The lie slid easily from his mouth. It was the same one he’d planned to use when facing Angus Campbell, practiced to perfection so that it wouldn’t sound even a little strange. The men faltered, glancing among themselves for a moment, before Iain hissed at them to put away their blades, the three of them bowing to him.
“Fergive us, Mr. Gordon,” Iain said. “We didnae realize ye would be comin’ so soon… or that ye would be findin’ the Lady Isabeau here.”
“A lucky incident,” Michael said with a wave of his hand. Then he added, “She’s injured. A blade wound in her stomach. She needs rest an’ quiet, nae another jolt through the hills.”
“Laird Angus demands her return.”
Michael’s jaw flexed, his gaze hardening as he stared at the man. “The healer told me it’s important fer her tae rest. She cannae handle the journey.”
“She’ll come now,” the shortest of the men snapped. “Laird’s orders.”
A carriage rattled up the lane behind the men, its arrival like a hammer falling—polished wood, pulled by two black horses. The Campbells opened the door and stepped aside, expectant.
And when his gaze met Isabeau’s, her eyes burned with hatred and bitterness.
What’s the matter with her? Why is she lookin’ at us like that? What was she runnin’ from?
No noble girl left the comforts of her home, fleeing into the woods and running straight into danger for no reason. No noble girl went out there without attendants, without any guards to protect her. Michael could only imagine she was running from something—or someone.
He made to help her down the horse, but Iain pushed his way past him, making sure he was the one to help her—and he was not gentle. Michael followed them both with his gaze as they moved toward the carriage, slowly, and another of the men reached to help her.
She slapped his hand away and slipped out of Iain’s grip, refusing the help. Still, her steps were weak. Michael moved forward on instinct when she stumbled—but she caught herself before he could touch her, glaring over her shoulder.
“I’m fine,” she said through gritted teeth.
Michael froze, then stepped back, lacing his hands together behind his back. Then he watched, helpless, as Isabeau stepped into the carriage and let the door shut behind her like the closing of a tomb.
The Campbells mounted their horses. One nodded to him, suspicious but satisfied.
“Ye’ll follow us then?”
Michael gave a slow nod, his voice like gravel in his throat. “I’ll follow.”
His mission was there, in Castle Inveraray—but so was the answer to the enigma that was Isabeau Campbell.
CHAPTER FIVE
The high stone walls of Inveraray Castle loomed as Michael rode through the main gates, following the Campbell guards like a wolf in borrowed wool. His horse’s hooves clacked on the cobblestones, the sound rhythmic, hypnotizing. He kept his hood pulled low, his face composed in a diplomat’s mask, but under it, every inch of him was coiled and alert.
Isabeau hadn’t looked at him once before she entered the carriage. Now that they were past the gates and he had dismounted, she walked ahead, flanked by two guards, her shoulders stiff with rage and despair. Her fury was like a living thing, rounding them all up in the same storm, but it was never once unleashed.
What kind of restraint did this woman have? And how had she reached that point?
But there was no time to dwell on any of that. Michael had to find Alyson.
They reached the great hall, its arched wooden doors opening like a mouth ready to swallow them whole. Michael walked past the threshold and into the vast, firelit chamber, where Angus Campbell waited for them, standing at the far end of the hall.
The years hadn’t dulled him. Michael had never set eyes on the man before, but he could imagine him in his youth—a beast of war. Now, he was still broad-shouldered and thick-necked, his dark hair silvering around the temples and the length of his hairline.
He was a man forged from battle, and even now, he was still as sharp as a blade.
“Mr. Gordon,” Angus said, stepping forward with a smile that never touched his eyes. “Ye’ve arrived sooner than expected.”
“Aye, me laird,” Michael said with a bow of his head. “The Grants are eager tae resolve matters. We saw nay sense in delay.”
Laird Campbell nodded, folding his hands behind his back as he regarded Isabeau with something like irritation. “An’ yet I hear me daughter was found near death outside me lands, alone. Would ye care tae explain yerself, lass?”
Isabeau froze. Michael saw it instantly, the panic she couldn’t quite smother. Her eyes darted around her, her lips parted—but no words came. Her hands trembled slightly at her sides, barely hidden under the folds of her gown.
