Page 16 of The Highlander’s Defiant Bride

She forced her arms tighter around herself, shielding the quiver in her stomach. “And you?” she asked, her voice thinner than she liked.

For a moment, silence stretched between them, filled only by the snap of the fire. He stepped closer, enough that the heat of him curled around her. His gaze dipped to her mouth, then back to her eyes, and her body betrayed her with a flutter low in her belly. She hated that she wanted him to close that inch, even as she wanted to shove him away.

“You will sleep here,” he said evenly. “I will not force what you do not give. Until you are ready, until you ask, I will take my rest in another chamber.”

Destiny blinked, startled. She had steeled herself for demand, for possession, for the claim of a man who had every right by law and clan. Instead, he offered restraint. It unsettled her more than force would have.

“Until I ask?” she repeated, wary.

His mouth curved, not into a smile but something close. “Aye. When the day comes when you need me here, you will say so. Until then, I will not again cross that threshold.”

Relief rushed through her, sharp and dizzying, but it did not come alone. Something else stirred beneath it—unease, curiosity, a faint ache she did not yet trust herself to examine. She had expected ownership. Possession.

Instead, he offered choice. “You assume I ever will,” she whispered.

Cameron’s eyes held hers, steady, dark, full of secrets she could not read. “I do not assume,” he said softly. “I only wait.”

The words left her breathless. She turned away, pretending to study the fire, but every inch of her body still thrummed with awareness of him, of the man who had claimed her, yet chose not to take what was rightfully his.

Behind her, his boots shifted. “I will see to the men. Sorcha will remain with you.” His voice was quieter now, almost gentle. “Rest, Destiny. This is your home, whether you welcome it yet or not.”

And then he was gone, the door closing with a soft thud, leaving her alone in the chamber. Destiny stood for a long moment after Cameron’s departure, listening to the quiet crackle of the fire while her thoughts tangled and spun. Relief came first, it could not be denied, but it did not come alone. It arrived trailing questions she had never expected to ask.

Cameron Munro was not the man she had braced herself for. He was not her father, not demanding, not bent on proving his power through force. Yet what he was remained unclear, and that uncertainty unsettled her more than certainty ever could have. The name Butcher still echoed in her mind; a shadow she did not dare dismiss. And yet, for the first time in her life, she wondered if she might be allowed to discover the truth of a man for herself, rather than accept the shape others had given him. The thought left her uneasy, and quietly curious.

She sat on the edge of the bed, staring into the fire. Relief still pulsed through her, but beneath it lay a dull ache she could no longer ignore. With a soft sound of frustration, she leaned back against the lavender-scented coverlet and fixed her gaze on the carved beams overhead. Her thoughts scattered like leaves caught in a restless wind.

He had spared her the humiliation she had expected. He had not claimed her body as his right, had not forced her into a wedding night. For that, she was grateful.

And yet.

Her skin still tingled where his gaze had lingered, where his warmth had brushed her in the hall, where his hand had briefly enclosed hers before the altar. Heat crept into her cheeks. She clenched the coverlet in her fists, angry with herself for the traitorous stirrings she could not quiet. She had been sold into this marriage to settle her father’s debts. Cameron had taken her life as payment. By every measure she understood, he should have been her enemy.

And yet her heart had leapt at the curve of his mouth, the steadiness of his voice, the contained strength with which he carried himself. She could not decide whether she wanted to push him away for unsettling her so thoroughly or touch him for the same reason.

She rolled onto her side, the emptiness of the bed pressing in around her. Her father had abandoned her to this fate, but Cameron had not staked his claim. He had walked away instead, leaving her restless, shaken, and longing for something she swore she should not want.

Her thoughts returned again and again to the promise in his eyes. Until you are ready. Until you ask.

A shiver traced her spine. As the minutes slipped by, she found herself wondering, not if, but how long she would last before the words escaped her.

Unable to lie still any longer, Destiny rose and crossed to the window, throwing it open as she had the night before. Cool air rushed in, sharp and clean, but it did nothing to ease the tightness in her chest. She sat on the narrow bench, the hem of her wedding gown pooling at her feet. She should have changed into something simpler, but instead she stared out into the courtyard below.

The castle bustled with life; footsteps echoed, distant laughter drifted upward, gardeners bent over flowerbeds while stable hands soothed restless horses. Watching them, Destiny felt suddenly exposed, as though even here, alone, unseen, she were being measured, observed, wondered over.

Not yet a Munro, in truth. Not yet certain of the man she had married. But no longer willing to look away.

Before she could lose herself in this anxious reverie, the door creaked open, and Sorcha stepped in, steady, unobtrusive, familiar.

Destiny smiled. “You are here.”

Sorcha shut the door behind her, then moved to stand a few paces away. “I came as soon as they would let me,” she said simply.

Destiny’s throat went dry.

She looked at her friend. “I am glad,” she said, though her voice wavered. “I need you.”

Sorcha’s eyes, warm and kind, held hers. “It has been a big day. You got married. You are now mistress of this castle.” Just then her gaze lingered on Destiny’s wedding attire. “You are still wearing your dress. I would have thought . . .”