Page 69 of The Highlander’s Defiant Bride

The night wind sighed against the tent. Somewhere beyond, she thought she heard the faint cry of a night bird. For the first time since her capture, her heart steadied and a voice inside her replied, With life, there is hope. And with hope, there is him.

The flap of the tent rustled, breaking her reverie.

A shadow crossed the lantern’s light.

One of the guards stepped into the tent, his movements unhurried, deliberate. He carried a cup of water and set it before her, his gaze lifting just long enough for Destiny to recognise him.

Callum Ross. The huntsman of Foulis. Her breath caught, but he gave a subtle shake of his head, a warning. Not yet.

“You should drink,” he muttered, pitching his voice low and dull, as if already bored with the task.

Destiny lifted the cup with shaking hands, her eyes never leaving his face. Callum bent as if to adjust the ropes at her wrists, his broad shoulders momentarily blocking the view of the tent entrance. His fingers worked quickly, practised and sure, loosening the bindings just enough to ease the bite without drawing notice.

“Cameron sent me,” he murmured, so softly the words barely stirred the air. “I am here to get you out.”

Relief struck her hard enough to make her dizzy.

“Why risk this?” she whispered.

His jaw set. “Because no man has the right to use a woman as leverage.” His eyes flicked towards the tent flap. “And because my laird does not abandon his own.”

Hope flared. Destiny leaned closer, keeping her voice low. “Tell me what you know. How do they mean to strike?”

Callum’s mouth thinned. “At dawn. They intend to use you to draw Cameron from the safety of his men, force him into the open.” He paused. “Your father agreed to it.”

Her stomach turned. “And if that fails?”

“Then they move on Foulis with everything they have.” His gaze met hers, steady and grim. “Which is why I will help you escape when morning comes.”

Her heart hammered. She caught his sleeve with her loosened hands. “Cameron must be warned.”

“He will be,” Callum said quietly. “But first, you must survive the night.”

Footsteps sounded outside the tent.

Callum straightened at once, resuming the careless posture of a guard doing his duty. He gave her one last look, promise and resolve bound together, then slipped back through the flap without another word.

Destiny exhaled slowly, steadying herself.

Cameron had not forgotten her.

If she could hold on, if Callum could do what he came to do, there was still a chance.

She closed her eyes and whispered into the darkness, “Let morning come swiftly and let it find us both alive.”

*

The next morning, Destiny’s wrists were raw, her arms aching, but she kept her back straight as she was hauled to her feet, dragged to a horse, and thrust upon it. Her father rode ahead, his eyes cold. But not all eyes were cruel.

Callum Ross, still wearing Mackenzie tartan, fell into step beside her, every inch the guard he pretended to be. She might have an ally within this horde, but the danger pressing in around them was all too real. Callum’s horse drew close, and his hand brushed against hers as though by accident. A scrap of folded cloth was pressed into her palm. Her heart jolted. She dared not look, but when the Mackenzies kicked their horses into a gallop, she had just a moment to glance back, open her palm and see a strip of Munro plaid torn from some stolen garment, tied with twine. A signal. But what did it mean?

She clenched her fist a heartbeat later when her father rode beside her. “What is happening? Where are we going?”

“’Tis another day where you will do your duty, my child, for the betterment of your family.” His voice was distant, as though trying to keep himself removed from what was happening.

“Father. Look at me,” she demanded. “I am your blood. Does that not mean anything to you?”

He turned towards her but did not reply.