“I should have been there,” he said, his voice cracking. “I should have been with her.”
“Ye couldnae have known—” Lottie started.
“I kent her father was lookin’ for her!” Fergus said, looking up at his sister with anguished eyes. “I kent, and I still let her walk around the grounds with only two guards. I thought… I thought she was safe here. I thought the castle walls would be enough.”
“It’s nae yer fault,” Lottie insisted, kneeling beside him and taking his hands. “Ye did everythin’ ye could.”
“Clearly I dinnae,” Fergus said bitterly. “Or she’d still be here.”
He thought of Jeane in her father’s hands. Thought of that cruel man hurting her, forcing her to marry Lord Fraser. Thought of her afraid and alone, thinking maybe Fergus wouldn’t come for her.
“Ye’ll find her,” Lottie said fiercely. “I ken ye will. And when ye do, ye’ll kill anyone who tried to hurt her.”
Fergus looked at his sister. She’d never seen him like this—broken and vulnerable. He’d always been the strong one, the one who protected her after their parents died.
But Jeane… Jeane had become his whole world. Without her, he was nothing.
“I love her, Lottie,” he whispered. “I love her more than I’ve ever loved anythin’. If I lose her?—”
“Ye willnae,” Lottie said firmly. “Ye’re the strongest man I ken, Fergus. Ye’ll get her back.”
Aiden cleared his throat from the doorway. “Me Laird. The horses are ready. The men are waitin’ for yer orders.”
Fergus stood, and as he did, he felt the grief transform back into rage. But this time it was cold, controlled. Deadly.
“Good,” he said, his voice like steel. “Because we’re ridin’ to McKay castle, and we’re nae comin’ back without her.”
He strode toward his chambers, Aiden following.
“Gather twenty of our best men,” Fergus ordered. “Armed and ready to fight. If Bennet Forrest wants a war, he’ll get one.”
“Aye, Me Laird.”
In his chambers, Fergus armed himself. His broadsword across his back. Daggers at his belt. He pulled on his leather armor, the pieces he usually only wore for battle.
Because this was a battle. A war for the woman he loved.
He caught sight of himself in the mirror—scarred, armed, his eyes blazing with fury.
A monster, Iris had called him.
Maybe she was right. Maybe he was a monster.
But if being a monster meant he could save Jeane, then he’d embrace it.
He thought of her smile, her laugh, the way she’d touch his scars like they were something precious instead of hideous.
I’m comin’ for ye, little mouse. Hold on. Just hold on.
Lottie appeared in his doorway, her face pale but determined.
“Bring her home,” she said. “Please, Fergus. Bring her home safe.”
“I will,” Fergus promised. “Or I’ll die tryin’.”
He walked past her, down the stairs, out to the courtyard where his men waited. Twenty warriors, all armed, all ready to follow him into hell if he asked.
Aiden stood beside Fergus’s stallion, holding the reins.
