Page 10 of The Highlander’s Defiant Bride

He frowned and released a frustrated sigh. “My lady, may I say that you make it damnably hard for a man to rescue you?”

Her eyes widened. “Rescue?”

He stepped back and crossed his arms over his well-muscled chest. “I brought reinforcements to guard you when I heard the Mackenzies were roaming this area, searching for you. If only you had stayed in the carriage.”

Her eyes widened. “Who are you?”

The warrior straightened, appearing even larger than he had a moment before.

He reached for his sword. “You will come down right this moment, or I will chop this tree down.”

Destiny swallowed roughly. This was no standoff with her father. This man was far more dangerous. “I asked who you are.”

His eyes connected with hers, and she had to hold back a shudder at the intensity of his gaze. “I am Cameron Munro. Your soon-to-be husband. I demand you come down from that tree.”

Destiny startled. Her husband? She thought about denying him his request, but no matter how long she resisted, she would have to come down, would have to take this stranger as her husband. With a sigh of irritation, she climbed down. As she reached the bottom limb, he sheathed his sword and reached up, placing his large hands about her waist, gently lowering her to the ground before him.

He frowned as his gaze dropped to the torn edge of her gown and the thin smear of blood against her skin. Something tight flickered in his eyes. “You are injured.”

“Only a scrape,” she said softly. “I was lucky.”

His frown eased as his gaze lifted to her face, the concern in his eyes giving way to quiet curiosity. “Lucky?” His voice thickened. “There is nothing lucky about being attacked.”

Destiny wanted to look away, but she found she could not. As big as he had seemed while chasing her, he appeared even larger up close, seeming to tower over her. A thin white scar crossed his left cheek, ending where his helm must have stopped the blow. The thought crossed her mind that although he would never be mistaken for anything but a fighting man, there was a rugged handsomeness about his face. If only he would smile, if only he would give her some hope that this marriage would be more than a transaction between two clans.

Finally, after a long silence, he said, “If you are willing, I am satisfied.” He stared at her, waiting for a response.

Destiny sucked in a breath and held it. She would have to answer him. She closed her eyes and swallowed. She wanted to cry out that she had no wish to marry him, or anyone else for that matter, but that was no longer an option for her. In fact, there were no other options at all. Her father had set her on this path from which there was no veering.

“Aye,” she answered.

He stepped back, apparently content with her response. “Now, if you please, let us go back to the carriage. I, for one, would like to make it to Foulis before sunset.” He drew his sword as he turned back towards the way they had come, yet then he hesitated, waiting for her to walk beside him.

A gunshot sounded in the distance.

Destiny tensed as her gaze shifted to the opposite side of the forest. Sorcha. “My travel companion. I must find her.”

He nodded, hurrying in the direction of the gunshot. “She was the one who ran in the opposite direction from you?”

“We were trying to survive an unknown assailant,” Destiny replied tartly.

He smirked. “And if I had announced that I was your intended, you would have ceased running?”

“Probably not,” she said honestly. If there had been the slightest chance of escape . . .

“Marriage may not be what either of us wants, but it is the price our fathers have demanded of us.”

Destiny startled at his words but had no time to think on them further as the familiar silhouette of her abandoned carriage emerged from the haze of battle. She scanned the area with fierce urgency. Where was Sorcha? But instead of her friend’s fiery red hair, she saw seven men draped in the Mackenzie clan’s tartan who lay sprawled and motionless on the grass. Behind them stood Cameron’s guards, clad in black. Three remained at the ready, swords in hand, while five others worked in silence, digging graves for the fallen. A flicker of reluctant respect stirred within Destiny, despite the violence that had brought them here. She had expected far worse of Cameron’s men. Instead, they honoured the dead, enemies though they were, ensuring they would be laid to rest rather than left to the mercy of scavenging birds and beasts or the elements.

Shifting her gaze, she saw also that one of the guards who had escorted her and Sorcha was now crammed inside the carriage, alongside the only surviving Mackenzie attacker, shackled hand and foot. “Where is Sorcha?” Destiny asked, unable to keep the panic from rising in her voice.

Cameron ignored her entirely.

When he spoke, his voice was hard and unyielding. “Where is my brother?” Two of his soldiers split left to reveal another figure prostrate on the ground.

“Gavan.” Cameron raced to his side and dropped to his knees, peeling away the blood-damp linen from his brother’s shoulder. The wound beneath glinted cruelly. “’Tis not a sword strike,” he murmured, brow darkening.

“Nay,” Gavan replied, eyes fixed on a distant spot while Destiny’s heart lurched. Sorcha stood there, half-hidden by the guard’s shadows. “I was shot by that woman.”