“Dae ye think MacKenzie will protect them when this is done?” Duncan asked quietly. “Dae ye think they care fer what becomes of yer family once ye’ve outlived yer usefulness?”
The guard’s hands trembled where they were bound. Duncan took a step closer.
“Ye still have a chance,” he spoke. “Give me what I need, and I will make certain they are safe.”
The guard shook his head weakly, as though fighting something within himself.
“I… I cannae…” he stammered.
Duncan said nothing. He simply waited. The silence pressed in again, heavier than before. Iain remained still behind him, watching, knowing better than to interfere now. The guard’s breath came faster, his composure breaking completely as his thoughts turned not to himself or to his fate, but tothem, his wife and his child.
“I ken ye are a man of yer word,” he finally spoke, and Duncan could hear desperation seeping into every syllable. “I ken they will be safe.”
Duncan did not hesitate. “Me word has never been broken before, and ye have it, even now.”
The answer came without force. The guard stared at him, searching his face for doubt or for deceit, for anything he could use to hold onto his silence. He found none.
That was when something in him gave way. His shoulders sagged, and the last of his resistance slipped through his grasp like water.
“He’s here,” the guard said hoarsely. “MacKenzie. Somewhere in the town… but I dinnae ken where exactly. He keeps moving. Never stays in one place long enough tae be found.”
Duncan’s expression did not change.
“He’s watching,” the guard continued, his voice unsteady now, each word pulled from him with effort. “Waiting fer the right moment.”
“Fer what?” Duncan asked sharply, though he already knew.
“Fer…her.” The word settled heavy in the cell. “Fer the healer.”
Duncan felt rage taking over. It was subtle, a mere tightening of his jaw, and stillness in his posture. But Iain saw it. The guard felt it. Because what had been controlled before, was now far colder.
“What is his plan?” Duncan asked.
The guard swallowed. “Tae take her,” he said simply, confirming Duncan’s doubts. “Tae drag her back, if need be. And kill anyone who stands in the way.”
Duncan straightened slowly, his full height casting a long shadow across the stone floor, the flickering torchlight catching in his eyes, but there was no warmth in them now.
“Ye didnae just betray yer clan,” he spoke slowly, but each word cut like a dagger through the air. “Ye consciously put her in danger.”
The guard flinched.
“Ye stood beside her,” he continued, each word precise. “Ye watched over her. Ye gave yer word that she would be safe under our protection.”
The guard’s breathing grew shallow.
“And then ye handed her over.”
There was no raised voice and no outward display of rage. But the cold fury beneath his words was far worse. The guard saw it now. He understood it. This was not anger that would burn out. This was judgment, final and unyielding.
“I…” the guard began, but the words died in his throat.
There was nothing he could say. Nothing that would matter. Duncan’s gaze held him in place, unrelenting.
“There will be nay mercy fer what ye have done,” he condemned him.
It was not a threat, but a fact. Duncan turned away without another word. He had what he needed.
And now, there would be no more waiting.
