A sob escaped her lips.
“How could ye do this?” she cried. “How could ye kill innocent?—”
His hand shot out, and his fingers closed around her jaw, forcing her mouth shut. “Nay,” he snarled in her face. “Yekilled them.”
Her breath hitched painfully.
“Ye planned to give yerself to them,” he continued, his eyes wild, “when ye belong to me!”
Spittle flew from his mouth and hit her cheek, his face contorted into something monstrous. She barely recognized him. This was no longer Caelan. Caelan was just an image she had always had in her mind.
Then, his expression smoothed, giving way to something more deliberate and cruel. Something more sinister.
“I ken about ye and William,” he admitted. “And I willnae hesitate to end his life if ye try to return to him.”
The certainty in his voice was what shattered her the most. He didn’t sound angry. The words didn’t even sound like a threat. Itwas the certainty of an evil man willing to do the same evil deed over and over.
Sorcha could see it clearly. If he had killed before, he would kill again without mercy. And William? William might never stand a chance. For Caelan had murdered three lairds—threeheavily guardedmen.
Worry wrapped around her heart and squeezed painfully.
She fought a scream, struggled not to collapse altogether. All she could do was let her tears fall, hot with the sting of betrayal.
“So,” Caelan said, straightening, his voice almost pleasant again, “come with me.” He extended his hand. “Let’s go far away. Start anew. As lovers.”
Her stomach churned.
“Where ye’ll be mine forever,” he added, “and nay man will have to suffer for yer negligence again.”
Sorcha stared at his hand, feeling like her world was ending. The one thing she had always sought slipped from her fingers yet again—freedom.
She wanted to scream. She wanted to fight. But she still didn’t want to risk William’s safety. So when Caelan took her hand, she did not resist.
34
Fear overtook William, riding him harder than the horse beneath him.
He hated the way it squeezed his chest, hated the way it made his breathing quicken, hated the way it made the world around him blur.
Worse of all, he hated himself. For every choice that had led him there. For every moment he had believed he could keep Sorcha safe while seeking vengeance.
I should have kept her closer. I should never have trusted anyone with her safety.
“Shite!” he roared, leaning low over the horse’s neck.
He rode even faster down the dirt road, the horse’s hooves kicking up dust behind them.
The villagers’ words echoed in his mind relentlessly.
“Aye, we saw a red carriage passing by. Dunrath crest engraved on it.”
Dunrath. The name burned in his chest.
Caelan had been audacious to kidnap a lady in her own carriage.
Soon, William spotted a sacred chapel ahead, its ancient stone rising like it had witnessed too much history.
Why here? Why a chapel, of all places?
