They both turned to see a rider cresting the ridge, heading straight for them at a gallop that spoke of an emergency.
As the figure drew closer, Murdock recognized Hamish.
The man’s face was grim, his posture tense in a way that made Murdock’s battle instincts flare.
“Me Laird!” Hamish called out as he pulled his horse up short and dismounted in one fluid motion. “Forgive the interruption, but ye need to see this. It just arrived.” His eyes flicked to Leona, then back to Murdock. “Fromhim.”
He held out a sealed letter, the wax stamped with a crest Murdock recognized all too well. The Gilmore seal.
Ragnall.
All the heat from their argument evaporated, replaced by cold dread. Leona’s face had gone pale.
“Another letter?” Her voice was barely above a whisper.
Murdock took the letter from Hamish, his jaw tightening as he felt the weight of it. Thicker than the last one. More words. More threats, most likely.
“When did this arrive?” he asked.
“Just now, me Laird. A runner brought it to the gate.” Hamish’s expression was troubled. “Said he was instructed to nae wait for reply. Just deliver it and leave.”
Murdock nodded curtly. “I see. Thank ye, Hamish.”
“Of course, me Laird.” Hamish then hesitated. “Me Laird… whatever it says, ken that we’re with ye. All of us. Whatever comes.”
Something in Murdock’s chest loosened slightly at the loyalty in the man’s voice. “I ken it, Hamish. Thank ye.”
“What does it say?” Leona’s voice was steadier now, though he could see her hands trembling where she’d clasped them together. “Please. I need to ken.”
Murdock broke the seal and unfolded the parchment, his eyes scanning the lines. With each word, his expression grew darker, a cold fury building in his chest that had nothing to do with the passion from moments ago.
When he finished reading, he looked up at Leona and saw his own dread reflected in her eyes.
“It’s nae good,” he said quietly.
“Tell me.” She stepped closer, her chin lifted in that stubborn way he’d come to recognize. “I can bear it. Whatever it says, I can bear it.”
Could she, though? Could she bear knowing that Ragnall’s patience had worn even thinner? That the timeline had changed, the threats had escalated?
Could she bear knowing that whatever fragile thing they’d built between them, whatever tentative step toward something real they’d just taken, might not matter at all if Ragnall had his way?
Murdock looked down at the letter again, at Ragnall’s precise script laying out his ultimatum in black and white. Then he looked at Leona—brave, stubborn, beautiful Leona, who deserved so much more than this mess—and knew he couldn’tprotect her from the truth any more than he could protect her from his broken heart.
“He’s comin' sooner,” he said. “Nae in six days, but four.”
21
The letter felt like ice in Leona’s hands.
She’d taken it from Murdock without thinking, needing to see the words for herself, needing to confirm that what he’d read was real and not some nightmare her fear-addled mind had conjured.
But the words were there. Black ink on pale parchment. Written in Ragnall’s careful, precise script.
To Laird Ainsley,
Your time grows short. My patience thins with each passing day that my cousin remains under your unlawful protection.
I make my terms clear: Return Leona Gilmore to me by week’s end, or face the consequences. Not just war, Laird Ainsley, buttotal destruction. I will burn your lands, slaughter your cattle, and put every soul who aided in her theft to the sword.
