Chapter Thirty-Four
Lachlan did not remember drawing his sword. Only it was suddenly in his hand and Claire was walking away.
“Nay.” The word tore from him, raw and useless.
She did not turn.
Every instinct in him screamed to go after her—to seize her, to drag her back, to damn the consequences and let the world burn if it must.
His men shifted behind him, waiting. Waiting for his command for war.
Connor’s voice cut low at his shoulder. “Say the word.”
Lachlan’s grip tightened on the hilt until his knuckles blanched.
Say the word and they’d ride forward, cut them down. Take her back.
The path was clear.
Simple.
Bloody.
And it would end with Claire caught in the middle of it.
Or worse, dead.
He watched her walk toward her father.
Watched the straight line of her spine. The unflinching lift of her chin.
She was not being led. She was choosing.
The realization struck harder than any blade.
“She trusts you,” Shamus said quietly. “To hold.”
Lachlan exhaled harshly.
Aye.
And if he broke now, if he let rage rule him, he would prove her wrong.
Slowly, with visible effort, Lachlan lowered his sword. “Stand down,” he said.
The words tasted like ash. Behind him, the Camerons did not move at once.
“Stand down,” he repeated, sharper.
Steel lowered. Tension did not.
Across the stones, Lord Ashford watched with cool satisfaction as Claire reached him.
“Wise,” the man said.
Lachlan’s gaze never left Claire.
“If ye harm her,” he said, his voice carrying across the space between them, “there will be no corner of this land where you will find peace.”
A faint smile touched Ashford’s mouth. “You mistake me for a man who values peace.”
Claire mounted the waiting horse without assistance. She did not look back.
Not once.
Lachlan felt it like a blade sliding between his ribs.
His brother gave an arrogant salute before turning and following Ashford.
The English riders turned as one, folding around her like closing jaws. Hooves struck damp earth. Cloaks snapped in the wind.
And just like that—
She was gone.
The mist swallowed them and the stones stood silent once more.
For a long moment, no one spoke.
Then Ian said, “We let them take her.”
Lachlan sheathed his sword with a force that echoed. “Nay,” he said with a hard edge to his tone. “We did not let them take her.”
He turned, eyes scanning the terrain, the ridges, the paths. “We let them believe they have won.”
Connor’s brow furrowed. “And have they not?”
Lachlan looked back toward the empty horizon where Claire had vanished.
A slow, devilish smile touched his mouth.
“No’ yet.”
# # #
They rode hard back to Raven’s Berry.
The keep rose from the mist like a promise and a challenge.
By the time they reached the gates, Lachlan’s mind had already begun to shift from loss to strategy.
“Gather the captains,” he ordered as he dismounted. “In the hall. Now.”
Word spread quickly.
Within moments, the great hall filled—warriors damp from the ride, voices low and tense, eyes fixed on their laird.
Maddy stood near the hearth, her gaze sharp. “Where is she?”
Lachlan met her eyes.
“She went with him.”
A flicker of grief crossed Maddy’s face, but no surprise. “She chose it,” she said.
“Aye.”
Maddy nodded once. “Then she had reason.”
A knot formed low in his stomach. “Aye.”
He turned to the gathered men. “They believe they hold the advantage,” he said. “They believe we will react with anger. With haste. With desperation.”
A murmur of agreement.
“They are no’ wrong,” one of the captains muttered.
Lachlan’s gaze snapped to him. “They are.”
Silence fell.
“We will not ride blindly into their trap,” Lachlan continued. “We will not meet them on the grounds of their choosing.”
“Then what do we do?” Connor asked.
Lachlan stepped forward, bracing his hands on the table. “We think as Claire does.”
The words settled over the room. Unexpected. Powerful.
“She walked into his hands knowing the risk,” Lachlan said. “Which means she believes she can survive what comes next.”
“And if she cannae?” someone asked quietly.
Lachlan’s expression did not change. “Then we make certain he does not survive it either.”
A grim murmur followed.
“But she did no’ go to die,” Lachlan continued. “She went to change the game.”
The men murmured.
He straightened. “And so will we.”
Maddy crossed her arms. “Ye have a plan.”
“Aye.” His gaze swept the room. “They expect us to defend. We will attack.”
The word landed like thunder.
“No’ their full force,” Lachlan said. “No’ yet. We strike where they donna expect. Supply lines. Outposts. We weaken them before they realize we have begun.”
Shamus’ eyes lit. “Make them turn back to protect their own.”
“Aye.”
“And in the meantime?” Maddy asked.
Lachlan’s gaze flicked toward the door. Toward the world beyond. “Claire bought us time,” he said. The words cost him. “But we will not waste it.”
Silence held for a moment longer.
Then Shamus grinned—sharp and wolfish. “Now that sounds like a proper fight.”
A ripple of agreement followed. Steel shifted. Resolve hardened.
Lachlan let it build. “We bring her home,” he said, quietly but with deadly certainty.
That night, Lachlan stood alone on the ridge above the keep.
The rain had cleared. Stars burned cold and bright above the Highlands. Wind moved over the loch, whispering through the grass.
He could still see her as she had walked away.
Unflinching.
Unbroken.
Braver than any warrior he had ever known.
“Ye had better survive this,” he murmured into the night. His hand closed at his side. “Because I am coming for ye, my English Rose.”
And God help any man who stood in his way.