Page 24 of The Highlander’s Defiant Bride

“That is not the story I was told,” Destiny murmured.

“Stories sharpen with distance,” he said. “Especially when men need villains.”

She glanced at his bandages again, at the careful wrapping despite his being an enemy. “And this?” she asked softly.

His gaze flicked downwards. “Could have been worse. They could have killed me like they did the others. Instead, his men bound me to keep me from bleeding out.” He settled back against the wall before he returned his gaze to her. “I have had much time to think about why. Why spare me? What will it gain?” His brow lifted. “Perhaps your husband wants another conflict with the Mackenzies, one he can blame on them instead of a need for retribution for the loss of his father. Cameron Munro earned the name Butcher for a reason.”

“He has only shown me kindness since my arrival.”

“If you think him gentle, that’s because you’ve yet to see him with a sword in his hand. He may call himself laird, but the world calls him Butcher. And when my kin come for me, you’ll see which name is truer.”

Her grip on the torch trembled, though her voice did not. “You speak with much certainty for a man in chains.”

“I know my people,” the prisoner said, eyes gleaming in the torchlight. “My father will come for me,” he answered without hesitation. “Soon. They will not leave a laird’s son in chains. Whether by bargain or blade.”

“And if they come,” she asked, “what will my husband do?”

The prisoner smiled then, slow, thoughtful, not unkind. “That,” he said, “is what even I cannot say. He is not his father. But neither is he harmless.” His gaze sharpened. “You would do well to remember both truths.”

Destiny nodded once. She had already begun to understand that.

When she turned to leave, the prisoner spoke again, quieter now. “You’ll have to decide which wounds matter most, Gunn. The ones you can see, or the ones men hide behind their names.”

She did not answer. She climbed the stairs, the torchlight bobbing ahead of her, her arm brushing lightly against her side, healed but not forgotten. By the time she reached the great hall, her fear had not vanished, but it had changed shape.

Cameron was there, speaking with his uncle, his stance as commanding as ever. When his gaze found hers across the hall, she saw his expression shift, first to curiosity, then wariness.

She crossed to him without hesitating, though every eye in the hall seemed to follow her. “A word,” she said, her voice low but urgent.

He dismissed Alastair, then turned to her, his brow furrowing. “What is it now, wife?”

Destiny drew herself up, meeting his eyes squarely. She would not be intimidated. “I spoke to the Mackenzie prisoner.”

His jaw tightened, his gaze hard. “You what?”

“I needed to know more about you,” she pressed before he could cut her down.

His brow arched. “You went to an enemy to learn that? What did he tell you?”

“Only things that raised more questions about you.” She shook her head. “But about the Mackenzies. The prisoner seems adamant that his clan will come for him, no matter if you attempt to bargain with them or not. And soon.”

Cameron’s eyes darkened, suspicion sharp as a blade. “We suspected as much already, but we had to send a messenger to try to barter. When he returns, we will know their intent and how we must answer it.”

“And if the messenger does not return?” Destiny asked quietly.

His jaw set. “Then that, too, is an answer.” A beat passed. “I do not intend to wait unprepared. The men are already mustering, should words fail us.”

Destiny watched Cameron then and felt something shift deep within her. The stories she had grown up hearing painted him as ruthless, a man quick to answer every slight with war. The prisoner had offered a different account, not kinder, but more complicated. And now, standing before her, she saw the truth taking shape. He was a man prepared for violence while trying to prevent it.

The danger to the clan was real, no longer distant or theoretical, and she understood with sudden clarity that she did not stand outside it, watching from safety. She stood within it, bound to its fate. And to her own surprise, she found she wanted, fiercely, to help him keep his people safe.

The silence between them stretched, taut and fragile. Around them, the hall’s murmur dimmed, men watching how their laird would answer. His gaze softened, not into trust, but into something measured and hard-won.

At last, Cameron spoke. “You should not have gone there alone,” he said, restrained anger threading his voice. “It was reckless.”

Destiny nodded once. “Perhaps it was, but the danger is real. If the Mackenzies strike, it will not be only you who bears the cost. It will be every man, woman, and child under your protection.”

For a heartbeat, he said nothing.