Page 38 of Only By Grace
“Then you must let me do this.”
With the plan agreed upon, Grace felt a strange mixture of fear and resolve settle over her. The fortress was no less daunting, the risks no less grave, but for the first time, she felt like more than an observer in this ordeal. She had a part to play, and she would see it to its conclusion.
As they began their descent towards the keep, Grace mustered her courage. She would finally do something adventurous like her sisters. Perhaps she could be brave, she just needed the right cause.
Ronan rodeat the head of their party, Grace alongside him like a silent sentinel. She should not be here, of course, but resistance to the Whitford charm—or force—seemed impossible. It was a peculiar spell they cast, one that ensnared even the strongest of wills. Westwood, Rotham, Stuart—each had succumbed in their turn, and now it was his own resolve that faltered, no matter how fiercely he tried to guard his heart.
There was comfort, however, in her presence. Despite the risks, her calm strength steadied him, supporting him against the tumult of his thoughts. As they made their final descent through the darkened hillside, her quiet determination reminded him that he was not alone in this battle. Yet the thought of her venturing into Flynn’s den set his nerves alight with equal parts of dread and frustration. Why had he allowed her to convince him? Why had he not insisted on a safer plan?
An eerie mist clung to the ground along their path. The moonlight rendered the scene both ethereal and menacing, every shadow a potential hiding place for an unseen enemy. Ronan’s mind turned to the possibility of sharpshooters, though he hoped the element of surprise and cover of darkness was on his side. Flynn was cunning, but he preferred to play games, where his charm and guile could work their full effect. Still, Ronan’s hand rested lightly on the butt of his pistol, his senses attuned to every sound in the stillness.
Every twist and turn of the path brought them closer to Flynn’s door, closer to Maeve—and closer to the confrontation that had been years in the making. The anticipation was a slow-burning fire in his chest, its heat stoked by a potent mix of anger, guilt, and dread.
It was hard for Ronan not to dwell on the many ways he might make Flynn suffer once he had him in his grasp. The man had crossed every boundary of decency, weaving his poisonous charm into the heart of one too trusting to see him for what hewas. That Maeve, Ronan’s own sister, had fallen prey to Flynn’s lies was a betrayal he could scarcely fathom. She was young, full of idealistic hope that peace might be achieved where bitterness had long reigned. Flynn had exploited that hope with ruthless precision.
Ronan’s jaw tightened as his thoughts spiralled into darker themes. He pictured Flynn’s smug smirk, his casual arrogance as he led Maeve away. A duel would be too honourable, too swift for the likes of him. Flynn deserved the weight of every moment of suffering he had caused, and Ronan would see to it personally.
When they finally crested the last rise, Corlach Keep came back into view, its dark outline imposing against the night sky. Torchlight marked the perimeter, a reminder of the men stationed there under Flynn’s command. Ronan reined in his horse and motioned for the others to stop.
“This is as far as we go on horseback,” he said quietly, his voice firm. He turned to Grace, who dismounted with quiet efficiency. Her face was pale but determined, her hands steady as she adjusted her cloak.
“You know the plan,” Ronan continued, his eyes locking with hers. “You go to the door and ask for shelter. Once inside, you must find Maeve and convince her to leave with you. If anything goes wrong—anything at all—you signal, and we will find a way in.”
Grace nodded, her gaze unwavering. “I understand.”
Ronan hesitated, the weight of what he was asking pressing heavily on him. “Flynn is dangerous,” he said, his voice low. “Do not trust anything he says.”
“I won’t,” she replied softly. “I am hoping to avoid him altogether, but I know not to trust him. He is nothing like you.”
Her words struck in a way he hadn’t expected, and for a brief moment, he wavered in letting her do this. He wanted to tell her to stop, to stay behind where it was safe, but he knew he neededher. Grace Whitford was determined and capable. How wrong he’d been about her. The fact was, he needed her, and she could do what he could not.
He watched as she moved across the old drawbridge, her figure a shadow against the mist-laden ground. The sound of her boots on the path was deafening to Ronan, though he knew it was his anxiety for Grace’s safety. He forced himself to remain still, though every instinct screamed for him to stop her, to bring her back. He stayed in the shadows, his gaze never leaving her.
When she reached the heavy wooden door, she paused for a moment before lifting the iron knocker and letting it fall with a resounding thud that reverberated through the night.
The seconds stretched into what felt like hours before the door creaked open. A man appeared, his face indiscernible against the faint light from within. Ronan couldn’t hear their words, but he saw Grace’s posture—calm, unthreatening, utterly convincing. The man seemed to hesitate, then stepped aside, allowing her entry. As the door closed behind her, Ronan felt an unfamiliar panic.
She was inside Flynn’s lair now, and there was nothing he could do to protect her. The thought was like a knife twisting in his gut. Not only was his sister under Flynn’s roof, but now Grace—the woman who had somehow managed to crack the armour around his heart—was there as well. His mind raced with questions. Would Grace find Maeve? Would his sister trust this stranger and agree to leave? Or would Flynn’s influence prove too strong?
Ronan was coiled as tight as a spring, ready to explode. He replayed the plan over and over in his mind, searching for flaws, for anything they might have overlooked. He had always prided himself on his ability to anticipate every possible outcome, but now, as he waited in the shadows, he realized how much of their success was beyond his control.
If anything happened to Grace, he would never forgive himself.
Stuart’s voice, low and steady, broke through his thoughts. “She’s strong, Carew. And clever. She will find a way. We are setting off to the servants’ entrance.”
Ronan nodded curtly, though his throat felt tight. He didn’t trust himself to speak. His gaze remained fixed on the door, afraid to miss any sign of trouble within.
If Flynn thought he could take what mattered most to Ronan and walk away unscathed, he was sorely mistaken. Flynn would pay.
Ronan stood alone just beyond the door of the keep, his body coiled with tension, every muscle taut. His ears strained for the slightest sound, his eyes fixed on the shadowy silhouette of the castle against the moonlit sky. He had never realized, but the sheer helplessness of waiting was worse than being flayed alive. All he could do was wait.
Grace was inside, braving the lion’s den with nothing but her wits and her courage. The memory of her determination, the quiet resolve in her eyes, was both a source of pride and torment.
Every creak of the bridge, every animal noise drifting on the wind set his heart pounding. He imagined the worst—Flynn discovering her, Grace caught in a trap, Maeve too frightened or injured to escape. The possibilities played out endlessly in his mind, each more dire than the last. He whispered a curse under his breath. If anything happened to her, he would never forgive himself.
He scanned the walls again, he searched for any sign of movement, any signal that Grace had found Maeve and was making her way out. The shadows seemed alive, shifting and writhing with every flicker of moonlight.
The waiting was agony, a torment that gnawed at his composure. Every minute felt like a lifetime. He prided himselfon his ability to remain calm under pressure, to act with precision and control even in the most chaotic of circumstances. But this was different. This was Grace. This was Maeve. The stakes were not just his own life, but the lives of the two women he cared for most in the world.
