Page 32 of The Highlander’s Enchanted Healer (Spellbound Hearts #2)
Dawn crept across the battlements in a ghostly hush, and with every pale shaft of light, my heart pounded harder.
Thoughts of Elena seethed in me like wildfire and ice—part longing, part fury.
I had to see her one last time before Roger’s men arrived, before we marched for her stronghold.
In my mind’s eye, I saw the muster of Fergusson warriors beside Roger’s banners, the combined force enough to overwhelm the Gordons.
If Allan was freed when I offered myself in trade, Thor and Roger would lead the charge with him against the Gordons; if not, they would lead the men together to avenge Allan, me, Alba, and our parents.
And later, the council would choose a new laird of Clan Campbell.
Either way, Elena would be gone when I returned.
I could not kill her. I did not have the strength to order her death.
Instead, she would live her life in miserable existence.
The thought of it made me feel physically ill.
Doubt assaulted me as I strode through the corridors toward the dungeon, but I ruthlessly pushed it away.
Elena was a Gordon, and a liar, and she had sent me and my men into battle to die.
There was no place in war for forgiveness or soft emotions.
Still, her face as I’d last seen it, etched with such seeming sadness, lingered in my mind, no matter how hard I tried to shove her image into the dark recesses where it needed to stay.
I hated that I could recall every moment of the one time we’d lain together in excruciating detail.
I could feel the silk of her skin as I had run my fingers over her taut belly, the hardness of her nipple as I had brought her pleasure, the warmth between her thighs, the scent of heather in her hair, the way her tongue had tangled eagerly with mine, and the little mewling sounds she’d made when she had found her pleasure.
By the time I reached the door to the dungeon, I was hard as stone.
I had to take a moment to breathe deeply and bring myself under control.
Once my heart—and body—had settled, I made my way into the dungeon toward her cell.
I was not certain whether I hoped she’d be asleep or awake.
A part of me wanted to hear her throaty voice one last time, but another part of me did not.
I could not stand the thought of her professing her love again.
The words from her lips had made my chest tighten, despite knowing they were simply calculated lies to get me to release her.
I frowned at the darkness of the dungeon.
I’d told the watchmen to keep a torch lit.
I was not a monster to leave the lass in darkness.
Had they brought her a plaid for warmth, food and drink as I had instructed?
Worry knotted my chest, and it annoyed me to be so concerned for a woman who had plotted for my demise.
Still, I hurried my steps. But when her cell came into view, the door was open and the cell empty, shock brought me to a halt. Where the devil was she?
Had she already been taken? She could not have escaped.
I turned on my heel, determined to get to the bottom of this, and pounded up the stairs and into the bright sunlight of the courtyard, nearly colliding with Lennox.
“Where is she?” I demanded of the dungeon guard as way of greeting. I was in no mood for niceties.
He frowned. “Laird?”
“The prisoner!” I roared. “Lady Gordon. Where. Is. She?” When all the color left his face, I knew he was not responsible for her being gone. “Did ye hand over guard duty to someone else?” He shook his head. “Sound the alarm,” I bit out. “She’s somehow escaped.”
Lennox nodded and ran toward the guard towers as I made my way into the castle to alert the warriors within and gather a party to hunt her down.
Halfway to the great hall, where many men would be gathered breaking their fast, the horns being to sound, announcing an escape began.
The door to the great hall swung open as men poured out, swords already in hand.
I raised my hands as shouts filled the halls.
“Quiet!” I ordered. “Lady Gordon has escaped. We must find her and bring her back here—”
Alba’s voice cut through the rising clamor, “She did nae escape, Brother.” She and Isla advanced, robes swirling like storm clouds.
The ground tilted beneath me. “Alba, what have ye done?”
She lifted her chin, eyes alight. “I freed her.”
The words struck like the hardest of blows.
“ We freed her,” Isla echoed, taking Alba’s hand in hers in a show of support.
“Why?” My voice cracked between anger and dread.
Alba moved to stand directly in front of me. “I could nae stand by and simply watch ye ride off to certain death. She can get into her home and free Allan, and then ye do nae have to trade yerself or bend the knee.”
“She will nae ever do that!” I roared, feeling immediately sorry when I saw my temper cause Alba to take a fearful step away from me.
But my sister tipped her chin higher, surprising me, and a hard glint came to her eyes. “She will, Ross, because she loves ye.”
I shook my head, pain and fury warring inside of me. “Ye’re wrong,” I said, my words carrying over the silence in the courtyard. “All ye have done is send our enemy a verra powerful weapon to be wielded against us.”
“Nay, Ross,” Alba said, sounding equally as certain as I felt. “When Allan is freed, we will attack with Roger as ye planned, except ye will lead us, and we will have our vengeance.”
The courtyard fell silent, the promise of war and retribution lingering like a storm on the horizon. But not love, not for me. No, that had been but a false dream, and in the waking hours of the dream’s dissipation, all I had was a fierce ache in my heart.