“Ye took me sister!” James shouted, each word punctuated by a blow. “Ye think I’ll let ye take her too?”
Drummond staggered, barely catching a strike that nearly split his guard.
“She was weak…”
The words never finished. James drove his blade forward with brutal precision, the steel plunging deep into Drummond’s chest, silencing him at last.
The world seemed to still as Drummond’s eyes widened, shock overtaking arrogance. James held his gaze a moment longer, breathing hard, then withdrew the blade as the man crumpled to the ground.
Silence fell over the gathered men, broken only by the distant wind and the heavy beat of James’s heart. He stood over the fallen Laird, chest rising and falling, the weight of years lifting from his shoulders at last.
He turned slowly to the Drummond's guards, his gaze like a blade of its own, cutting through any thought of defiance.
“Now release Eloise Whitmore,” he said, his voice low but thunderous with command, “or all of ye will befall the same fate.”
The men exchanged uneasy glances, their confidence shattered along with their Laird, and one of them barked a hurried order toward the gates. Steel lowered, shoulders shifted, and fear rippled through their ranks like a storm through tall grass.
James did not move, did not blink, his entire being fixed upon that gate as though he could will it open. Inside his chest, something raw and desperate clawed at him, a truth he could no longer deny.
I cannae live without her.
Callum stepped closer, voice quiet but steady. “She’ll come, me Laird. Hold fast.”
James exhaled sharply, though it did little to steady the storm within him. “If they’ve harmed her…” he muttered, his grip tightening on his sword hilt.
“They havenae,” Callum said firmly. “They wouldnae dare now.”
James nodded once, though doubt still gnawed at him, dark and relentless. “I should have been there. I should have kept her safe.”
Callum placed a hand briefly on his shoulder. “Ye are here now. That’s what matters.”
But James scarcely heard him, his eyes locked upon the heavy wooden gates as though the rest of the world had ceased to exist.
The gates groaned open at last, the sound echoing like a thunderclap in James’s ears. For a heartbeat, there was nothing, only shadow beyond the threshold, and then she appeared.
Eloise.
She stumbled forward into the light, her hair loose, her gown disheveled, her breath quick with panic, and when her eyes found him, something broke loose inside his chest.
“James!” she cried, her voice trembling as she ran toward him.
He did not think, did not hesitate, he ran to her, closing the distance in long, urgent strides. “Eloise!”
When he reached her, he gathered her into his arms with fierce desperation, holding her as though she might vanish if he dared loosen his grip.
“Ye’re safe,” he murmured against her hair, his voice rough. “God help me, ye’re safe.”
Eloise clung to him just as tightly, her hands gripping his tunic. “I thought… I thought I would never see ye again,” she whispered, her voice breaking.
“Nay,” he said firmly, pulling back just enough to look at her, his hands framing her face. “Daenae ever think that. I would have torn the world apart to reach ye.”
Her eyes searched his, wide and shining. “Ye came for me.”
“Aye,” he breathed, his thumb brushing her cheek, as though needing to feel that she was real. “I will always come for ye.”
She let out a soft, shaky laugh through her tears.
He drew her close again, unable to stop himself, pressing her against him as if anchoring them both to the earth. “Did he hurt ye?” he asked, his tone sharpening with protective fury.
