Page 45 of The Highlander’s Defiant Bride

Destiny’s pulse raced, her breath turning shallow as the truth closed in from all sides. She stood caught once more between two men and two futures, neither of which she could reach without blood on her hands. If she spoke now, telling her husband the truth, Sorcha would pay for it. If she stayed silent, Cameron remained safe from a choice that could destroy what little peace he had managed to hold.

When the music ended, Destiny stepped back abruptly and left her father standing there. Let them all think her rude, if they must. She could not endure another heartbeat in his grasp. Her breath came in uneven bursts as she moved away, one hand pressed to her stomach to quell the sick, rolling dread there. She should never have let Cameron invite him to Foulis. Fool that she was, she had hoped that blood might count for something, that a father might come to bless his daughter’s marriage, if not her happiness.

Instead, he had cornered her among the dancers, his grip bruising, his voice low with threats meant for her alone. Worse than the threat itself was the look in his eyes—not fear, not desperation, but calculation. He had come with a plan. And once again, she was the piece he intended to sacrifice. There was nothing left between them worth saving. But Sorcha was a different matter entirely.

Her feet carried her back to Cameron without conscious thought. He turned the moment she drew near, as though he felt her unease before she spoke. His eyes searched her face with unsettling precision.

“Are you well?” His voice was low, meant for her alone.

She forced her features into calm and brushed her hand against his sleeve, grounding herself in the solid warmth of him. “Of course. It was only a long set. I needed a breath.”

The lie tasted bitter. Guilt gnawed at her even as she spoke it. Not because she intended betrayal, but because she did not yet know how to protect Sorcha without destroying Cameron’s trust. She needed time to find a way forward that did not end with bloodshed at his gates or on her hands.

Cameron studied her a moment longer, his brows creasing, but he did not press her. He offered her space instead, a kindness that cut deeper than suspicion would have. Later, when the music resumed, he asked her to dance as though nothing had changed.

And when the last strains of the music signalled the night’s end, he offered his arm and escorted her from the hall. The warmth of him beside her steadied her steps, even as her heart fractured quietly within her. She walked beside him as his wife, her face composed, carrying a secret that could shatter them both, and knowing she could not speak it aloud. Not tonight. Not while Sorcha’s life hung in the balance.

When they reached her chamber, he lingered at the threshold. His hand rested lightly on hers, and for a moment he seemed almost uncertain, a rare thing for Cameron Munro. Then his gaze deepened, softened, carrying a question she had not expected, a hope she had not dared to imagine. He wanted more—more than alliance, more than duty.

Her breath caught. God help her, she wanted it too. Wanted desperately to know affection, to taste tenderness at least once in her life before she destroyed everything. For she knew the truth. When she obeyed her father’s command, when she released the Mackenzie prisoner, Cameron would see it as betrayal. He would never forgive her. He would cast her from Foulis, strip away the only home she had begun to believe might be hers.

Still, her heart cried out against the emptiness she had known all her days. Could she not take this one night? One night in her husband’s arms before she broke them both?

Chapter Fourteen

Destiny’s fingers trembled as they tightened on Cameron’s hand, torn between longing and dread, between loyalty and fear.

Cameron pushed open the heavy oak door, his hand steady at the small of her back as he guided her into the room. The fire had already been lit, casting a soft glow across the chamber, and the familiar scents of peat and heather wrapped around her. Destiny’s pulse raced, though not from fear of the man at her side. It was fear of herself, of how much she wanted him in this moment, and how fleeting that desire must be.

He closed the door behind them, the sound a quiet finality that made her heart stutter. She turned, uncertain, but Cameron was already there before her, his expression gentled in a way she had never seen in any man’s eyes when turned upon her.

“Destiny,” he said softly, her name almost reverent. His hand lifted, brushing an errant curl from her cheek, callused fingers lingering just long enough to make her shiver. “I asked you . . .”

“You were right, Cameron.” Her throat constricted. “I am ready and I am asking. You have given me more than I ever expected. More kindness, more trust, more care than I have ever known. If you wish more tonight, then so do I.” Desire and sorrow coiled inside her.

She longed to confess what her father had asked her, to spill every secret, but the words stuck fast as the heat of his touch drove all else from her thoughts. Relief flickered across his face, followed by something stronger. Desire, but tempered with the restraint she had come to know in him, flared in his eyes. Slowly, as though she might yet pull away, he drew her into his arms. His warmth surrounded her, his heartbeat steady against her cheek, and she let herself sink into the embrace.

But even as his lips brushed hers, tender and searching, her heart split in two. How could she allow herself one night of belonging when by dawn she might set in motion the act that would shatter him? Would he see it as her attempt to spare him the impossible choice? Or would he see only betrayal, a wife who traded his trust for her father’s life?

When he lifted her into his arms and carried her towards the bed, she closed her eyes against the flood of guilt and longing alike. God forgive her, she thought as his lips found hers again, fiercer now. If this is all she was to be granted, let the consequences be damned. One night. One night before it all ended.

Cameron set her gently on the edge of the bed, his hand lingering at her waist as though he feared she might vanish if he let go. Destiny’s breath came quick, her palms flat against the coverlet to steady herself. Every moment she had spent with him until now, every conversation, every unguarded look, had led to this. Yet the secret she carried made the closeness feel like both her salvation and her doom.

He knelt before her, an act that startled her so much that her lips parted in protest, though no words came. His eyes were level with hers, dark and unflinching, yet filled with a tenderness that unmoored her.

“You have been thrust into a life you did not choose,” he said, his voice low, steady. His hand brushed her cheek, thumb grazing her lower lip. “You are not only my ally, Destiny. You are my wife. And I would have you as such.”

Her heart twisted, torn between the fear of tomorrow and the ache of this moment. She should pull away, confess the plight she found herself in before his touch became something she could not bear to lose. Yet when his thumb lingered against her mouth, a shiver coursed through her, and she leaned into his hand instead of away.

“Cameron,” she whispered, his name catching like a prayer on her lips.

Desire flared in his gaze, but also a dawning warmth, as if her words, her surrender of that single barrier, had cracked open something inside him. Slowly, he bent and pressed his lips to hers.

The kiss was not fierce at first, but careful, exploratory. His breath mingled with hers, the roughness of his jaw grazing her skin, and she felt herself unravel beneath the gentleness of it. Every heartbeat seemed to hammer against the secret she held, every stroke of his lips told her what trust she stood to break. And yet her body answered him, her hands rising of their own accord to clutch at his shoulders, to draw him closer.

When the kiss deepened, her head swam. His hand slid to cradle the back of her neck, steadying her as though she were something precious. She had never been precious to anyone. Not her father, not her kin. But to Cameron, in this moment, she was.

She drew back for an instant as her throat tightened. Tell him the truth, her conscience screamed. But she could not, not with his breath warm against her skin, not when every part of her longed for him.