Page 89 of Highland Ruse

Again, Donnan shrugged. “I canna imagine the inside is much more grand. From what I see in the windows, the halls are empty. No’ just of the clan, but of furnishings.” He nodded toward several figures standing near the entrance of the castle. “Even the guards. They’re mostly paid men, no’ MacKenzies. Mercenaries who work by day, and all but a few leave at night.”

“So, MacKenzie agreed to this so readily because he needed the coin of Elizabeth’s dowry?” Kaid surmised.

Donnan grinned. “Exactly. Which explains why we’ve no’ had any more raids.”

Kaid nodded to himself and braced his chin on his folded hands. “If his clan is not around him, they dinna support him. But if Torra can be found…”

A door opened and a woman with honey-colored hair walked out into the sunshine.

Kaid’s heart stuttered to a stop.

Delilah.

How he wanted to call out to her, to capture her in his arms and kiss the lushness of her mouth, revel in the sweetness of her voice, bask in the beauty of her joy.

He’d drawn her almost as soon as she’d left Ardvreck Castle, but it wasn’t the same.

How he’d longed to let his hands skim over the luxurious softness of her skin.

But now, her posture was stiff, her gait uncertain.

Something was wrong.

“What’s happened?” Kaid asked.

“There was a coach last night.” Donnan shook his head. “I dinna know what that meant then.”

“I mean with Delilah.” Kaid indicated Delilah.

Donnan gave him a hard look. “That’s no’ Delilah.”

Kaid’s gaze snapped to the proud back facing him from far away. How could Donnan be so sure?

Before he could ask the question, Donnan spoke again. “Because that’s no’ Leasa.”

Kaid noticed, for the first time, the woman at Delilah’s side. No, not Delilah. His heart clenched around the realization.

The woman’s maid had auburn hair that shone like copper in the sunshine. Donnan was right—she was not Leasa.

And the woman…

As if in compliance with the demand of Kaid’s thoughts, she turned toward him and his heart plummeted to the ground.

She was not Delilah.

His skin prickled with the cold fear of his realization.

She had to be Elizabeth.

Then what the hell had become of Delilah?

• • •

The rising sun had cast light into the dismal cell of Delilah’s existence.

Torra lay in slumber on a narrow bed in the corner. The meager mattress she slept upon hung down in clumps and threads from the bed ropes. Her gown was smeared with grime and so torn, it looked more like rags than anything once considered fine.

Her filthy thumb was properly lodged in her mouth, and she sucked at it like a child.