Chapter Twenty-Three
Destiny rode in the direction of Foulis Castle, surrounded by six guards whose horses moved in unison.
Their gazes were fixed ahead of them, not really paying attention to Destiny, giving her time to work the ropes about her wrists.
They burned against her flesh as she stretched the bindings, rewarded as the ropes eased.
The breeze whipped the loosened tendrils of hair from her plait about her face.
Even so, she could clearly see the ridge rising sharply ahead of them.
Once over the ridge, they would be on Munro land.
As they crested the lip, on the opposite side of the ridge were line after line of Cameron’s warriors. Destiny smiled at the sight. He had chosen the high ground, the slope and rock working to his advantage. Even outnumbered, he had made the land itself his ally.
The Mackenzies slowed, reforming into ranks. The men around her tightened until only a hand’s-width separated their horses from her own. They were not willing to give her any way to escape when their enemy was so near.
The laird of the Mackenzies, broad and grey-bearded, spurred his horse forward. “The Munros will learn what it means to betray us,” he snarled, loud enough for her and all his men to hear. “They delivered one of ours to the king. Today, we will deliver their laird to the grave.”
A murmur rippled through the Mackenzie line, raw and vengeful.
Destiny’s stomach twisted. The Mackenzies still outnumbered the Munros two-to-one. Her father rode near the Mackenzie laird, his expression a mask of cold satisfaction.
When he turned towards her, there was no pity in his eyes. “You will stand beside the Mackenzie chief’s son,” he ordered. “You will be wed before the sun sets whether the Munro bastard falls or not. So do not get any ideas, daughter.”
The reverend perched on a nervous horse beside the Mackenzie chief, his face pale as parchment, his hands shaking around the worn leather of his prayer book.
“My lords,” his voice quavered, “this cannot be sanctioned. The lady’s husband still lives. This is no marriage, but a sin.”
The Mackenzie laird sneered at the man’s discomfort. He reached out and backhanded the book from the cleric’s grip, sending it tumbling into the mud.
A ripple of unease swept through the Mackenzie warriors.
Men shifted in their saddles, glancing at one another, clearly unsettled to see anyone, let alone their laird, raise a hand against a man of God.
Several men stared at the reverend’s prayer book in the mud as though expecting lightning to strike for such sacrilege.
“Then pray harder,” he growled. “Once the Munro’s blood stains the earth, the lady will be free enough.”
Destiny’s pulse thundered in her ears. She cast a quick glance towards Callum, who was riding beside her. His face remained carefully blank. Then his jaw tightened, and he gave her the smallest nod.
That was all she needed.
As the horse on her other side edged closer, Destiny leaned in the saddle and snatched the knife from the guard’s belt in one swift, reckless motion.
Pain flared as she sawed at her own bindings, her wrists still loosely tied, but free enough now to work.
The blade bit, the cords frayed, and at last they gave beneath her trembling fingers.
At the same instant, Callum moved. He reached for the reins of the nearest horse, loosening its tether just enough to sow confusion, then shifted his own mount aside, opening a narrow gap in the line.
Destiny did not hesitate. She flung the knife away, thrust the small piece of plaid into her bodice, then grasped her saddle with her numb hands, tightened her thighs around her horse, leaned forward, and kicked. Her horse bolted through the opening.
“Stop her.” Shouts erupted behind her, but she was already free, the wind tearing at her hair as hooves thundered beneath her. Arrows hissed past, one grazing her shoulder, but she did not stop.
Ahead, she could see the ridge rising, sunlight glinting off steel. Cameron’s men stirred at the sight of a lone rider bursting from the enemy’s ranks.
The Munros, Sutherlands, and Rosses roared as one, shields slamming together, their battle cries echoing down the valley. The Mackenzies charged, the ground vibrating with the weight of men and war.
Destiny reined her horse towards the Munro line, breath burning in her chest. Behind her, the sky erupted into darkness as arrows rained down, their hiss slicing past her ears. The thunder of the Mackenzies in pursuit shook the ground beneath her.
Then she saw him.
Cameron broke from the Munro ranks, charging towards her like a force unto himself, every line of his body carved with urgency.
She urged her horse faster. The world dissolved into chaos around her as the two armies collided. Some men fell while others surged forward. The valley reverberated with the sounds of fury and death.
But all she saw was Cameron.
She pushed her mount up the rocky ridge, but the incline betrayed her. The horse stumbled, hooves slipping on loose stone. The world lurched sideways, and Destiny was thrown from her horse. She hit the ground hard, pain bursting through her palms as they ground against unforgiving rock.
Before she could even gather breath, Cameron’s horse stopped beside her. He dismounted and pulled her upright, gathering her into him with a desperation that stole what little breath she had left.
For a heartbeat, the battle faded. She felt only his arms around her, the hammering of his heart against her cheek, the raw relief in the way he held her.
“I thought I had lost you,” he said, his voice rough, frayed at the edges as he searched her from head to toe for any sign of abuse.
“I am well,” she whispered, clutching his tunic as if she could hold them both in this single, fragile moment. “And you will never lose me.” Her grip tightened. “They mean to wed me to the Mackenzie laird’s eldest son, before your eyes, then kill you.”
He drew back just enough to look at her, the fire in his gaze fierce and unmistakable, a restraint stretched thin to breaking.
“Over my dead body,” he said, his voice a low, lethal promise.
“They have a cleric,” Destiny went on, anger sharpening her words more than fear ever could. “My father rides with them.”
Something savage flared in his eyes then, hot and unrelenting. “He will never use you again,” Cameron said, each word driven by iron resolve. “Never.” His hand came up to cradle her face, steady and certain. “You are everything to me. Everything.”
An arrow shrieked past them, close enough that she felt the force of it lift a strand of her hair before burying itself in the dirt beside them.
Cameron cupped her face, his rough palms unsteady against her skin. “Listen to me. Run behind the line. Stay with the healers. I will find you when this is done.”
Destiny shook her head, her fingers fisting in his tunic. “Nay.” Her voice broke with the strength of it. “I will not hide while you fight for me. This time, I stand with you.”
Another arrow struck the ground behind them as the battle drew closer.
But Destiny felt only the fire between them, her resolve meeting his fear.
And she knew, as he looked at her, that he understood.
She was done running. Done being used. Done being silent.
Whatever happened next, she would face it at his side.
Their gazes locked, and for an instant something deep and unspoken passed between them until Cameron drew her close, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “Then stay close,” he murmured. “I will not let this day be our last.”
He turned, raising his sword just as the Mackenzies crested the ridge. Their roars shook the air as they surged forward. Cameron stood, forcing her behind him, his blade flashing as the first attackers struck.
Destiny had never been more frightened in her life. Even so, she reached for the weapon of a fallen warrior, and with the weight steady in her grip, she rose.
Whatever happened next, she would not run.
She had spent her whole life being pushed, bartered, silenced—but not today.
Not here. As the ridge erupted in battle, Destiny planted her feet beside Cameron.
They fought together—not as laird and lady, but as equals bound by something stronger than blood or vengeance.
The world dissolved into chaos. Steel rang against steel, men screamed, horses reared, and arrows struck bodies with sickening, final thuds. The noise battered her from every side, a relentless roar that swallowed reason and fear alike.
Destiny’s sword felt wrong in her grip, too heavy, too long, unbalanced, as though it belonged to someone twice her size.
Her arms shook with the effort from the moment she raised it.
Her palms burned. She could not remember how Cameron had shown her to stand, how to angle her shoulders or her feet.
But she refused to let the blade fall.
Each time she lifted it, the metal wavered. Each time she brought it down, her muscles screamed. She was no warrior; she could feel that truth in every shaking breath, but she met the fray all the same, teeth clenched, heart pounding, determined not to falter.
She was untrained. She was afraid. But she stood with him.
She fought because there was nothing else left to do.
Each time she swung, she saw another face twisted in hate, and she fought harder for Cameron, for his kin, for all the little children who deserved to live another day.
Her arms burned, her lungs were desperate for air, her dress was shredded at the sleeves, and still she pressed forward, not for glory, but for survival.
“Behind me,” Cameron shouted again, his voice rough and urgent, and she obeyed, stumbling into the narrow space of safety his body created. His back was a wall of protection, broad and unyielding.
As the battle raged on, she drew a startled breath as she looked at the man who shielded her. Never had she loved so fiercely. Never had she known fear so sharp.
The Mackenzies came in waves, their rage like fire, shouting curses of vengeance. Traitors, king’s dogs, oath-breakers. They fought for blood, not justice. They fought because they could not bear the shame of being denied.
A blow caught her shoulder, drawing a sliver of blood. She cried out, staggering. Cameron’s sword flashed, and her attacker was gone.
“Stay down,” he shouted, but when he turned to face the next man, she saw the fatigue in his movements, the way his breath rasped. He was running on sheer will alone.
“Cameron,” she gasped. “Behind us.”
He spun in time to block the blade aimed at his spine. But another Mackenzie lunged from the flank, his sword raised for a killing blow.
Destiny did not think. She acted. Her arm came up, the borrowed sword heavy but sure in her grasp, and she drove it forward with all her strength.
The blade struck true, sliding between the man’s ribs.
His eyes went wide, the sound that left his throat half-gasp, half-disbelief, before he crumpled to the ground.
For an instant, the world went still.
Her stomach clenched, her breath caught, as the weight of what she had done hit her. She looked down at her hands, slick with sweat and blood, and for a moment, she feared she might be sick. But then her gaze lifted, finding Cameron.
He stood before her, fierce and unyielding, his sword flashing as he turned back another attacker. The morning light caught the lines of his face, revealing grit, exhaustion, resolve. Not cruelty. Never cruelty.
The truth struck her hard. He is not a butcher.
This violence was not savagery. It was sacrifice. Protection. Every swing of his sword was not born of hunger for death, but of desperate love for his clan, for his people, for her.
The tremor in her hands stilled. She understood, finally, what he carried on his shoulders every day. The weight, the duty, the endless choosing of who must live so others might not die.
“I see you, Cameron,” she whispered, though her voice was lost in the chaos. “I understand now.”
She tightened her grip on the sword, steadied her breath, and stepped to his side. No longer frightened of the man who fought beside her, but proud to fight for what he fought for.
*
He felt the shift before he saw it. The sudden nearness of Destiny, the ring of steel that was not his own. He turned just in time to see her sword slide home, her face pale but unflinching as the Mackenzie fell at her feet.
For a heartbeat, the battle noise dulled, drowned beneath the pulse roaring in his ears. He reached for her, half in fear she had been hurt, half in disbelief.
“Destiny.”
But she was already steadying herself, shoulders squared, breath coming in hard, even bursts. Her gaze met his and what he saw there stole the words from his tongue—no terror, no doubt, no revulsion. Only fierce resolve and understanding.
In her eyes, he saw the truth she had never spoken before. She knew now what it meant to fight. To protect. To hold others’ lives in one’s hands, as he did.
And she no longer feared him for it.
Cameron’s chest ached with something deeper than pride. It was love, sharp and unexpected, cutting through the chaos like sunlight breaking through storm clouds.
“Stay close,” he said hoarsely, his hand brushing hers for the barest instant before he turned back to the fray.
But even as he fought, he was aware of her beside him. The swing of her arm. The defiance in her stance. The quiet, fierce grace that set her apart from every soul on that field.
She had once feared him as the Butcher. Now she fought beside him as his equal. And in that moment, Cameron Munro knew that whatever happened next, he would live—or die—utterly devoted to his Highland bride.