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“So, a guy kidnapped you and drugged you and pretended he was Angus Mackenzie. That’s fucked up. You should show this face to the police.”

“I will,” she lied. “Now let’s go.”

“Rory—”

She quickly wiped away the rest of her smudged black mascara and stood up.

“Enough about that. Are you coming or not?”

David pulled her into a big hug, then stood back and looked at her dubiously. “Are you okay? Is it something I said? I’m really worried you were abused, and I just want to make sure you’re okay.”

“I wasn’t abused. I’m fine. I made my choice, and now I have to live with it. Now, come on. I need a big glass of wine. After all, I did get everything I wanted.”

And as they walked towards the bike parking area, she tried to ignore the fact that she was already regretting the choice she’d made. Because now that she had gotten what she wanted, the emptiness within her only felt wider.

And deeper.

And all she wanted now was to return to Eilean Donan and go back in time to Angus.

Chapter 32

Delny Castle, June 10, 1310

“Angus Mackenzie?” cried the guard from the gatehouse.

There was a sudden clatter of several armed men running along the curtain wall.

Angus stared at the gate as if it were made of poisonous snakes. Was he seriously doing this? Going to talk to Euphemia felt like putting his bare hand into hot coals and expecting it to feel cool.

“Aye, I’m Angus Mackenzie,” he said. “I came to talk to Lady Euphemia. I’m alone. Go get her this minute.”

One of the guards left the wall and disappeared. After a while, the portcullis was lifted and he rode in, feeling the heavy glances of his men and Raghnall on his back.

He rode in under the scowling glances of the Ross men. The damned castle felt like a cage—one he’d never imagined walking into willingly again.

A man took his horse’s reins, and when Angus descended, another one came to him and pointed a spear at him.

“Is this necessary?” Angus said.

“Aye,” William said as he appeared from the door to the keep. “My orders. What do ye want?”

Angus sighed. “Nothing bad. If I wanted to hurt her, I wouldn’t have come alone.”

William had just opened his mouth to say something when another man-at-arms appeared from the keep. “Mistress says to let him in.”

William glared at Angus for a few moments, then shrugged and nodded curtly. “Whatever the mistress wants. If he kills her, well, that’ll be her fault.”

The man-at-arms touched Angus on the shoulder with the tip of the spear.

“Move,” the man said, and Angus walked.

He thought he’d be led to the great hall, but the guard told him to climb the stairs. On the first floor, he was ordered to go down the hall and enter one of the rooms.

When he did, he froze and closed his eyes, nausea rising in his stomach. On a large canopy bed was Euphemia, with her legs spread, and a man positioned with his head between her thighs.

Her eyes were half closed, her back was arched, and her mouth opened as she moaned sounds of pleasure that made bile rise in Angus’s stomach.

For Scotland, he thought. For hundreds of thousands of people. For Rogene.