She was right back where she’d started. But she’d been forever changed.
She’d face whatever came next knowing she’d had this time with Cam to remember. Those all-too-short months had made all the coming pain worth enduring.
…
Cam knew something was wrong as soon as he rode into the bailey.
The feeling of unrest he’d had the whole trip had increased until he’d found himself racing his horse the last hour to get home and see his wife.
But she wasn’t waiting for him. Instead, he was faced with a grim-looking Lachlan.
Cam passed his horse over to a waiting groom and greeted the laird. “Lach.” He nodded. “I’m honored you came out here to meet me, but if I can be honest, you’re not really the person I wish to see.”
“I know, but I didn’t want you to wonder why she wasn’t here to greet you.”
Unease snaked around Cam’s stomach, squeezing uncomfortably, far worse than the fear at the first cry of battle when his body lurched into action. This was cold, numbing. He was unable to move.
“What’s happened?” he asked, knowing he couldn’t bear to hear the answer.
“She’s gone.”
“Gone?”
“The English came for her.”
Cam looked around the keep in confusion. “I missed the battle? We lost?”
“There was no battle. She went willingly. It was why you were sent away. So you wouldn’t be here to make it bloody.”
Cam stared at his friend in horror, unable to swallow the profound betrayal. “You tricked me into leaving the castle so you could turn over a woman—my woman—to be hanged? Your own wife’s sister?” He couldn’t hide his disgust. “What kind of man have you become?”
“The kind who honors the wishes of my wife’s sister, despite feeling strongly otherwise.” He held out a folded parchment.
“What is that?”
“The letter she wrote you. She wrote one to all of us.”
“I don’t want a bloody letter. I want my damn wife!” Cam brushed his hand in the air, refusing to take the parchment as he walked in a circle. “How long ago did she leave? I can still catch them.”
His horse was spent, but surely he could borrow another and be on his way.
“You were not yet off MacKinlay lands to the west as she was leaving in the carriage to the southeast for London.”
“Four days. I can catch up to them.” It would be a struggle, but he’d make it work.
Lachlan shook his head. “And then what?”
“I’ll fight whoever’s holding her and steal her back.”
“They’ll only send others in their place. Don’t ye see? You’ll never be free. She killed a bloody duke. They won’t just turn a blind eye to murder. Especially when the killer is a Scot. She’ll swing, if only to show their bloody power over us.”
“Nay!” Cam roared and took a step toward the stables. He’d get a fresh horse and leave this instant. He’d get Mari back and they’d run. Somewhere far away. He wasn’t sure where yet. They’d figure it out when he had her in his arms once again.
He got to the stables and found his way blocked by Bryce, Liam, and four of his other men.
“Stand down,” he ordered, but they didn’t move.
In fact, they stepped out toward him, creating a half circle. He spun to see Lachlan close in with three other warriors.
Cam pulled his sword. “I don’t want it to come to this. But I’ll strike you down if you don’t get out of my way so I can go claim my wife and bring her home.”
His voice cracked on the last word. He knew he’d not be able to return to Dunardry. He wouldn’t bring the English down on his clan.
“Cam, take the letter. I’m sure she explained her decision—”
“No!” He pulled his dirk so both hands held weapons. He was one man facing down ten warriors. Most of them trained by him. All his brothers, his kin. “Please,” he begged, knowing he’d not win against them all. Not at the same time. “Help me get her back. I beg you.”
Lach swallowed and shook his head. “I canna. She didn’t want it. She chose to go in peace rather than risk harm to those she loves. You would have done the same. You know in your heart it was the bravest thing to do. The only thing possible.”
Cam let out a sob and fell to his knees, his weapons scattered in the mud.
The men gathered around him, placing hands on his shoulders and head, some whispering prayers, some wordlessly telling him they hurt for him. The icy rain on his neck added to the chill in his bones as he wailed, his cries echoing off the stone walls of the courtyard.
When the pain had exhausted him, the men helped him to his feet and led him off. He didn’t bother to look where he was going. He knew wherever it was, there would be whisky.
Even when he was locked in the dungeon, he barely noticed. He was numb from pain and longed to become even more so with drink. Through the grates of the cell, his men plied him with whisky, and all sat near to drink with him. It wasn’t until the next morning when he woke feeling like hell itself that he realized he was locked up.
His cell was clean and covered in fresh straw, but it was the dungeon.
What the bloody hell?
“Why am I in here?” he demanded of Lach, who sat against the wall outside his cell. He looked as if he’d been there all night.
“I couldn’t be sure all the warriors in the clan would be able to stop you if you decided to go after her. I don’t want anyone hurt, least of all you.” Lach stood and let out a sigh. “And I don’t know that any of us truly wants to stop you. For everyone’s safety, you will remain in there until we hear that it’s been done.”
Been done.
With horror, he realized Lach meant that his wife had been hanged and was dead.
“What
