Page 95 of Forbidden Kilted Highlander

Ewan straightened, his face darkening. "Have ye looked everywhere?"

"Aye, I’ve been through every corridor twice. Nae one’s seen her since this morning."

Caithness exchanged a look with Ewan. The tension in the room spiked.

"We’ll send men," Caithness said sharply. "Comb the grounds. If she’s taken a ride, we’ll find her trail."

But Tav already knew. Someone had taken her.

The sun had begun its descent when the rider came. A young messenger, breathless, pale with dust. He handed a sealed parchment to Caithness, then promptly vanished through the door.

Caithness broke the seal slowly, his fingers steady despite the sudden stillness that swept the room. The sound of the parchment tearing was soft, but it echoed in Tav’s ears like the start of a dirge.

Tav leaned forward slightly, watching Caithness’s face as he scanned the page. His expression didn’t shift at first. Caithness passed the letter to Kerr, his mouth a grim line. Laird Ewan unfolded it. Read. The stillness held. Then his hands began to shake.

Tav stood, unable to wait a second longer. He took the letter from Kerr’s grip, his breath loud in the quiet. The message was short. Written in a clean, practiced hand. Each word deliberate.

The girl fer me bastard son.

Laird Armstrong.

Tav stared. It took him a moment to even breathe again. The words stabbed deeper than any blade, but he read it again. And again.

Staring at the words a final time, the letters seared into his skull like brands. Then, slowly, he folded the letter. His fingers moved with a strange, deliberate care, like the paper might burn him if he held it too tight. He handed it back, his jaw clenched.

No one moved. No one spoke. The air was thick with silence, like the room itself was mourning the truth on that page. Tav felt it pressing against his ears, against his chest, like a weight that wouldn’t lift.

It was Caithness who finally broke the silence. "We need tae think. Plan our next⁠—"

"There’s nae much tae think about," Tav said. His voice was low.

Ewan turned to him sharply. "And what would ye suggest? Rushing in? Sword in hand like some fool boy chasing glory?"

"Nay," Tav said. " Nae. I’ll go tae him. Alone. Offer meself in exchange, just like he asked.”

Caithness straightened. "Ye’d surrender yerself?"

"Aye. He wants me. He’s always wanted me. If I go willingly, it might buy us time—might keep her alive."

Ewan’s face twisted. "So quick tae throw yerself intae the fire."

"We dinnae have better options," Tav said. "She might nae have much time. Ye ken that as well as I dae."

Caithness didn’t speak right away. His jaw was tight. "And if we make that trade, what happens next? Ye think he’ll just hand her over and thank us kindly?"

"We use the exchange tae get close," Tav met his eyes. "Then we strike. But we have tae move now."

Something shifted in Caithness’s face. He leaned back, arms crossing. "Ye love her."

Tav didn’t speak, just stared at him.

Caithness looked to Kerr. "He loves her."

The change in Kerr was instant. His mouth twisted. His eyes flared. And then—he moved.

The punch landed hard. Tav’s head snapped sideways, the crack of it echoing like thunder in the small room. Blood bloomed on his lip, coppery and warm, and he tasted it as he staggered back a step. But he didn’t fall. He didn’t raise a hand in return.

He had expected it. How could he not? He had touched Ewan Kerr’s daughter—loved her, held her, taken her to bed—and then shut her out like a coward. Tav knew what it meant to a man like Kerr. He knew what it meant to Agnes. He’d deserved this blow and much worse.