“Then none of this would be happening.”
She bowed her head, her shoulders shaking with quiet sobs, the weight of her choice pressing down upon her. Outside, the day moved steadily toward sunset.
And with it, her fate.
James rode at the front of the company, his cloak snapping behind him as the wind cut across the open hills. The pounding of hooves beneath him matched the relentless beat of his heart, each stride carrying him closer to the one place he dreaded most. His jaw was clenched so tight it ached, his mind a storm of memory and fear.
He saw Eloise as she had been, laughing, defiant, alive, and the thought of losing that light twisted something deep within him.
If any man lays a hand on her…I will kill him.
Callum rode at his side, casting him a measured glance. “Ye are riding like the devil himself is behind ye,” he said.
James did not slow, his gaze fixed ahead. “It may as well be,” he replied grimly. “I will nae lose her, Callum. I cannae.”
Callum studied him for a moment, then gave a slow nod. “Then we make sure ye daenae,” he said simply.
The dark shape of Drummond’s castle rose in the distance, jagged and imposing against the gray sky. As they drew nearer, the sound of bells reached them, loud, deliberate, and unmistakable.
James’s grip tightened on the reins.
“They have seen us,” Callum said, his voice sharpening.
James’s expression darkened. “Aye,” he said.
The thought of Eloise being forced into that fate sent a surge of cold rage through him. They slowed as they approached the outer grounds, the gates of the castle firmly shut, guards visible along the walls with bows drawn.
Callum leaned slightly toward him. “What is yer plan, then?” he asked.
James scanned the fortress, his mind already working. “The castle is sealed,” he said shortly. “We will nae get through those gates without losing many men.”
Callum frowned. “Then what do we do?”
James turned in his saddle, raising his voice. “Parchment and ink!” he called.
A rider broke from the line and hurried forward, producing the requested items.
“Here, me Laird,” the man said, handing them over. James took them quickly, bending over the saddle as he wrote with swift, decisive strokes. His expression was hard as stone as the message took shape.
When he finished, he folded it and sealed it with force. “Take this,” he said, handing it to the messenger. “Ride to the gates under a white flag.”
The rider nodded, raising the flag before spurring his horse forward. James watched as the man approached the castle, the tension thick in the air.
Callum shifted beside him. “What did ye write?” he asked.
James’s eyes never left the gates. “I told him to come out and face me,” he said coldly. “Or I will tear his castle down, cut off his supplies, and starve every soul within.”
Callum let out a low breath. “That should get his attention,” he muttered.
They watched as the gates remained closed, the messenger being met by a guard. The seconds stretched as the messenger rode back to them.
Callum glanced at him again. “Now what?” he asked.
James did not move, his gaze lifting to the narrow windows of the castle.
“Now,” he said, his voice low and steady, “we wait.”
His eyes searched every shadow, every flicker of movement behind the stone walls. He strained for any sign of her, any glimpse that she was still there, still alive. But there was nothing. Only silence and the distant echo of bells.
