“Aye,” Donal said. “He was there. Gave the order. Then fled wi’ her east before we could follow.”
Michael stepped forward, his face drawn tight. “If he means tae take her across the water, we’ll lose the trail.”
“We’ll nae lose it,” Tòrr said, voice low but steady. “We’ll track him down if it takes us the rest o’ the season.”
Catherine shook her head, her voice sharp with panic. “Alyson cannae survive in his hands. She’s—she’ll be terrified.”
Aidan turned toward her. She was trembling now, trying to stand still but failing. He reached out, his hand closing around hers, anchoring her.
“She’ll be all right,” he said quietly, though his jaw was tight enough to crack. “She’s a MacDonald. Ye all fight harder than ye look.”
She tried to smile, but her lip trembled. “Ye cannae promise that.”
“Nay,” he said. “But I can promise I’ll find her.”
Tòrr’s gaze snapped to him. “Ye’d ride wi’ us?”
“Always,” Aidan said.
Tórr frowned. “The clan’s still rebuildin’ after everything ye risked fer mine.”
“Then I’ll take what I can,” Aidan said flatly.
Tòrr’s eyes met his for a long moment. No words passed between them, but they didn’t need any. They understood each other better than anyone else, two men cut from the same iron, both too proud to say what they felt aloud.
Tòrr gave a small nod, almost imperceptible. “We ride at dawn then, aye?”
Aidan’s mouth curved just slightly, the closest he’d come to a smile all morning. “Aye. We ride together.”
He turned back to the rider. “Where’s the rest o’ the escort?”
“Half dead, me laird. The rest scattered when the horses broke. We gathered what we could and came straight here.”
“See the healer,” Aidan said. “Ye’ve done enough fer now.”
Donal bowed his head and led the horses toward the stables.
When they were gone, the silence returned. The faint hiss of wind through the broken gate was the only sound.
Catherine stood beside him, her hands twisting in her skirts. “If she’s hurt?—”
“She’s nae,” he said firmly. “Campbell’s a coward. He’ll use her, nae kill her. Nae yet.”
His voice was calm, too calm, and he knew Catherine could hear the anger building beneath it.
She stepped closer, lowering her voice. “Ye’ll find her.”
He looked down at her. “Aye. And when I dae, I’ll end this.”
She reached up, touching the side of his face, her fingers brushing the stubble along his jaw. “Ye cannae fight ferever.”
He caught her wrist gently. “A man like me was made fer fightin’, love. But I’ll always come back tae ye.”
Her throat tightened. “Ye’d better.”
He leaned down, his forehead brushing hers for the briefest moment. “I will.”
They stood like that for a long moment, two figures framed in the ruins of smoke and sunrise, before Tòrr’s voice broke through.
