Page 36 of The Highlander’s Illicit Bride (Wicked Highland Lairds #1)

I solde was not sure what woke her up. When she opened her eyes, everything seemed as usual—her clothes were where she’d left them before going to bed; the fire was dying slowly and gave the cold room little heat; the windows were closed.

She tried to close her eyes again, but something nagged her at the back of her mind and she reached to feel Struan’s side of the bed—cold and empty for the second night in a row.

She’d bid Struan goodbye two days before—one of the hardest things she’d ever had to do in her entire life—as he and his men had marched on Cluny House.

He’d left but a handful of his soldiers behind to guard the castle.

Is Struan well? They should have reached Cluny House yesterday.

She tried not to dwell on the negative thoughts and looked around the empty darkness again, her eyes locked on the last embers in the hearth.

Lulling herself back into sleep, she was just beginning to dream again when she was suddenly jolted awake by the sound of the door to her bedchamber bursting open.

It crashed into the stone wall behind it with a thunderous boom that pulled her from sleep.

Bleary-eyed and disoriented, she sat up and a sharp crack filled her ears a moment before her face exploded in pain.

The force of the blow knocked her back down to the bed, but she was immediately yanked up by the hair.

Isolde cried out which earned her another vicious slap across the face.

“Stop!” she cried.

The coppery taste of blood filled her mouth and as her eyes cleared, she found herself staring into the cruel eyes of her father, his face twisted with rage.

Her heart stopped dead in her chest, and she trembled wildly as her stomach began to churn.

With another merciless yank on her hair, Murdoch threw her back down to the bed.

Isolde curled into a ball and squeezed her eyes shut, willing this all be a terrible dream.

“Get up,” he snarled in disgust. “Get up and put on some clothes, ye filthy ingrate.”

Her father’s voice echoed in her ears, drawing tears from her eyes.

Her face still stung from where he’d slapped her and her cheek was raw, the blow causing her to bite the inside of it hard.

She shook her head and tried to parcel out what had happened and how he’d come to be standing in her bedchamber.

It seemed impossible and yet… there he was, standing on the other side of the room, his face dark and twisted with rage, his hands balled into fists.

“Get up,” he hissed. “Ye dinnae want me tae yank ye out of that bleedin’ bed.”

How did he manage tae enter the keep? Is Struan alright? Has me faither managed tae capture him?

Did her father’s men kill every guard till they reached her chambers?

Isolde gave herself a shake and banished the thought. Murdoch’s presence had nothing to do with Struan, she was sure.

“Dinnae make me tell ye again, Isolde. Get up,” her father growled. “Did ye think I would leave things as they were? That I wouldnae seek revenge? I kenned yer damned savior would go and play a hero yet again, rescuing his braither.”

Realization downed on Isolde. “Ye sent the letter on purpose.”

“Of course, I did. And then I waited and struck when Struan did that exact thing, he shouldn’t have done—he left with his soldiers, leaving ye unattended.”

Swinging her legs over the edge of the bed, Isolde got up and turned to him, fear twisting her insides painfully, but she glared at him, raising her chin in defiance.

“And ye came in the middle of the night like… like a coward, instead of facing Struan,” she said thankful that her voice didn’t waver.

He closed the distance between them in the blink of an eye and delivered a vicious backhand that dropped Isolde to her hands and knees.

She pressed a hand to her cheek, that burned with pain but willed her tears away.

She would not give him that. She would not let him see her cry or weak.

Slowly, she got back to her feet and stared him in the eye.

“Daes that make ye feel like a strong man, Faither?” she hissed. “Hitting yer daughter?”

“Stay yer tongue, girl, or I’ll remove it.”

“I dinnae think ye will,” she said as calmly as possible. “Nae if yer still plannin’ tae give me over tae Dougal.”

His eyes narrowed and burned with rage, but he did not move.

It was just as she’d thought. And knowing he still intended to give her over to the man filled her belly with the coldest dread she had ever felt.

The man was cruel but after what she’d done—after the trouble she had caused him—the thought of what he might do genuinely terrified her.

“Get dressed. We’re leavin’,” he said. “If we stay longer, I will kill every single person in this castle.”

Her limbs were like lead as she moved, and her heart grew heavier with every step she took. She wouldn’t let anyone get hurt because of her. Once she was dressed, her father sneered at her. “Time tae go, I’ve got a husband tae get ye tae, after all.”

He grabbed her by the elbow so hard, Isolde thought he might break it. The flash of pain was intense, but she bit back her cry. He leaned forward, his hot, foul breath washing across her face, making her wince.

“Ye shut yer mouth,” he growled.

Isolde swallowed down the bile that had risen in her throat but she didn’t trust herself to speak. Her trembling voice would give away her terror. Instead, she nodded.

“Good lass,” he said.

Still gripping her by the elbow, her father dragged her out of her bedchamber.

Two of his men were waiting in the hall and fell into step behind them as they made their way through the empty corridors.

When they reached the doorway in the kitchens, Isolde bit back a cry.

Four bodies lay on the ground in pools of dark, thick blood. Their throats had been cut.

That was how he and his men had gained access to Achnacarry, slithering in like murderous vipers.

Isolde knew that given half a chance, her father would not hesitate to do the same to Struan.

The thought of him lying in a pool of his own blood, throat cut, eyes wide and unseeing made Isolde’s legs shake.

“I’ll go with ye with nay fuss. But ye’ll leave Struan be,” she tried to sound more collected than she truly felt. Isolde didn’t want her father to realize how important this man had grown to be for her.

He turned his cold, reptilian eyes on her, his features tight and pinched and his lips curled back in a bloodless smile.

“Why dae ye care?” he asked and grabbed her face close to him. “Why should ye care about that scoundrel?”

She opened her mouth to reply but no words came out. Her father’s face darkened though, and his eyes narrowed as a deep, abiding fury crossed his features.

“Did ye give yerself tae him?” he hissed. “Did that Cameron bastard ruin ye?”

If I tell him the truth, he’ll make it his life’s mission tae destroy Struan.

Isolde quickly shook her head.

“Nay. ‘Tis nae like that,” she said. “He’s been kind tae me. His whole family has shown me naethin’ but kindness. I just… I dinnae want tae see them hurt.”

Her father studied her for a long moment, seeming to weigh the truth of her words.

He gritted his teeth and tightened his grip on her.

He dragged her through the darkness of the yard to a small doorway tucked away in the gardens’ gate.

He pushed her through it and she found herself surrounded by men on horseback, all of them wearing the red and green of Clan Mackintosh.

All of them looking at her.

Isolde’s hands were quickly bound, and she was forced to ride with one of her father’s soldiers. As the horses began to move, she craned her neck, desperate to get one final look at the place she had begun to think of as home.

A tear raced down her cheek, and she felt certain it would be the last time she saw Achnacarry.