Her heart lurched. “Ye mean to use me to hurt him.” He tilted his head, eyes gleaming. “Clever lass.”
Scarlett shifted, testing her ropes. Too tight. Her fingers brushed only air. “Mack,” she said softly, “this isn’t the way. Ye’ll ruin yerself.”
He went still, the muscle in his jaw twitching. “Ruin?”
“Aye,” she said, steady now. “If ye think this will bring ye peace, ye’re wrong. Robert willnae stop. Ye ken that. And when he finds ye, he’ll show nae mercy.”
For a heartbeat, something flickered in his eyes—doubt, maybe fear—but it vanished.
“I’m past caring,” he said. “Let him come.” Scarlett’s throat tightened. He means it.
She had to keep him talking, to buy time. “Mack, ye’re right about one thing. Robert does take too much upon himself. He’s proud. Controlling. I fight him near every day for it.” She drew a breath, choosing her words carefully. “But he’s not cruel. If ye’d gone to him, if ye’d told him what he’d done, he might’ve made it right.”
He stared at her, firelight flickering across his face. “Ye defend him, even now.”
“I’m trying to save ye,” she said sharply. “Do ye think I want to see ye hang?”
His expression twisted. “Then ye shouldnae have married him.” Her pulse jumped. “Married him? Ye think I?—?”
“Ye belong to him now, aye?” Mack spat. “And ye still wear that necklace he gave ye. Still look at him like… like—” He broke off, dragging a hand down his face. “Ye should’ve been mine.”
Scarlett’s stomach turned. “Ye daenae ken what ye’re saying. This isn’t love. It’s a sickness.”
Mack’s voice trembled. “Ye think I daenae ken love? I dreamt of ye for months after ye came. Thought if I worked harder, if I made meself useful, ye’d see me. Then he—” His hand slammed against his knee. “He ruined everything.”
Scarlett glanced toward the forest’s edge, desperate for any sign of movement. Nothing but shadows.
“Mack,” she said again, gentle but firm. “Untie me. We can talk properly, aye? Ye said ye loved me, then prove it. Daenae hurt me like this.”
He hesitated, just for a moment. Her heart leapt.
Then one of the men scoffed. “She’s tricking ye, Mack. Women like her always do.”
Mack’s head snapped around. “Shut it.”
But the moment was gone. He turned from her, pacing in the leaves, muttering, fragments about Robert, about betrayal, about justice.
Scarlett twisted her wrist hard against the rope. The coarse fibers scraped her skin raw, but she kept going. The knot shifted slightly, not enough.
Mack spun back toward her, voice soft and strange. “Ye’re thinking of running.”
Scarlett froze. “I’m thinking of talking sense into ye.”
He smiled again, hollow and tired. “Too late for sense, lass. Too late for both of us.”
He turned back to the fire, throwing another branch onto it. Sparks jumped high into the air.
Scarlett’s pulse thundered. The night pressed close, thick with smoke and fear.
But beneath it all, she clung to one thought, one desperate, defiant hope.
He’ll come for me.
Robert will come. And when he does, God help anyone who tries to stop him.
Robert stood outside her chamber door, hand hovering near the latch.
He’d come here half a dozen times in the past few days, always turning away before knocking. But tonight, he needed to speak to her, to say something, anything, before the distance between them hardened into something he could no longer bridge.
