Page 89 of Wedded to the Heartless Highlander
Most of the attackers lay dead, their identities hidden behind dark cloaks and masks. His men stood grim-faced, swords in hand, as the final few intruders were subdued.
Calvin should be returnin’ soon.
He made to look up at the castle, but movement in the shadows caught his attention. It was one of his captains, a grizzled warrior named Alaric.
The man approached, his expression somber. “Me Laird, we’ve captured two attackers,” he said, his voice rough. “The rest are dead.”
Hunter’s jaw tightened as he surveyed the field. His anger simmered beneath the surface, a volatile mix of fury and guilt threatening to spill over.
“Dinnae kill them,” he growled, his gray eyes like cold steel. “Take them to the dungeons. I’ll deal with them meself.”
Alaric nodded and barked orders to his men.
As Hunter turned to head back toward the castle, one of the younger guards sprinted toward him, his face pale.
“Me Laird!” the man called, nearly stumbling in his haste. “Me Laird, it’s Lady MacKinnon. She says—she says the lass is gone. Miss Lily… they’ve taken her… she’s missin’.”
Hunter froze, the words hitting him like a blow to the chest. His heart thudded painfully, and for a moment, he couldn’t move. Then, the weight of what had happened crashed down on him.
Nay… nae Lily.
The world seemed to spin around him, but he forced his legs to move, breaking into a run. He tore through the castle halls, his boots echoing loudly against the stone floors. The fear twisting in his gut was suffocating, and every step felt like an eternity.
When he reached Lily’s room, the sight inside nearly brought him to his knees. The bed was empty, the sheets a tangled mess. Toys lay scattered across the floor, untouched. The window waswide open, a rope dangling from the ledge—that was how the intruders had made their escape.
Hunter’s chest heaved as he took in the scene. His throat felt tight, and his hands curled into fists. This wasn’t just an attack. It was a message, a cruel, calculated move to tear apart everything he held dear.
“Hunter…”
Erica’s voice was soft behind him, trembling with guilt and fear.
He turned sharply to find her standing in the doorway, her face pale, her green eyes wide and full of unshed tears.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, stepping into the room. Her hands were clasped in front of her, twisting nervously. “I-I should have noticed sooner. I should have come sooner?—”
“Nay,” he snapped, his voice harsh as he held up a hand in the air. “Dinnae say it.”
She flinched but didn’t back away. “Please, let me help?—”
“You think this can be fixed with an apology?” he barked, his voice rising. “She’s gone, Erica. They took her. While I was out there fightin’, thinkin’ I was protectin’ this family, they slipped past me and took her. Like they kenned what was goin’ to happen.”
Her lips parted, and he saw the pain in her eyes. It cut him deeply, more than he wanted to admit.
“Ye dinnae think I feel the same?” she said, her voice breaking. “I’m terrified for her. I want to help fix this, Hunter. Please, let me?—”
Hunter turned away, running a hand through his hair as he fought to keep his emotions in check. His heart ached with every beat, the guilt threatening to crush him. He had failed his family, failed his brother. He’d made promises to himself, to them, and now he stood in the wreckage of those vows.
Erica moved closer, her presence both grounding and irritating. “Hunter, we’ll find her. Together.”
“Together?” He whirled around to face her again, his fury spilling over. “This happened because of me. Because of me own failures. Ye cannae fix this, Erica. Nay one can but me.”
She swallowed hard, but her voice remained steady. “And yet here I am, tryin’ to stand by ye. Because ye arenae alone in this.”
Something in her voice cracked the wall of his anger, but he didn’t want to let her in. He couldn’t afford to. Not now.
He shook his head and strode past her, ignoring the sting in his chest when he heard her whisper his name again.
Hunter found himself in the dungeons a short while later, standing before the two captured attackers. They were bound and kneeling on the cold stone floor, their faces bloodied but defiant. His men stood around the cells, their weapons drawn, waiting for his command.
