Chapter 27

Macauley blinked his eyes open slowly, his lids feeling heavy as though they were made of lead. Though there was little light around him—whatever the torches on the walls shed in his cell—he still struggled against it, the injuries on his head making it difficult to focus on his surroundings.

He didn't know how much time had passed since the first time he had opened his eyes, but now it was dark outside, nothing but a wan moonlight shining in through the tiny slits in the wall. It could have been hours or it could have been days, and Macauley would have been none the wiser either way.

He thought back to that last time he had woken up and couldn't help but wonder if Cathleen had truly come to see him or if she had been nothing but a hallucination created by his exhausted and desperate mind. Would Faolan have let her visit him? Macauley remembered him there, too, dragging her away from him while they both screamed at him to let her go. He remembered the terrified look in her eyes, the unrelenting steel bars under his hands.

It must have been real.

But Macauley almost wished it hadn't been. He never wanted Cathleen to see him in such a state. If he was going to die, he wanted her to remember him fondly—yet now her last image of him would be on that grimy floor, covered in blood and bruises.

Slowly, Macauley pushed himself off the floor, trying to peer out of his cell to see if there was any hope of escape. The walls were bare save for the torches and the door had no give, making it impossible for him to open it. As his gaze drifted around the dimly lit room, it fell on a man—a guard who was standing near the stairs and who was hardly paying any attention to him, perhaps too bored with his task and confident in the ability of the cell door to keep Macauley imprisoned.

He wasn't wrong at that, at least. If Macauley was going to get out of there, he would need a key.

The dungeons were musty and humid, the chill of the night seeping into Macauley's bones. There was nothing in his cell; no cot, no blanket, nothing he could use to protect himself from the cold, and it would be a wonder if he didn't freeze to death before Faolan even had the chance to hang him like he had threatened. In an attempt to keep himself warm, Macauley curled up in the corner of the room, hugging his legs to his chest. It was then that he began to assess the damage done to his body.

The more attention he paid to his injuries, the more his pain demanded his attention, flaring up all over his body. He carefully touched his face with his fingers, exploring all the now unfamiliar shapes, his features distorted by the injuries. Old blood was caked over one side, while his lip and his eye were swollen, tender to the touch. Someone must have taken a few blows at him after he was already unconscious, he thought, as the last time he could recall, he didn't have all those injuries.

With a sigh, he let his head fall back against the wall, closing his eyes once more. By then, Kian would have realized the attack on the Drummond Clan was nothing but a distraction and he would be on his way back to Castle MacLaren, but would he arrive soon enough? Would he manage to get there in time to save Macauley from an untimely death?

And what would that cost him? How many Drummond men would die in a battle meant to save his life?

Macauley had never felt so useless before. It paralyzed him, draining him from any hope he still held onto. How could he wait to be rescued? He had to find a way to get himself free.

He didn't even know if the day of the wedding had arrived yet. Had Faolan already forced Cathleen to marry him? Was it too late?

It doesnae matter. If I find a way out o' here, I will kill him.

There could be no marriage if the husband was dead.

* * *

Cathleen looked at herself in the looking-glass with a scowl. The servants had dressed her in a forest green dress, the color rich and the fabric luxurious, the hems trimmed with fine lace. Jewels adorned her neck and wrists, all of them family heirlooms now belonging not to her but to Faolan.

Nay, nay yet. We are yet tae wed.

But they would be, soon. Kian hadn't shown up with his men to put an end to this madness. Macauley was imprisoned in the dungeons, kept there for Faolan's amusement until he decided that he preferred him dead than alive. Bonnie had disappeared, too, and there was no one in the castle to whom Cathleen could turn. Even the servants who wanted to help her were too frightened of Faolan to do so, always trembling, always mumbling their words, shoulders hunched as though they were caving into themselves.

Three of those servants were in Cathleen's chamber, cleaning up after her bath and helping her dress. They were all young women, only recently brought to the castle after Faolan had sent away many of the old staff, people he couldn't so easily intimidate. There was a knock on the door, and Cathleen turned to see Morven there, one of the few older maids who remained in the castle.

"How are ye fairin', me lady?" Morven asked as she sent the other women away. She closed the door behind her and Cathleen was finally alone with a friendly face, though it was only a small consolation in her situation.

"I'm fine," Cathleen said, though she hardly sounded convincing. "Did ye hear anythin' about Macauley?"

That was the only thing she cared about. She needed to know that Macauley was all right, that Faolan hadn't yet gotten his hands on him just yet. Even though he had threatened to hang him after the wedding, Cathleen couldn't be certain he would deliver on it. For all she knew, he would kill Macauley in a fit of rage.

"I heard he is tae be there," Morven said. "At yer weddin'."

Cathleen paled at that, her stomach dropping to the floor. She didn't want him to witness such a thing. It was yet another cruelty to which both she and Macauley would be subjected for Faolan's amusement.

Would he force Macauley to be at the feast, too? Would he make him sit there, surrounded by guards, just to ridicule him in front of all the guests?

Cathleen couldn't allow such a thing. She would do anything to save him from such humiliation.

With a weary sigh, she sat on the chair in front of her vanity, still staring at her reflection. She had never given the day of her wedding much thought when she was a young girl, but whatever idea she had about it was certainly very different to this. A wedding was supposed to be a joyous occasion, something to celebrate, but Cathleen could only mourn the loss of the life she never had the chance to have.

In another life, she would be marrying Macauley. The two of them would have been happy, she knew. They would have loved each other. They would have had a family.

"Is there anythin' I can dae fer ye?" Morven asked, and though there was concern in her tone, there was also resignation. She knew just as well as Cathleen that there was nothing to be done. Maybe if she could have convinced the council to stop this wedding, things would be different, but no matter how much she had tried, no one had listened to her. Those men still loyal to her father were kept in line under threat of death and harm to their families. They wouldn't risk their own wives, their children, just to save Cathleen, especially not when they thought they could control Faolan from the shadows after the wedding.

They were wrong, of course. Cathleen had underestimated him as well, and that had brought her to that room, about to be his bride. If they thought they could make him do their bidding, then they were sorely mistaken and they would soon find out the foolishness of their plans.

They, along with Faolan, would bring the clan to ruin.

"What is there tae dae?" Cathleen asked with a small shrug. "Thank ye, Morven, but I think I'd rather be alone until the weddin'."

Morven hesitated, hovering over Cathleen's shoulder. Her thick brows were pinched into a frown, her lips curled in distaste and anger.

"It isnae right, me lady," she said. "I have looked after ye an' yer sister ever since ye were bairns. I cannae bear tae see ye like this. An' all because o' him."

Morven didn't speak Faolan's name, but the venom in her voice was enough to make it sound like a curse. Her hand came to rest on Cathleen's shoulder and Cathleen placed her own over it, giving it a gentle pat.

"Dinnae fash," Cathleen told her, trying to sound as reassuring as she could, even as Morven's eyes filled with tears. "Dinnae fash about me. Try tae find out if anyone has seen Bonnie. I'm more concerned about her."

"I asked," Morven said. "I've told the wee ‘uns tae tell me if they hear somethin'. Ye ken how they always sneak around, hearin' things they shouldnae. They'll tell me if they hear anythin'."

"Nae one has seen her so far?" Cathleen asked.

Morven shook her head. "Nay. She hasnae been back tae the castle."

Ever since coming back, Cathleen had been in a constant state of panic, so much so that her body was now used to her heart beating wildly, her chest feeling as though it was cracking under the pressure of her fear. It was no different now that she was thinking about her sister. Nothing unsettled her more than this uncertainty. She didn't know if help was coming. She didn't know if Bonnie was safe. She didn't know anything that would help her hang on, even for just a little while longer.

"The first tae ken will be the stable boy," Morven said, as her hand slipped off Cathleen's shoulder and she made her way to the door. "I'll send him tae ye straight away."

"Thank ye, Morven," said Cathleen, trying to muster a small smile. At least she could still say she had one ally in that castle, someone who wanted to help more than she was afraid of Faolan.

The moment Morven was gone, leaving Cathleen alone in the room, the tears she had been holding back all this time finally flowed freely, burning tracks down her cheeks. She didn't care if she would end up looking flushed and red-eyed at her own wedding. She wasn't going to pretend to be a willing bride for the sake of a council that had forsaken her.

Let them see. Let them see what they have done tae me.

* * *

The sun was already high up in the sky and from what Macauley could see through the windows, it was a nice, warm day. Even the dungeons were a little more comfortable in the day's heat, the sun rays chasing some of the chill and humidity away.

Three guards he hadn't seen before came and Macauley jumped to his feet the moment the door opened, spreading his feet into a fighting stance, but before he could lunge, there was a sword pressed at his throat, the tip pressing into the tender skin there.

He froze. One wrong move could have his head cut off and without any of his weapons, there was nothing he could do to fight the guard, especially when he stood at such a distance. If he had a knife instead of a sword, if he had used his hands, Macauley could have overpowered him, but there was nothing he could do to fight a sword bare-handed.

Two of the guards approached him when he stilled and bound his wrists together behind his back, just as he had predicted. Of course, Faolan wouldn't leave him unbound, with unrestrained use of his hands when he knew Macauley would be looking for a chance to attack. Still, he flexed his hands as they bound him, trying to give himself some leeway for later and grunting when the guard tugged at the rope, its rough surface dragging over his skin leaving red welts that would take days to heal.

If he even had that many days… for all he knew, Faolan would hang him right after the wedding and claim that it was a gift to his wife.

Once they were satisfied with the bonds around his wrists, each guard grabbed him by the arm as the other two flanked them, and the five of them made their way out of the dungeons and into the courtyard. The moment Macauley stepped outside, he squinted his eyes as he tried to adjust to the intensity of the sun after so much time spent in darkness, the light relentless as it washed over his face.

"Move," one of the guards barked, giving him a shove when he refused to walk. Stumbling, Macauley let them drag him along, all the while looking frantically around him to see if he could catch a glimpse of Cathleen, no matter how brief.

He only wanted to make sure she was alright, but she was nowhere to be seen.

The guards pulled Macauley roughly towards the chapel at the edge of the castle grounds, giving him no time to adjust his gait or get his bearings after so many hours in the dungeons. When they got there, they threw him onto the back pew and stood around him, though they made sure he had an unobstructed view of Faolan and the priest, the two of them talking quietly as they waited for Cathleen to appear.

"Ach, Macauley!" Faolan said when he spotted him, as though they were old friends. Faolan had spared no expense, dressed in fine garments that would undoubtedly impress his guests at the feast that was to come that evening. "I was worried ye wouldnae make it on time."

Macauley frowned. "Are ye nae the one who controls where I go an' when?"

"That is true," Faolan said. "But I feared ye would put up a fight."

"What is the point?" asked Macauley bitterly, glaring at the guard who had pressed his sword against his neck. "So yer men could kill me sooner than ye planned?"

"They wouldnae kill ye," said Faolan, waving a hand dismissively. "They would simply maim. They have their orders. They ken I have other plans fer ye."

"Dae ye truly think they are so loyal tae ye that they would give their lives just so ye could have me hanged?" Macauley scoffed, shaking his head. If Faolan's men gave him even one chance, he would kill them all. There was only so far a man could be pushed before he fought back, and no matter how loyal those guards were to Faolan, they wouldn't follow his orders if it meant dying for no good reason.

Faolan didn't respond, though his eyes narrowed as he looked at Macauley and then his men. He had planted a seed of doubt in his mind now. It wasn't much and it probably wouldn't make any difference in the long run, but at least it gave Macauley the satisfaction of knowing he could get under the man's skin.

Just then, the doors to the chapel opened and Cathleen appeared before him and Macauley swallowed hard. She looked beautiful in her wedding dress, the deep green of the fabric complimenting her long, brown locks and her lovely skin, though ultimately, the effect was lost. There was an air of misery about her that seemed to drain all the color out of her cheeks and her eyes were red-rimmed, as though she had been crying for hours.

Macauley could only imagine that she had, holed up in her chambers all alone as the time of her wedding approached. His chest ached with the thought, a pang of guilt spearing through him. He should have done more to protect her.

His anger had long since melted away. Meeting Faolan was enough for Macauley to understand why Cathleen had lied to him, and if Deirdre didn't hold any grudge against her, then he thought that he, too, should perhaps let it go. Cathleen had already gone through enough pain without him punishing her for her dishonesty, and besides, there was nothing he could imagine that was worse than the fate which awaited her.

If Macauley could do nothing to stop this marriage, then she would spend the rest of her life bound to Faolan—and as it was, he didn't know what he could possibly do. The entire time he had sat there, he had been trying to wiggle out of his bonds subtly, but the ropes were tight around his wrists, giving him little space to maneuver. By the time he managed to get free—if he could at all—it would already be too late.

"Macauley," Cathleen gasped, her body frozen by the doors. She had eyes only for him, and they were shining once more with tears, her gaze full of concern as she took in his appearance. He must have looked even worse in the light of day, he thought, his wounds now fully visible.

Cathleen made to approach but before she could, a guard stepped in her way, stopping her. She glared up at him and then at Faolan, who did nothing to beckon her closer. Perhaps he was enjoying this too much and he wanted to prolong it as much as he could, but all Macauley wanted was to get it over with.

It seemed that Cathleen had the same idea, as she started walking down the aisle to join him and the priest. There was no one else there but them, and the ceremony was quick, as though Faolan feared that if it took too long, something would go wrong. It took the priest less than ten minutes to finish that part of the ceremony, and then they all stepped outside for the last of the rites so the people of the castle could take part, the one that would complete their union, Macauley once again dragged along by the guards.

The priest took Faolan's and Cathleen's hands, joining them together. Cathleen's eyes found Macauley's and it took all of his self-control to keep himself from running to her, even bound and unarmed as he was.

Before the priest could speak, though, something whizzed past him, the sound splitting the air around them. Next to Macauley, one of the guards fell to the ground, blood fountaining out of his chest.

An arrow had struck his heart.