Then she backhands me.
Pain explodes across my cheek, hot and bright. I yelp, staggering back, hand flying to my face.
What the hell?
I’ve never been hit before.
Callum’s face darkens. He steps between us, voice like steel. “I warn you, Donag.”
She peers around him to glare at me, rigid with anger. “You’ll not bait my Callum,” she snarls. “He’s an innocent.”
I press my lips together. I know better than to argue with someone this far gone.
Instead, I drop my voice into something dull and measured. “Look,” I say, “I’m sorry I bothered you. Janet’s probably waiting at the inn right now. You can?—”
“I’ve changed my mind.” She gives me a slow, hungry smile. “I don’t want Janet anymore. I want you.”
“No,” Callum growls, his voice vibrating with something dangerous. He grabs Donag’s arm. “You said only Janet. I’ll nae let this girl suffer.”
Donag wrenches from his grip. Her voice cracks, raw. “I want themallto suffer.”
Her hand flies to her mouth, like she wasn’t expecting tosay it. Like it just ripped from her. A single tear slips from her eye, and she scrubs it away, face contorting with something caught between anguish and fury.
And for just a second—just a flicker—she looks like a girl. Young and hurting.
Then it’s gone.
She hardens. Straightens.
And when she looks at Callum, her voice is iron.
“’Tis only you and me now, lad. We must protect what we have left. It comes down to blood. Blood and kin and clan.”
Callum steps forward. “I ken your pain, Donag.” His tone softens, just a fraction. “You crave vengeance, and though I mayn’t agree, Idounderstand.”
She flinches.
“But creating more suffering won’t ease your own,” he continues. “This wasnae your plan.”
Donag stares at him, voice turning to ice. “I mean to distract the Campbell laird.”
Then her eyes flash to me, lips twisting with satisfaction. “A new plaything will make him forget Janet soon enough.”
Chapter
Eight
Ipeer at Donag through the shadows. She’s been sitting for hours, muttering to herself and glaring at the door like she’s expecting an invasion.
I’m waiting her out. She has to sleep sometime. And when she does, I’ll make my move.
I study the door, careful not to be obvious. Is there another lock besides that crossbar? In the dim, flickering firelight, it’s impossible to tell.
I throw my voice her way. “Can we turn on a light?”
Silence.
“Surely you’ve got a little TV stashed somewhere. Something.”
