragged into the tent, Destiny stumbled to her knees, the canvas walls heavy with the smell of smoke and steel. She closed her eyes, summoning the image of Cameron on the battlements. She saw his dark eyes, heard his steady voice, felt the weight of his hand when it had lingered on hers.
This is not the end, she told herself.
But as the laughter of the Mackenzies rose outside, mocking and cruel, Destiny felt the cold bite of despair creep into her bones.
*
The great hall lay in uneasy silence, and shadows flickered along the walls where only a few torches burned. Cameron stood at the head of the long table, his fists braced against the wood. His warriors gathered around him, their faces lined with exhaustion, their wounds fresh.
Gavan slammed his good fist against the table. “We cannot sit idle while they have taken your wife. We must ride—”
“And ride into what?” Cameron snapped, his voice sharp enough to cut. “They outnumber us, and they hold her in the heart of their camp. To rush in now is to throw our lives away and doom Destiny with us.”
The hall fell quiet.
Cameron straightened, his gaze sweeping over the faces of his men.
“We do not act in haste. We prepare. Scouts will shadow the Mackenzies’ movements.
Archers will watch the ridges. When the Mackenzies return to finish us off, because they cannot leave this feud between us unfinished, we will be ready.
And when they grow careless, we will take her back. ”
Gavan’s jaw tightened, but he gave a reluctant nod. The others murmured their agreement.
Cameron dismissed them, his mask of command firmly in place. But when the last warrior left and the hall doors closed, he dropped heavily into a chair, dragging his hand over his face.
Destiny’s laughter came unbidden to his mind.
’Twas a sound he had heard only yesterday at the picnic.
It had startled him then, lit something inside him he had not dared to name.
And now it haunted him. He had lost her once through betrayal, and though she had come back to him, he had not trusted her fully.
And now she had been forcibly taken from him.
He prayed her father would protect her from further harm at the hands of the Mackenzies.
Cameron swore under his breath, his hand clenching. He could not lose her for good. Not this time.
*
The Mackenzie tent was dim, the canvas walls rippling faintly in the night breeze.
Smoke from the campfires outside drifted in, carrying the sharp scent of peat and ale.
Destiny sat on a low stool, her wrists rubbed raw from the ropes that bound them.
Her body ached, but her spirit, though bruised, was no longer broken.
Outside, the Mackenzies laughed and jeered, their voices coarse with drink and false confidence. They thought her defeated. They thought she would bend.
She closed her eyes. Once, I might have.
She drew in a measured breath and let it out slowly. The past few days had stripped everything away—her illusions, her obedience, even the faint hope that her father loved her. And yet, in losing all of that, she had found something far greater.
Since coming to Foulis, she had learned what strength truly was.
It was not the kind her father wielded through manipulation and greed, nor the kind the Mackenzies tried to claim through violence.
It was quieter, steadier. The kind Cameron carried in his voice when he gave orders, in the way he looked at his people, in the way he had looked at her.
He had given her something no one else ever had. Belonging. True family. Love.
Tears burned behind her eyes, but she refused to let them fall.
Instead, she closed her eyes, bowed her head, and whispered into the flickering shadows, “Thank you for sparing me from death, and from blindness. I see now what I could not before. My father’s heart is lost to greed, but mine is free. And as long as there is life, there is hope.”
She pressed her eyes closed all the harder and added in a barely audible voice, “Watch over Cameron. Keep him safe until I can stand beside him again.”
The night wind sighed against the tent. Somewhere beyond, she thought she heard the faint cry of a night bird. For the first time since her capture, her heart steadied and a voice inside her replied, With life, there is hope. And with hope, there is him.
The flap of the tent rustled, breaking her reverie.
A shadow crossed the lantern’s light.
One of the guards stepped into the tent, his movements unhurried, deliberate. He carried a cup of water and set it before her, his gaze lifting just long enough for Destiny to recognise him.
Callum Ross. The huntsman of Foulis. Her breath caught, but he gave a subtle shake of his head, a warning. Not yet.
“You should drink,” he muttered, pitching his voice low and dull, as if already bored with the task.
Destiny lifted the cup with shaking hands, her eyes never leaving his face.
Callum bent as if to adjust the ropes at her wrists, his broad shoulders momentarily blocking the view of the tent entrance.
His fingers worked quickly, practised and sure, loosening the bindings just enough to ease the bite without drawing notice.
“Cameron sent me,” he murmured, so softly the words barely stirred the air. “I am here to get you out.”
Relief struck her hard enough to make her dizzy.
“Why risk this?” she whispered.
His jaw set. “Because no man has the right to use a woman as leverage.” His eyes flicked towards the tent flap. “And because my laird does not abandon his own.”
Hope flared. Destiny leaned closer, keeping her voice low. “Tell me what you know. How do they mean to strike?”
Callum’s mouth thinned. “At dawn. They intend to use you to draw Cameron from the safety of his men, force him into the open.” He paused. “Your father agreed to it.”
Her stomach turned. “And if that fails?”
“Then they move on Foulis with everything they have.” His gaze met hers, steady and grim. “Which is why I will help you escape when morning comes.”
Her heart hammered. She caught his sleeve with her loosened hands. “Cameron must be warned.”
“He will be,” Callum said quietly. “But first, you must survive the night.”
Footsteps sounded outside the tent.
Callum straightened at once, resuming the careless posture of a guard doing his duty. He gave her one last look, promise and resolve bound together, then slipped back through the flap without another word.
Destiny exhaled slowly, steadying herself.
Cameron had not forgotten her.
If she could hold on, if Callum could do what he came to do, there was still a chance.
She closed her eyes and whispered into the darkness, “Let morning come swiftly and let it find us both alive.”
*
The next morning, Destiny’s wrists were raw, her arms aching, but she kept her back straight as she was hauled to her feet, dragged to a horse, and thrust upon it. Her father rode ahead, his eyes cold. But not all eyes were cruel.