Chapter 22
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Eloise’s head throbbed as she stirred, the last traces of darkness clinging to her senses like a heavy fog. The air was colder here, damp and unfamiliar, carrying the faint scent of stone and neglect. She pushed herself upright, her hands trembling as memory came rushing back in jagged fragments.
The chamber was dim, lit only by a narrow slit of a window, and before she could gather herself fully, the door creaked open. A tall, gaunt figure stepped inside, his presence filling the room with an oppressive weight.
“Awake at last,” he said, his voice low and cruelly amused.
Eloise’s breath caught as she stared at him, revulsion twisting in her stomach.
“Laird Drummond,” she whispered.
He smiled then, though there was nothing kind in it, only cold satisfaction.
“Aye,” he said, stepping closer. “The very man ye thought to escape.”
Eloise forced herself to her feet, her heart pounding. “Let me go,” she demanded, lifting her chin despite the fear clawing at her. “Ye have nay right to keep me here.”
Drummond’s expression darkened, his eyes narrowing as he studied her. “Nay right?” he repeated, his voice dripping with disdain. “Ye humiliated me, lass.”
He took another step closer, looming over her. “I arrived at yer father’s house to claim me bride, only to find she had fled like a coward.”
Eloise clenched her hands at her sides, anger flaring. “I will never marry ye,” she said firmly, though her voice trembled. “Never.”
His smile returned, slower this time, more dangerous. “Ye will,” he said simply. “Or I will see yer family faces death.”
Eloise froze.. “What…?” she breathed, her voice faltering.
Drummond leaned in slightly, his gaze hard and unyielding. “I will burn their lands, take their lives, and leave nothing but ash behind,” he said calmly. “So choose wisely, lass.”
Eloise’s breath hitched, her composure cracking as fear surged through her.
“I thought that would shut ye up,” he added with a sneer, straightening.
Before she could respond, the door opened again, and a guard stepped inside, bowing his head.
“Me Laird,” he said, “we have found the priest. He was deep in his cups, but he is being made ready.”
Drummond’s lips curled into a satisfied smile. “Good,” he said. “Then it is settled. Tell him we will need his services at sunset.”
Eloise’s stomach dropped, dread pooling heavily in her chest.
“Nay,” she whispered, shaking her head. “Ye cannae do this.”
But Drummond had already seized her arm, his grip iron-tight as he dragged her toward the door. “I can, and I will,” he replied coldly.
Eloise struggled, trying to pull free, but his strength was unyielding. “Let me go!” she cried, panic rising.
He ignored her protests, hauling her down the dim corridor with relentless force.
They stopped before another door, which he shoved open without ceremony. He pushed her inside so roughly she stumbled, barely catching herself before falling.
“There are wedding clothes on the bed,” he said sharply from the doorway.
Eloise turned, her heart racing, tears already stinging her eyes.
“I expect ye to be ready by sunset,” he continued, his tone leaving no room for refusal. “Or mark me words, yer family will suffer for yer defiance.”
“Ye monster,” she whispered, her voice breaking.
Drummond only gave a thin, humorless smile. “I am a man who gets what is his,” he replied.
Then the door slammed shut, the sound echoing through the chamber, followed by the unmistakable click of a lock. Eloise stood frozen for a moment, her chest rising and falling rapidly as the silence closed in around her.
Slowly, she turned toward the small window, stumbling forward as hope flickered weakly within her.
She looked out, her breath catching as she realized just how high she was.
The ground below was far too distant, the stone walls sheer and unforgiving.
There would be no escape that way. Her shoulders sagged, the last thread of hope slipping through her fingers.
She tried the door, hoping the lock would give way, but it did not.
Her gaze fell to the bed, where a gown had been laid out in careful arrangement. It was fine, elegant even, but to her it might as well have been chains. She approached it slowly, her hands trembling as she touched the fabric.
“Nay…” she whispered, her voice breaking completely now. Tears spilled down her cheeks, her strength giving way under the crushing weight of her reality.
“I am doomed,” she murmured, sinking onto the edge of the bed.
Her thoughts turned wildly, searching for some way out, some miracle that might save her.
But all she saw was Drummond’s cold face and heard his threat echoing in her mind.
If she refused, her family would suffer.
If she agreed, she would be bound to a man she feared more than death itself.
Her heart ached then, a different pain rising through the fear.
James.
The thought of him came unbidden, sharp and overwhelming.
“I wish…” she whispered softly, her voice trembling. “I wish we had truly married.”
Tears fell faster now, her heart pounding as she pressed a hand to it.
“Then none of this would be happening.”
She bowed her head, her shoulders shaking with quiet sobs, the weight of her choice pressing down upon her. Outside, the day moved steadily toward sunset.
And with it, her fate.
James rode at the front of the company, his cloak snapping behind him as the wind cut across the open hills.
The pounding of hooves beneath him matched the relentless beat of his heart, each stride carrying him closer to the one place he dreaded most. His jaw was clenched so tight it ached, his mind a storm of memory and fear.
He saw Eloise as she had been, laughing, defiant, alive, and the thought of losing that light twisted something deep within him.
If any man lays a hand on her…I will kill him.
Callum rode at his side, casting him a measured glance. “Ye are riding like the devil himself is behind ye,” he said.
James did not slow, his gaze fixed ahead. “It may as well be,” he replied grimly. “I will nae lose her, Callum. I cannae.”
Callum studied him for a moment, then gave a slow nod. “Then we make sure ye daenae,” he said simply.
The dark shape of Drummond’s castle rose in the distance, jagged and imposing against the gray sky. As they drew nearer, the sound of bells reached them, loud, deliberate, and unmistakable.
James’s grip tightened on the reins.
“They have seen us,” Callum said, his voice sharpening.
James’s expression darkened. “Aye,” he said.
The thought of Eloise being forced into that fate sent a surge of cold rage through him. They slowed as they approached the outer grounds, the gates of the castle firmly shut, guards visible along the walls with bows drawn.
Callum leaned slightly toward him. “What is yer plan, then?” he asked.
James scanned the fortress, his mind already working. “The castle is sealed,” he said shortly. “We will nae get through those gates without losing many men.”
Callum frowned. “Then what do we do?”
James turned in his saddle, raising his voice. “Parchment and ink!” he called.
A rider broke from the line and hurried forward, producing the requested items.
“Here, me Laird,” the man said, handing them over. James took them quickly, bending over the saddle as he wrote with swift, decisive strokes. His expression was hard as stone as the message took shape.
When he finished, he folded it and sealed it with force. “Take this,” he said, handing it to the messenger. “Ride to the gates under a white flag.”
The rider nodded, raising the flag before spurring his horse forward. James watched as the man approached the castle, the tension thick in the air.
Callum shifted beside him. “What did ye write?” he asked.
James’s eyes never left the gates. “I told him to come out and face me,” he said coldly. “Or I will tear his castle down, cut off his supplies, and starve every soul within.”
Callum let out a low breath. “That should get his attention,” he muttered.
They watched as the gates remained closed, the messenger being met by a guard. The seconds stretched as the messenger rode back to them.
Callum glanced at him again. “Now what?” he asked.
James did not move, his gaze lifting to the narrow windows of the castle.
“Now,” he said, his voice low and steady, “we wait.”
His eyes searched every shadow, every flicker of movement behind the stone walls. He strained for any sign of her, any glimpse that she was still there, still alive. But there was nothing. Only silence and the distant echo of bells.
“Hold on, Eloise,” he murmured under his breath. “I am coming.”
Then, the gates of Drummond’s fortress creaked open.
A line of armed men rode forth, parting to allow their Laird through, and James felt the weight of every heartbeat like the toll of a war drum.
His eyes locked upon the older man, cold and unyielding, and all thoughts of restraint threatened to shatter beneath the force of his fury.
Callum shifted beside him, murmuring low, “Hold, me Laird… daenae let him draw ye in too quick.”
But James did not answer, for all he saw was the man who had taken Eloise, the man who had once taken his sister. When Drummond halted before him, a cruel smile curling his lips, James straightened in the saddle, every inch the Highland Laird prepared for blood.
“What do ye want, MacAllister?” Drummond called, his voice thick with mockery.
James leaned forward slightly, his gaze like steel. “Ye have something that belongs to me, Miss Eloise Whitmore.”
Drummond barked a laugh, low and ugly. “Belongs to ye? She belonged to me first, lad.”
“Nay,” James snapped, his voice cutting sharp through the air. “She never belonged to ye. She chose to flee ye, and she chooses me now.”
Drummond tilted his head, amused. “Ah, but choice is something women often think they have, but they daenae.”
“Hand her over,” James growled, “and there will be nae bloodshed this day.”
Drummond’s smile widened, crueler still. “Bloodshed? I recall yer sister bled just fine under me roof.”