Page 11

The castle gardens were wild and untamed, clinging desperately to a steep, jagged cliffside. Far below, the dark, churning waters of the loch smashed violently against the rocks, sending a fine, freezing mist up into the air. Clusters of purple heather and pale yellow wildflowers fought the harsh elements to survive among the stones.

Mabel walked to the very edge of the boundary wall.

She stood there, letting the freezing wind whip her cloak around her legs. She stared out across the vast, bruised sky, looking toward the distant, rolling hills in the east.

Her home was out there. MacAllister Castle.

It was gone.

The realization, previously held at bay by the chaos of her escape and the terrifying presence of the Black Laird, finally crashed down over her. It was a suffocating wave of finality. The great hall where her sister Rhea had laughed was reduced to ash. The library where Mabel had spent countless hours reading quietly by the fire was nothing but blackened stone.

And her father.

Mabel’s throat closed. A raw, ragged sob tore its way violently out of her chest, unbidden.

She collapsed to her knees in the damp dirt, abandoning the rigid, dignified mask she had worn for Father Malcolm. She covered her face with her small, trembling hands, her shoulders shaking as the tears finally came. They were hot and fast, burning her cold cheeks as she wept for the man who had loved her, the man who had pushed her into the dark tunnels, sacrificing himself, so she could live.

I am so sorry, Papa, she thought, the grief threatening to drown her. I daenae ken how to do this. I am so alone.

She did not know how long she knelt there in the freezing wind, letting the wild, untamed beauty of the cliffside swallow the sound of her crying.

Suddenly, the heavy crunch of boots on gravel sounded behind her.

Before Mabel could turn, a powerful hand clamped harshly around her wrist.

She gasped, her eyes snapping open in sheer terror. She was hauled forcefully to her feet. The grip on her arm was brutal and inescapable. She stumbled, her soft shoes slipping in the mud, before crashing directly into a solid, unyielding wall of muscle.

Caelan.

He stood over her, his broad chest heaving with rapid breaths. His dark hair was wild in the wind, untamed, and his gray eyes were blazing with a terrifying, fury. He looked like Death itself.

“Do ye have any idea what ye’ve done?” Caelan roared.

The sheer volume and force of his voice hit her like a physical blow. It was deafening, carrying over the howl of the wind and the crash of the waves below.

Startled by the rage radiating from him, Mabel’s instinct kicked in. She planted her feet and pulled violently against his crushing grip.

“I walked into yer gardens, nae across Scotland!” Mabel shouted back, her voice shaking with a volatile mixture of leftover grief and sudden, defensive anger.

“Ye disappeared!” Caelan snarled, refusing to loosen his grip. He yanked her a fraction closer, his tall frame looming over her. “Me men tore the keep apart! I thought ye had been taken!”

“I needed air!” Mabel countered, twisting her wrist fiercely, her blue eyes flashing with defiant fire. “I was suffocating in that stone cage ye locked me in!”

“Ye needed guards!” Caelan fired back, leaning down until his face was only inches from hers. The heat coming off his body was overwhelming in the freezing wind. “There are men in these glens who would slit yer throat just to steal the ring off yer finger! Ye are a target, Mabel! Ye daenae wander alone!”

Mabel stopped pulling. She squared her delicate shoulders, refusing to cower before his terrifying anger. She looked straight into his blazing gray eyes.

“I am nae one of yer soldiers, Laird MacCarron,” she stated. Her voice was no longer a shout; it was a cold, sharp blade of defiance. She planted her free hand firmly against his broad chest, pushing back.

Caelan’s jaw locked so tightly the muscles jumped beneath his skin, his eyes dark with something that looked far too much like fear for a man they called untouchable.

“Nay,” Caelan growled, his voice dropping into a dark, vibrating rumble. “Ye’re far more valuable.”

The words hit her like a violent slap to the face.

The heat of her anger instantly froze. She stopped pushing against his chest. Her hand fell limply to her side. The word echoed in her mind, shattering the fragile, unspoken connection she thought she had felt when they struck their bargain in the corridor.

With a sudden jerk, she yanked her wrist free from his grasp. Caelan, taken aback by the sudden lack of resistance, let her go.