Chapter Twenty-Two #2
Callum Ross, still wearing Mackenzie tartan, fell into step beside her, every inch the guard he pretended to be.
She might have an ally within this horde, but the danger pressing in around them was all too real.
Callum’s horse drew close, and his hand brushed against hers as though by accident.
A scrap of folded cloth was pressed into her palm.
Her heart jolted. She dared not look, but when the Mackenzies kicked their horses into a gallop, she had just a moment to glance back, open her palm and see a strip of Munro plaid torn from some stolen garment, tied with twine. A signal. But what did it mean?
She clenched her fist a heartbeat later when her father rode beside her. “What is happening? Where are we going?”
“’Tis another day where you will do your duty, my child, for the betterment of your family.” His voice was distant, as though trying to keep himself removed from what was happening.
“Father. Look at me,” she demanded. “I am your blood. Does that not mean anything to you?”
He turned towards her but did not reply.
“I am happy with my marriage to Cameron. Have you not gained enough financially from that? Before I left Clyth Castle, I made certain all the outstanding bills were paid. Your accounts are settled. You have no more debt. If you spend wisely from this day forward, you will be well, wanting for nothing.”
“My life should be about more than simply existing.” He offered her a grim smile. “I could have so much more.”
“But you would not have me.” She straightened. “If you do this, if you kill Cameron, I will never forgive you.”
Destiny’s plea hung between them like a thin, fragile thing that might break with the next gust of wind.
Her father’s face was a mask of lines dug deep, not by years of hard work, but by a man who had learned how to measure people by what they could give him.
For a long moment he did not answer her, only stared into the distance as if counting sums and margins no one else could see.
“You think I do not know of your comforts?” he said at last, his voice low and careful.
“You have finer gowns, warm rooms, a place beside a laird. Those are yours, thanks to me. But there is more to be had, Destiny. Land. Cattle. Bargains that will set our line for another generation.” He leaned closer.
“Once the first bargain is severed, the second alliance with the Mackenzies will set us up for life.”
Her hands went white on the pommel of the saddle. “You speak of bargains despite the human cost.” Her voice broke then. “You would trade my life the same as you would a cow at market. And you would take Cameron’s so that you may advance your agenda. It is a shame we are worth so little to you.”
He shrugged, impatient now. “A man must look forward, child. Sentiment does not buy grain when winter comes. You are of my blood, but blood alone will not feed us. I have given you the chance to lift us out of need. You should have learned gratitude.” There was a hardness there that was almost filial in its expectation.
He truly believed he was doing what any sensible father must.
“Gratitude?” Destiny echoed. “Gratitude is not bartered with a blade at my throat. You have taken my choice from me and call it providence.” Her throat tightened.
The men around them shifted uneasily, and even the horses stamped.
“If you go forward with this, if you let them kill Cameron or force me into some marriage to buy you coin, then know this—I will die before I let you use me again.”
For a moment, a flicker of regret or perhaps surprise worked his jaw. But it passed as quickly as it had appeared.
He straightened in his saddle, and his eyes, cold as flint, met hers.
“You forget who put you where you are.” He tapped the pommel with the butt of his hand.
“I made choices for this family. If you cannot honour those choices or help me get as much from this life as I can, then I have no further need of you.”
Again, he threatened her with death. Destiny’s chest tightened.
Fear and fury warred within her, but beneath those emotions a quieter steel formed.
She thought of Cameron’s hands, of the way he had stood in the breach for Foulis, of the people she had rallied in the courtyard.
She thought of the strip of Munro plaid pressed like a promise against her skin.
“Then you will be remembered as the man who sold his daughter, and possibly murdered her,” she said boldly. “You will stand alone.”
Her father’s face contorted with anger. He gave a short, humourless laugh and flicked his reins.
“I might stand alone, but I will be a wealthy man.” With that he urged his horse forward.
The Mackenzies fell into place around him like a tight black tide, and the column moved on, the clack of hooves swallowing the last of their words.
Destiny sat trembling, the wind tugging at her skirts, the taste of dust bitter in her mouth.
Alone now except for her guards, she cupped her fingers around the small scrap of plaid.
It warmed within her palm, reminding her that all was not lost. As the camp receded into the pale distance, Destiny straightened her shoulders and let the horse carry her forward.
The piece of plaid in her palm was but a small, stubborn hope, and reminded her, alive or dead, she would never be anyone’s pawn again.