“Hold on, Eloise,” he murmured under his breath. “I am coming.”
Then, the gates of Drummond’s fortress creaked open. A line of armed men rode forth, parting to allow their Laird through, and James felt the weight of every heartbeat like the toll of a war drum. His eyes locked upon the older man, cold and unyielding, and all thoughts of restraint threatened to shatter beneath the force of his fury.
Callum shifted beside him, murmuring low, “Hold, me Laird… daenae let him draw ye in too quick.”
But James did not answer, for all he saw was the man who had taken Eloise, the man who had once taken his sister. When Drummond halted before him, a cruel smile curling his lips, James straightened in the saddle, every inch the Highland Laird prepared for blood.
“What do ye want, MacAllister?” Drummond called, his voice thick with mockery.
James leaned forward slightly, his gaze like steel. “Ye have something that belongs to me, Miss Eloise Whitmore.”
Drummond barked a laugh, low and ugly. “Belongs to ye? She belonged to me first, lad.”
“Nay,” James snapped, his voice cutting sharp through the air. “She never belonged to ye. She chose to flee ye, and she chooses me now.”
Drummond tilted his head, amused. “Ah, but choice is something women often think they have, but they daenae.”
“Hand her over,” James growled, “and there will be nae bloodshed this day.”
Drummond’s smile widened, crueler still. “Bloodshed? I recall yer sister bled just fine under me roof.”
A ripple of tension tore through James, his hands tightening until the leather creaked beneath his grip. “Ye willnae speak of her,” he warned, his voice dangerously low.
“Jenny, was it?” Drummond continued, savoring each word. “A bonnie lass… though nae strong enough to last.”
James swung down from his horse in one swift motion, boots striking the earth with purpose. “Ye’ve insulted me enough, ye coward. Face me, man to man. Just ye and me.”
Drummond arched a brow. “Or what?”
James stepped forward, eyes blazing. “I see, ye are too afeared to face me without yer guards to hide behind?”
A murmur passed through Drummond’s men, and James saw it, the flicker of doubt, the unspoken challenge that hung in the air. He watched Drummond’s gaze shift briefly to his soldiers, weighing their perception, their judgment, and his pride would not allow retreat.
With a sharp exhale, he dismounted, drawing his sword with a hiss of steel.
“Very well, MacAllister,” he sneered. “Let us see if ye fare better than yer sister did.”
James drew his own blade, the familiar weight settling into his hand like an extension of his will.
“Ye’ll answer for every word,” he said coldly.
They circled one another, boots crunching against the gravel, the world narrowing to the space between them.
Then Drummond lunged. Steel clashed with a ringing force, sparks flashing as their blades met again and again. Drummond fought with brute strength, swinging wide and heavy, while James moved with precision, parrying each strike with controlled fury.
“Is this all ye have?” Drummond taunted, slashing toward James’s shoulder.
James twisted aside, countering with a sharp strike that grazed the man’s arm. “I’ve more than enough for the likes of ye.”
Drummond snarled, driving forward, forcing James back a step. “She’ll be me wife before the sun sets, and there’s naught ye can do.”
James cut him off with a vicious blow, their swords locking as he leaned in close. “Ye’ll never touch her.”
They broke apart, circling once more, breath heavy, tension thick as storm air. Drummond’s lip curled, blood seeping from a cut along his arm.
“Perhaps it is me purpose in life…to take another women from ye, eh?” he jeered. “Another lass to break.”
Something inside James snapped. With a roar, he surged forward, his strikes faster, harder, relentless as a tide crashing against stone. Steel rang out in rapid succession as Drummondstruggled to keep pace, his earlier confidence faltering beneath the onslaught.
