Chapter 78: The Shattered Bond
Chapter 78: The Shattered Bond
Alistair watched Isla walk away.
All around him, people sat frozen — spoons halfway to mouths, goblets stilled in trembling hands. No one dared speak. The tension was a living thing, thick in the air. Mairi’s face had gone pale, her hand trembling as it clutched the edge of the table.
Fenella stood near the doorway, dumbfounded. Had Isla truly done it? Had she just handed her husband to another woman?
Lachlan rose from his seat, every motion deliberate, slow, the weight of every eye in the room pressing on his back. His gaze found Mairi, who stared up at him in disbelief.
He opened his mouth, but before he could speak, she reached out and caught his wrist. The collective gasp that followed rippled down the length of the table. Some guests turned away; others leaned closer, scandal shining in their eyes.
It was true then — the rumors, the whispers. The great Lachlan Strathclyde had been unfaithful.
Mairi stood, defiance flashing across her face. “Are you off to find her?”
He looked down at her, voice hard and clipped. “Aye. She is my wife. She is bound to me, and as hostess to this event, she should not be running off because of an unwelcomed guest.”
Mairi’s laugh was sharp, venomous. “Unwelcomed? She invited me, Lachlan. In fact, she told me to take the seat beside you — the one where I’ve always belonged.”
She smiled, sweet as poison.
Shock and anger warred across Lachlan’s features. He could feel Alistair’s eyes on him from across the table, could feel the judgment of every guest in the hall. Why would Isla do this? Why would she throw such words into the open?
Shock and anger warred across Lachlan’s features. He could feel Alistair’s eyes on him from across the table, could feel the judgment of every guest in the hall. Why would Isla do this? Why would she throw such words into the open?
He stared deep into Mairi’s eyes, his voice low, dangerous. “I’ll only say this once. You will never be Lady of this castle. You will never sit beside me nor rule this kingdom. Even if you were the last woman on this earth.”
His voice turned cold as winter steel. “You were a vessel. Nothing more.”
The silence that followed was broken by the sharp crack of skin meeting skin.
The sound of Mairi’s slap echoed through the hall.
Lachlan’s head snapped to the side. He didn’t move, didn’t speak. The crowd recoiled, eyes darting from him to her.
Alistair rose immediately. He strode forward, seized his brother by the arm, and guided him out through the nearest door. As they passed the stunned guests, he forced a smile and called out, “My apologies, everyone. Please — enjoy the evening.”
They didn’t stop until they reached the long gallery.
The corridor stretched endlessly, lined with portraits of their ancestors — men and women who seemed to watch from gilded frames with silent judgment.
Lachlan tore his arm free, his breath ragged. He paced like a caged beast. The fury burned in him — but beneath it, confusion, and something dangerously close to guilt.
“What happened back there?” Alistair asked, voice steady but wary.
“She says Isla handed me over!” Lachlan spat. “Told Mairi that her place was beside me — like it was her throne to give away! What is wrong with her?”
He gripped his chest, his breathing uneven. The scar there was nearly gone now — pale, faint, like something erased. The lack of pain unsettled him more than any wound ever had.
Alistair’s gaze fell to that mark. His eyes darkened. “If yours is fading, brother, then hers must be darkening. Did you not know? The bond, when broken… it kills the weaker half slowly.”
Lachlan froze. “What? That’s not true. It can’t be.”
“It is.”
The voice that answered came from behind them.
Both men turned.
Isla stood at the far end of the gallery, emerging from the shadowed corridor that led to the servants’ quarters. Her face was calm, though her eyes carried exhaustion far beyond her years.
She stepped closer, her crimson gown whispering across the stone floor. “Elspeth must have told you, Alistair. She told me, too. What she didn’t say was how long it would take to die.”
Lachlan’s pulse hammered. “When did you see Elspeth? And for what?”
Isla stopped a few paces from him. “That’s no longer your concern. You made your choice. You bedded another woman, and in doing so, you freed me.” Her voice shook slightly but steadied again. “You’ve chosen the life you want, Lachlan. I’m simply choosing mine.”
Lachlan’s laugh was bitter. “Unbelievable. How could you possibly think I’d want Mairi—”
The minute you went to her and took her to our bed,” Isla cut in, her voice rising, “was the day you lost all power over me. Since this world doesn’t allow divorce, I’ll step aside and give you what you seem to want.”
“Divorce?” His brow furrowed. “What is a divorce?”
Her lips pressed into a thin line. “It’s when a husband and wife decide to be unwed. Legally separated. It means freedom.”
He scoffed, shaking his head. “Freedom. You think this is freedom?”
“I think,” she said, quieter now, “that I could never forgive you. The little trust we had is gone. I can’t look at you without seeing her in our bed.”
Her hand went to her chest. The scar there pulsed — dark, jagged, spreading. It looked wrong, almost alive.
Lachlan’s anger wavered, replaced by something colder: fear.
“Isla—”
“I’m fine.” She forced a breath, straightening. “I should be getting back. The night is in your honor, after all.”
She turned to leave, but his hand caught her wrist.
“Don’t walk away from me,” he said, voice rough, desperate.
He dragged her toward a nearby door — one she hadn’t noticed before, hidden behind a hanging tapestry. He pushed it open, guiding her inside before she could resist.
Behind them, Alistair slammed his fist against the wood. “Lachlan! Let her go!”
Lachlan’s voice came muffled through the door. “Tell him to leave. We’ve much to discuss.”
Isla stood in the dim chamber, her pulse thrumming, her scar burning hotter with every heartbeat. She stared at the man before her — the husband who had once been her protector, now her accuser.
This would be a long night indeed.