Torn Between Truths
Lachlan stood at the edge of the practice field, eyes locked on the distant horizon. The wind tugged at his cloak, but he didn’t feel the chill. His thoughts raced far faster than any Highland gale.
It started with a memory.
The masked ball.
Her voice, breathless against his ear.
"Take me away."
At the time, those words had ignited something primal in him. But now, the doubt returned like a blade to the ribs.
What if she’d thought he was Alastair?
They wore similar masks that night. Similar build. And in the candlelight—gods, what if her plea wasn’t meant for him?
His fists clenched.
Was she thinking about his brother when she kissed him?
His thoughts spiraled with no end. Elspeth’s prophecy. Isla’s curiosity in magic. Her behavior with Alastair. Her behavior with him.
She laughed with his brother. She flinched from him.
The contrast gnawed at him.
He looked up just in time to see her—Isla—running toward him. Her cloak billowed behind her like wings, and for a second, he couldn’t move.
She looked like something out of a dream. Or a warning.
She slowed as she neared him, her expression unreadable. Before she could speak, Lachlan took two strides forward and pulled her into his arms.
He said nothing.
He just held her.
Held her like it might stop the world from breaking apart.
Alastair’s voice echoed in his mind: Someone else will take care of her.
No. That couldn’t happen. He wouldn’t let it.
But the prophecy…
The truth…
He buried his face in her hair and inhaled. Her scent grounded him in a way nothing else could. Lavender and smoke. Wild and warm.
“I didn’t expect to see you here,” she said softly against his chest.
He didn’t respond.
Instead, he tightened his grip.
When he finally pulled back, his gaze searched hers.
“Why do you want to learn magic?” he asked.
She blinked. “Because I want to understand this connection we have. Because I’m curious. Because you won’t talk to me.”
Lachlan stared at her.
It wasn’t the answer he expected.
“I feel it too,” he admitted. “But I don’t understand it. Not fully.”
“Then why not talk to me?” she asked. “Why do you keep pulling away?”
Because I’m afraid you’ll destroy everything.
Because I might have to destroy you first.
But he didn’t say any of that.
Instead, he reached up and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “Some things are hard to say out loud.”
She nodded slowly, but her eyes were still filled with questions.
“Do you want me to stop asking about magic?” she asked.
Lachlan hesitated.
“No,” he said. “Just… don’t trust everyone who offers to teach you.”
“Even your brother?” she asked, tilting her head.
Especially him.
“He means well,” Lachlan muttered, though it left a bitter taste in his mouth.
Isla studied him for a moment. “You’re jealous.”
He didn’t deny it.
She smiled faintly. “You don’t have to be.”
That smile—the way it softened her whole face—made him want to believe her. But the weight of what he carried made belief feel dangerous.
He stepped back. The cool air filled the space between them.
“I have duties to see to,” he said.
She nodded. “Of course.”
But before he turned to go, she added, “You don’t have to be alone in this, Lachlan. Whatever this is… you don’t have to carry it by yourself.”
He hesitated.
Then, slowly, he stepped forward again. Not close enough to hold her. Just enough to reach out—his hand trembling slightly as he brushed her hair back once more.
And then he leaned in.
Not to her lips.
But to her forehead.
He pressed a kiss there, soft and lingering. A promise. A goodbye. A coward’s confession.
Because he knew—if he kissed her mouth, he wouldn’t be able to walk away.
When he pulled back, her eyes were wide, searching his face for something he couldn’t give.
He turned before she could speak again.
And this time, he didn’t look back.
—
Back at the field, Isla stood frozen in place long after Lachlan disappeared into the trees.
The kiss on her forehead still burned.
Not in a sweet way.
In a way that made her feel like a child. Like something fragile. Like something he could hold and then discard when it suited him.
She wrapped her arms around herself, trying to make sense of the storm inside her.
He was gentle now. But he hadn’t always been.
And she hadn’t forgotten.
The bedroom. The way he’d touched her. The way he hadn’t listened when she said his name—not in invitation, but in warning.
She’d been confused. She still was.
But one thing had become clear.
She needed to speak to him. Not as someone who loved him. Not as someone caught in the pull of fate.
But as someone who deserved to be heard.
She turned toward the castle, her steps slow but steady.
She would find him.
And this time, she wouldn’t let him walk away without hearing the truth.
—
He didn’t go far.
Just beyond the edge of the field, where the trees thickened and the shadows grew long, he stopped. Leaned against a gnarled oak. Let the silence press in.
He could still feel her warmth on his chest. Still hear the tremor in her voice. Still taste the ghost of her skin on his lips.
He wanted to believe her. Gods, he did.
But belief was a luxury he couldn’t afford.
Not with the prophecy hanging over them like a noose.
Not with the way Alastair looked at her when he thought no one noticed.
Not with the way Lachlan himself had started to dream of her—dreams that ended in fire and ruin.
He pressed his palm to the tree bark, grounding himself.
He remembered the old stories. Of bonds forged by fate. Of magic that twisted love into something monstrous.
What if this was that?
What if Isla’s curiosity wasn’t innocent?
What if it was the beginning of the end?
A twig snapped behind him.
He turned, half-expecting her to have followed.
But it was only a squirrel, darting through the underbrush.
Still, his heart pounded like war drums.
He needed clarity. Answers. Something more than riddles and half-truths.
He needed to know if what he felt was real—or just another illusion spun by fate.
And he needed to know soon.
Because if he was wrong about Isla…
He wouldn’t survive it.
Then—
A scream.
Sharp. Distant. Female.
His heart stopped.
Then surged.
He was already running before his mind caught up, boots pounding against the frozen earth, breath tearing from his lungs.
Toward the castle.
Toward Isla.