Chapter 8
CHAPTER EIGHT
Domhnall did not linger in the corridors.
Once he had seen Margaret safely delivered into the care of the household, he turned his steps toward the upper council chamber, shedding fatigue as he went. Whatever else the journey had cost him, there was work yet to be done and he did not pause for sentiment.
The Council was already assembled when he entered.
Men rose at once from the long table, captains, stewards, and senior kin, all wearing grave faces. A map lay unrolled across the stone, weighted at the corners, while candles guttered low beside it. The air was thick with anticipation rather than surprise.
“Ye all ken,” Domhnall said instead of a greeting, taking his seat at the head.
“A rider came before ye,” one of the men replied from his place at the table. “The message was clear.”
One of the elder captains leaned forward. “Then I will speak plainly, me laird. The speed of this union invites scrutiny. Drummond will nae accept it quietly.”
“Nor will MacGregor,” another added.
Domhnall folded his hands before him. “I didnae claim her wrongly or quietly.”
A murmur moved around the table.
“The Masquerade is a shield,” Cameron said carefully. “But it is also a spark.”
“It was the King’s hand that struck the flint,” Domhnall replied. “I was named. I was compelled. I made me claim within the law.”
“And the Crown?” a steward asked. “Will it stand when the noise begins?”
Domhnall met his gaze without hesitation. “The union is blessed by royal writ, gentlemen. Sir Laurence Kerr sealed it himself.”
That meant something. Several men exchanged looks.
“So it is lawful,” the captain said. “But lawful daesnae mean wise.”
Domhnall’s voice was calm. “Wisdom rarely survives the Masquerade. Stability daes. We all kenned what the outcome might have been the second I received the invitation. The Masquerade is created fer unions. It was expected I would be forced tae choose a wife sooner or later.”
“And the bride?” another asked. “Is she… prepared?”
Domhnall did not answer at once. His mind remembered Margaret’s composure in the chamber, and her silence beside him as men tried to break her.
“She is capable,” he said finally. “More than ye expect.”
Cameron inclined his head. “She rode hard. The river took her and she lived.”
A few brows lifted at that. Domhnall had no intention of clarifying this.
“The risks remain,” the elder captain pressed. “Ye all ken that MacGregor will see this as provocation. And he will act… again. Ye could have gone with another bride, me laird.”
The last sentence fell heavily into the chamber. Domhnall did not respond at once. He kept his gaze on the map, on the familiar lines of coast and pass and waterway that had cost him blood to hold.
When he finally spoke, his voice was level. “I am counting on him acting.”
A murmur moved around the table. It was uneasy, but showed no surprise.
“He willnae challenge the Crown openly,” Cameron said, “but he will look fer softer ground.”
“Aye,” another captain agreed. “And there is precedent.”
Silence tightened.
One of the men cleared his throat. “The last time MacGregor struck from the shadows, it wasnae banners he sent.”
Domhnall’s jaw set, the muscle jumping once. He did not forbid them from speaking it. He never had.
“He came at night,” the elder captain said carefully. “It wasnae fer the walls, but fer… the household.”
The room held its breath. No one named her. They did not need to.
Domhnall’s hands curled slowly against the table’s edge, then stilled. “That willnae happen again. That is also why we must assume retaliation. Extra patrols along the inner grounds. Rotating watches. Nay gaps.”
“And the lady?” another asked. “She will be the most obvious target.”
Domhnall lifted his gaze then, his stone-grey eyes traversing the distance between every face present. “She willnae be left unguarded.”
“Still,” the elder captain said, choosing his words with care, “the household must see her. They must ken her. We, too, must see her and ken her. If she is tae be the laird’s wife, she cannae remain unseen.”
Domhnall considered the request. Margaret was exhausted. She had nearly drowned. He should have delayed it. But delay could look like doubt.
“Very well,” he acquiesced. “Taenight.”
Several heads lifted.
“A welcoming dinner,” he continued. “Small. Council, senior household, nay outsiders. She will be presented openly.”
“And security?” the elder captain asked.
“Doubled,” Domhnall replied. “Inside and out. Nay one enters without me permission.”
Cameron nodded once. “I’ll see it done.”
Domhnall rose, feeling the decision settled on his shoulders. “I want tae clear that she is under me protection.”
That, at least, needed no further explanation.
As the Council dispersed to carry out his orders, Domhnall remained for a moment longer, alone with the map and the memories it stirred.
Kenneth MacGregor would move. He always did. But this time, Domhnall would be ready.
Domhnall did not knock.
Habit carried him forward before polite thought intervened, his hand pushing the chamber door open as it always did when business pressed and time mattered. The latch clicked softly behind him and then he stopped.
Steam filled the room, thick and luminous in the firelight. But it was the scent that struck him first: warm water, crushed herbs, clean soap. It softened the edges of the stone chamber, blurred the banners and beams until the space felt suspended, private, and almost unreal.
And then he saw her.
Margaret sat in a copper tub drawn close to the hearth, water lapping quietly against its rim.
Her hair was unbound, darkened by damp, coiling down her back in loose, heavy waves.
A few strands clung to her neck, to the delicate hollow beneath her ear.
Her skin glowed in the heat, flushed and luminous, as though the firelight had chosen her alone to warm.
One foot rested just beyond the tub’s edge, her toes peeking out pale and unguarded, as water was sliding down her ankle in slow, glistening trails.
She was humming to herself. The melody was unfamiliar, but it was soft, something that did not belong to court or chapel. It sounded older than either, intimate, as though it had been meant only for herself.
Domhnall stood frozen where he was. He should have turned away. He should have announced himself at once. Every rule he lived by demanded it.
Instead, he watched. He did not do it with hunger at first, but with a startled, aching awareness that lodged low in his chest and spread outward.
This was Margaret unarmored. She wore no mask, no careful composure, and there were no watchful eyes measuring consequence.
She was just a woman alone in warmth and quiet, unknowing of him.
The pull was as immediate as it was dangerous.
His gaze traced without permission, following the curve of her shoulder as she shifted slightly and the line of her collarbone just visible above the water.
The sounds she made were soft and absentminded, and they tightened something deep in him that had been locked away for years.
The steam shifted. She moved again, fingers trailing idly through the water, and the sight struck him harder than any blade ever had.
Domhnall drew in a slow, controlled breath, the way he did before battle, before blood.
He stepped back a single pace, and the boards creaked faintly beneath his boot.
The sound was enough. Margaret’s humming broke off mid-note, the melody snapping into silence as she turned her head. For a heartbeat, she simply stared, just like he had a moment ago. Only, her eyes were wide and her breath caught, while water was sloshing faintly as the realization struck.
“Me laird!”
She lunged for the robe draped over the chair beside the tub, sending a small wave over the copper rim. Her foot slipped on the wet stone, and she windmilled gracelessly for balance, clutching fabric to herself with fierce determination.
“Ye brute! Dinnae look!” she snapped.
“I am nae,” he said at once.
That was a lie, and they both knew it.
She managed to haul the robe around herself, knotting it with more force than necessary.
“May I remind ye that ye are in me chamber,” she said, color high in her cheeks now, an amalgamation of anger, embarrassment and something more complicated.
“Unannounced. What are ye daein’ here? Dae ye have nae manners at all, me laird, or it’s only around me that ye forget ye’re a gentleman? ”
He remained exactly where he was, just inside the door, arms folded across his chest as though he had been rooted there. “I entered tae speak with ye.”
He could still feel the traitorous awareness of how easily she would fit against him again, how her body had felt pressed to his in the saddle, how he had not yet shaken the memory of it.
“While I was bathing?” she demanded.
He cleared his throat. “I… noticed.”
Her glare sharpened. “Ye noticed.”
“I stopped,” he said defensively. “Ye were humming.”
“That daesnae excuse—” She slipped again, just barely, catching herself on the tub’s edge. His hands twitched at his sides before discipline dragged them still. He stayed where he was, every instinct urging him forward and every hard-earned rule keeping him rooted.
“Ye are infuriating.”
“And ye,” he replied, far too aware of the curve of her collarbone disappearing beneath the robe, “are remarkably alive for someone who tried tae drown herself this morning.”
“I didnae try—”
“I ken,” he said quietly.
The steam shifted, and with it the scent of her, which was soap and warmth and something indefinably hers. It lodged under his skin. He wanted to gather her into his arms again, to feel the proof of her breathing.
He did none of it.
“There is a dinner taenight,” he said instead, forcing his thoughts back into order. “The Council wishes tae meet ye.”
Her expression flickered from fury to disbelief. “Taenight?”
“Aye.”
She stared at him for a moment, with her robe clenched tight, while her damp hair framed her face.
Beautiful, his mind supplied mercilessly. Unfairly so.
“Well,” she said at last, “of course they dae.”
She drew the robe closer around herself. Her chin slightly lifted as she spoke. “If that is all, ye may give me some privacy. We arenae in the woods anymore, last I checked.”
The words were sharp, but beneath them he heard the tremor and the anger braided with the lingering shock of having been seen, of having nearly lost everything twice in a single day.
He could understand that, but at the same time, he wanted exactly what she was denying him: the woods, the open road, a place where he could remain close without explanation, where watching over her was instinct rather than impropriety, where no walls or witnesses demanded restraint.
He banished the thought as swiftly as it came.
“Aye,” he nodded. “Ye’ll have it.”
He turned toward the door, then paused, duty asserting itself one last time. “I’ll be waiting in the Great Hall fer dinner.”
With that, he opened the door and stepped out, closing it firmly behind him. On the other side, the corridor felt colder, narrower. He drew in a steadying breath and moved away without looking back.