Page 57 of The Laird’s Vengeful Desire (The Highland Sisters’ Secret Desires #2)

CHAPTER TWO

H er breath stalled in her throat.

Margaret? He thinks I’m…

The thought tangled in her mind, spinning like leaves caught in a storm.

Her lips parted, instinct kicking in to correct him, but the words barely escaped before he was already moving. He stepped closer, purposeful but not rushed, and reached out to cup her elbow like he thought she might run.

And she might’ve. If her knees hadn’t chosen that moment to betray her. The strength left her all at once, legs crumpling beneath her. She pitched forward…

He caught her without strain. Like catching her weight was no more trouble than picking up a cloak.

"Easy, lass," he murmured, his voice a gravel-soft blend of command and quiet reassurance.

That voice. It was wrong how steady it made her feel. Warm. Calloused fingers pressed firm against her arm, grounding her, anchoring her. She should’ve pulled away. She didn’t.

He dipped his head slightly, peering into her face. “Ye’re safe now. I promised yer faither I’d bring ye home.”

Home. The word coiled around her like a noose. She blinked up at him, the world lurching sideways. Her father? Home ? Her mouth had gone dry. Her thoughts raced.

He means Margaret’s father. Margaret’s home.

His eyes were sharp, watching her. Not cruel, not leering… but intent. Searching. As if he expected her to shatter at any moment.

“Who…?” she whispered, her voice barely working. “Who are ye?”

The man hesitated for only a breath, then inclined his head in something like a formal bow, tight, reserved. “Laird Callum Mackenzie,” he said, the name rolling off his tongue like it carried weight, like it meant something.

It did. She could feel it in the way he said it, grounded, noble, and not to be questioned.

“Yer faither sent word weeks ago,” he continued, watching her closely. “Told me tae find ye. Bring ye back.”

Bring Margaret back. That’s why he’s here.

Dinnae deny it. Nae yet. You dinnae ken who he is. Or what he wants with her.

“Where… back where exactly?” she managed, forcing the words through her muddled thoughts. “Where are ye taking me?”

His brow dipped, just slightly. “The Highlands. North of Glen Torran. The keep’s nae far from the MacLean lands.”

She swallowed hard. That meant nothing to her, but maybe it would to Margaret.

His grip was still on her elbow, steadying her. His scent curled around her, and to her horror, it made her dizzy.

He’s strong. Dangerous. And he thinks I’m someone else. Someone important.

And right now, the only way to protect that someone was to stay in character so she didn’t correct him. Didn’t tell him her real name. Didn’t even blink.

Instead, she nodded faintly, lips parted, heart thundering.

“Right,” she murmured. “Of course.”

But her mind raced with a single question:

How long can I keep this up before he finds out who I really am?

Pain throbbed in Alexandra’s knees as she stood, wavering, skirts torn and caked with blood and earth. Her lungs burned. Her limbs shook. But all she could see was him, the stranger, broad-shouldered and iron-still, the moonlight catching on the edge of his sword like a whisper of danger.

He hadn’t moved since he’d helped her to her feet. He stood with the same quiet authority, watching her like a man who didn’t blink often. Like a man used to being obeyed.

She had to tread carefully.

She lifted her chin, forcing steel into her spine. “How did ye ken I am Margaret?” she asked, her voice rough but steady.

The man didn’t answer at once. He just looked at her.

His eyes were a stormy blue, unreadable but sharp, and they watched her like she was a puzzle he was already halfway to solving. The weight of it made her skin prickle. Alexandra’s mouth went dry.

Finally, he spoke, voice low. "I heard the others shoutin’ after ye. Margaret, they said. Loud enough tae stir the dead."

He took a step closer, as if to examine her more fully. “And ye match the description. Chestnut hair. Blue eyes. The jaw of a girl who doesn’t yield easy.”

She kept her breath even. Swallowed the denial rising in her throat. Her name sat on the edge of her tongue, but she didn’t speak it.

Nae yet. Nae until I ken what he wants with Margaret. Margaret is out there somewhere. I have tae find her. I have tae keep her safe.

She forced a nod. She had to know more, to know if he was truly sent by the MacLeans or if this was all a lie.

“So we’re going north,” she said confidently, like she didn’t already feel the ground tilting beneath her. “Tae what end?”

His expression didn’t shift. “Tae keep ye safe.”

“And once I’m there?” she asked. “What then?”

It took him a moment to answer. “There’ll be a wedding.”

The words hit like cold water.

“A wedding,” she repeated, her voice nearly catching.

“Aye. An alliance. MacLean and Mackenzie.”

She paused, then frowned. “Why nae send MacLean men? Surely that would’ve been the proper way of it.”

Something flickered in his eyes, wry amusement, maybe.

“Aye,” he said. “Traditionally, 'Tis the way of it. But this alliance isnae traditional.” He paused. “The MacLeans thought it wiser nae tae send their own, too many enemies scattered in the glens, too many eyes watchin’ the roads. Me family’s ties run deep enough, and we’ve fewer enemies in this stretch of the Highlands. They trusted me tae see ye delivered.”

Alexandra said nothing, the weight of his words pressing down on her like cold water.

An alliance through marriage. Margaret would be pleased.

“So I’m tae be married,” she said, quieter now.

He nodded. “That’s the arrangement.”

A wedding. A union between clans. A future that belonged to the girl she was pretending to be, not to her. Alexandra swallowed hard, trying to keep the panic from rising. What if Margaret was still running? Still hiding? What if she was lost or hurt, or worse?

I’ll find her. I have tae.

Her fingers curled tightly into her skirt. “And this alliance,” she said carefully, “I suppose I’ve nay say in it?”

His gaze didn’t shift. “There’s nay time. The Lowlands aren’t safe. The longer we linger, the more men will come.”

Not an answer. Not really.

She was trembling now, not from pain, not from exhaustion, but from everything else. Still, she kept her back straight. A stranger’s keep in the far Highlands. And she was walking into it under another woman’s name.

God help me. What is tae happen tae me?

She said nothing more, watching him as the wind hissed through the trees. Her thoughts churned.

Where was Margaret now? Had she truly escaped? Was she still running? Alexandra’s chest tightened.

Please, let her be safe. Let her get back tae the nunnery. I’ll find her. I’ll make this right. I’ll trade places again. I just need time.

But she couldn’t find her if she was dead. And Callum Mackenzie, for all his silence and stone-faced strength, hadn’t hurt her.

He turned slightly and nodded toward the tree line. “Can ye ride?”

Ride? I can barely walk.

She nodded anyway. Laird Mackenzie gave a sharp whistle, and from the shadows emerged a tall black stallion, led by one of his men. Three others followed, cloaked and armed.

He mounted first, then extended a hand. “Ye’ll fall if ye try yerself.”

Alexandra’s heart hammered. But she slipped her hand into his anyway. His grip was strong. He lifted her easily, swinging her up before him on the saddle. The warmth of his chest pressed against her back. His arms braced on either side. His breath close to her ear.

“Ride,” he commanded. The forest blurred around them as hooves struck earth.

Alexandra said nothing. She held her posture tight, eyes fixed ahead, the weight of a lie sitting like a stone in her chest.

She was not Margaret MacLean. But for now, she had to be.

And pray she found the real one before it was too late.

They rode in silence at first. Alexandra sat stiffly, fists clenched in her lap, spine straight as a rod.

The night air bit at her cheeks, but the heat of Laird Mackenzie’s body behind her was worse, unsettling in its steadiness.

His breath stirred the curls near her temple, and every so often, she felt his gaze shift, as though he were studying her profile in the dark.

She couldn’t keep quiet much longer. Not if there was a chance to fix this. Not if there was any hope of saving Margaret.

He hasn’t hurt you. He could’ve but he didn’t. He protected you. He might protect her too.

She licked her dry lips, bracing herself. “Laird Mackenzie, I must tell ye something,” she said, her voice low. “I’m nae who ye think I am.”

He didn’t react at first. Just kept his eyes forward, posture loose but alert.

“I’m nae Margaret MacLean,” she continued, the words tumbling out now, tight and panicked. “She was one of the other girls. We escaped together… I stayed behind tae draw them off. That’s why I was still there. That’s why they were shouting her name.”

Her heart pounded so loudly it drowned out the rhythm of the horse beneath them. “I never meant tae deceive ye. I only, I thought ye might mean her harm. I thought… I didnae ken who ye were.”

Silence stretched between them, long and suffocating. She risked turning her head slightly, to glance at him over her shoulder.

Laird Mackenzie’s expression was unreadable. Not angry, but watchful.

“I see,” he said at last.

She blinked. “Ye believe me, then?”

He didn’t answer right away. Then, with a faint furrow of his brow, he said, “Ye waited some time tae tell me that.”

Her breath caught. “I didnae ken if I could trust ye!”

“Aye,” he said. “And now I dinnae ken if I can trust you .”

That stung.

“I’m telling the truth,” she said quietly. “I swear it.”

He didn’t soften. “Maybe ye are.”

Her mouth opened in protest, but no words came.

Finally, he added, “If ye insist on it, I suppose the sisters at the priory will ken who’s who.”

Alexandra swallowed hard, knowing full well that none of the sisters knew the truth. There was only one person who knew the truth, Margaret’s uncle, and he was not there.

“Aye,” she whispered.

By the time they reached the priory gates, the chaos had begun to settle. Laird Mackenzie’s men had stayed behind after the attack, scattering the remaining bandits and helping to re-secure the grounds. Smoke still hung faintly in the air, mingling with the scent of trampled herbs and cold stone.

Laird Mackenzie rode through the priory gates like he belonged to them. His men followed behind, silent shadows, nodding curtly at the women they passed. Alexandra sat stiffly in front of him, her spine straight, her hands cold in her lap.

He dismounted first and offered his hand again. She hesitated for a moment before taking it. Her feet barely touched the ground before the Prioress swept forward, her habit rustling like dried leaves. Her face was pale, wind-bitten, but her eyes were sharp and steady.

“Lady Margaret,” she breathed, reaching out like she meant to gather Alexandra into an embrace. “Thank the Lord ye’ve returned unharmed.”

Alexandra flinched. Her stomach twisted.

“Prioress…”

Laird Mackenzie stepped forward. “Prioress,” he said with a respectful nod, his voice firm but courteous. “Callum Mackenzie, son of Laird Malcolm Mackenzie. I was sent by Laird MacLean tae escort Lady Margaret north, as arranged.”

The Prioress blinked, then inclined her head with solemn recognition. “Laird Mackenzie. Aye… we received word some days ago that a representative may come, though we didnae expect ye so soon.”

“I arrived when I was needed,” he said simply. Then reached inside his cloak and withdrew a sealed letter. “Me orders. From her faither.”

The Prioress accepted the parchment, turning it in her hands, eyes catching on the MacLean seal. She nodded again, slower this time, before folding it and tucking it into her sleeve.

“Ye’ve done us a great service, Laird Mackenzie. Without yer men, this place may have burned. We’re grateful fer yer protection. And fer finding our girl.” Her gaze slid to Alexandra, warm but watchful.

Laird Mackenzie gave a modest dip of his chin. “I was glad tae offer help. Yer women held their ground better than most trained men I’ve kent.”

A faint flicker of pride softened the Prioress’s mouth. Alexandra stood frozen between them, words rising again in her throat. “Prioress, I’m afraid ye’ve made a mistake?—”

But the woman was already turning away, her tone brisk and final. “Come. We must speak inside.”

Alexandra turned to Laird Mackenzie, her heart pounding but he, too, was already moving. Around them, nuns moved with hushed reverence, thanking Callum and his men with murmured blessings and shy nods. A few glanced at Alexandra, their expressions proud and relieved.

She tried one last time.

“I told ye. I’m not who…”

“I heard ye,” Laird Mackenzie said without looking at her. “I just dinnae believe ye.”

She turned sharply to face him. “Why?”

He studied her, unreadable. “Because ye protest too much. And yet, ye’ve nae run. And if ye’re nae Margaret, then where is she?”

In here somewhere, hopefully. I need tae find her.

She paused. Took a breath. She needed an opportunity to be alone. To search around the priory without the watchful eyes of Callum on her.

“If I must go with ye,” she said quietly, “may I at least pack me things?”

He regarded her for a long beat. Then nodded. “Be quick.”

She dipped her head, then slipped away down the cloister hall.

Not to pack, to search.