Or were they? Lachlan had seemed so sincere when he’d told her he hadn’t wanted to hurt her. He’d claimed to love her. And at one time, she’d believed him. He’d also claimed to have tried to avoid using her by attempting to rescue his brother on his own. Could she believe him? She realized how much she wanted to.
She turned back to Hector. “You orchestrated the elopement?”
He sank back in his chair, stretching his legs out before him, looking well pleased. “Aye. And it was a brilliant plan. It would have worked perfectly had Coll not interfered.”
Flora thought of the fate that she’d narrowly avoided. “I won’t marry Lord Murray. He is a coward who left me to the mercy of brigands.”
Hector gave her a hard stare. “Yes, little sister, you will.”
He said it with such confidence, a shiver ran up her spine.
Like Lachlan, Hector was a fierce and ruthless Highland chief. But Hector had a cruel and brutish streak that Lachlan lacked. A lump of dread settled low in her belly. Without a doubt, she knew she’d made a mistake in coming here.
Hector was looking at her strangely. “What’s that?” he asked, indicating her amulet. “I’ve seen it before.”
Flora resisted the urge to cover it with her hand protectively. “It belonged to my mother.”
He frowned, and before she could stop him he reached for it. Turning it around in his hand, he examined the inscription on the back.
His eyes lit with excitement. “The old curse…it’s the Campbell amulet from Lady’s Rock.”
She didn’t respond.
“Lady’s Rock,” he repeated. “That’s it.”
“What are you talking about?”
But he only started to laugh. Laughter that chilled her blood and made the hair on her neck stand straight up.
A few hours later, she would learn why.
It had taken Lachlan all morning to rally his men…and to convince Rory MacLeod not to challenge him to a sword fight.
They were about one hundred strong—including a dozen of Rory’s men who’d accompanied him to the wedding. There simply hadn’t been time to send for more. Although Hector’s warriors numbered close to four hundred, only half that number were on Coll.
“If you are wrong about this,” Rory said as they tied thebirlinnto the dock at Arinagour, “I will take my men and return to Dunvegan—after we settle our differences.”
“I’m not wrong,” Lachlan said with more confidence than he felt. “Flora was angry. She acted rashly in running to Hector—which I’m sure she has come to regret. She will be happy to see us.”
“Knowing Hector, you are probably right. But as to the validity of your ‘marriage,’ I am undecided.”
Lachlan opened his mouth to argue but snapped it shut just as fast. Rory was right. Though every instinct in his body screamed to hold what was his, it would be Flora’s decision whether they stayed married. “I will not press my claim if she does not wish it.”
“Damn right you won’t.” Rory was still furious with Lachlan’s deception—as he had every right to be. Only the fact that Lachlan had convinced him of his love for his sister had kept the MacLeod at bay. If it came to it, Lachlan and Rory would be well matched—Rory was bigger, but Lachlan younger—but he didn’t relish finding out who was the better swordsman.
It took some time to unload his men from the boats, and Lachlan was surprised when they didn’t encounter any resistance. Hector had left the beach and docks at Arinagour largely undefended—something he would never have done.
It was strange.
Rory must have come to the same conclusion. “I wonder where our greeting party is.”
Lachlan shook his head. “I don’t know. But it makes me wary.”
“Aye,” Rory agreed.
After they’d marched south the few miles to Breacachadh, they had their explanation.
Hector stood outside the gate with only a handful of men behind him. The rest, Lachlan assumed, were stationed in the castle, ready to repel an attack.
