Chapter 28
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Domnhnall was standing beside the narrow window of their chamber, with one hand resting against the stone frame.
The loch below lay quiet beneath the mist, its dark surface barely stirring in the early light.
From this height the world looked deceptively calm, as though the castle had not nearly burned the night before.
Domhnall knew better.
The scent of smoke still lingered faintly in the corridors. Guards had walked the walls through the night, while patrols searched the woods for any MacGregor stragglers who might have lingered after the retreat.
Kenneth MacGregor had not simply tested the gates. He had tested Domhnall. And he had come far too close to succeeding.
Behind him Margaret shifted beneath the blankets. He turned. She was sitting up now, hair loose around her shoulders, watching him with the quiet attentiveness he had come to recognize.
“Always the laird,” she smiled. That was a smile he wanted to keep only to himself.
“Always,” he smiled back.
She seemed to want to say something, but the sound of footsteps approached the chamber door and she hastily looked up. A knock followed.
“Me laird?” It was Cameron’s voice.
Domhnall crossed the room and opened the door. Cameron was standing outside in full dress leathers. There were shadows beneath his eyes that suggested he had not slept much more than Domhnall had.
“The captains are assembling in the Great Hall,” Cameron informed him quietly. “We need tae speak before the men begin arguing among themselves.”
Domhnall nodded once. “I’ll be there.”
Cameron bowed just once, and disappeared down the corridor. The chamber fell quiet again. Margaret reached for her gown.
“I will come with ye.”
Domhnall paused halfway through fastening his belt.
“Nay.”
She looked up. “Why nae?”
“Because it is a War Council.”
Margaret slipped her arms into the sleeves of her gown with calm efficiency.
“I am aware.”
Domhnall frowned slightly. “The captains will speak freely.”
“Then I will listen freely.”
“This is nae court politics.”
“Nay,” she said mildly. “It is me attempted abduction we are discussing.”
Domhnall exhaled through his nose. “I need ye tae remain here.”
Margaret tied the ribbon at her wrist and met his gaze evenly.
“Domhnall.”
He recognized that tone immediately. It was the same one she had used when she had refused to go to hide in the upper hall the night before.
“I am now Lady of this castle,” she continued quietly. “The men who attacked yer walls came fer me. Dae ye truly believe I should remain in a chamber pretending none of it concerns me?”
Domhnall held her gaze. A part of him wanted exactly that, to keep her behind locked doors where Kenneth MacGregor’s reach could never touch her. But the image of Margaret standing in the smoke-filled hall guiding terrified children toward safety rose unbidden in his mind.
She would not hide. He knew it.
Margaret watched the conflict flicker across his face.
“I will nae interfere,” she said softly. “I only wish tae understand what we are facing.”
Domhnall ran a hand through his hair. “Ye will stay beside me.”
A faint smile touched her mouth. “Of course.”
“And ye will nae interrupt.”
“I will behave perfectly.”
He gave her a skeptical look. “That promise is suspicious.”
Margaret laughed quietly. “Then ye had best keep a close eye on me.”
Domhnall finished fastening his belt and reached for the chamber door. Outside, the castle was already stirring with tension. Men moved quickly through the corridors carrying maps, weapons, and messages from the night patrols.
Domhnall glanced once toward Margaret as she stepped beside him. The faint bruise on her wrist from the MacGregor man’s grip caught his eye again. Rage took hold of him as he remembered that MacGregor had tried to take her once. Domhnall had no intention of allowing a second attempt.
“Stay close,” he said quietly.
Margaret nodded.
Together they descended toward the Great Hall, where the captains of Clan Campbell were already gathering to discuss the war that had just begun.
The Great Hall smelled faintly of smoke and damp wool.
Margaret noticed it the moment she stepped through the wide archway behind Domhnall.
The scent lingered stubbornly in the air, clinging to the stone walls and heavy timber beams overhead, a reminder that only hours earlier the castle had been under attack.
The long central table had been cleared of its usual banners and platters.
In their place lay maps, dozens of them.
Parchment sheets stretched across the dark wood, their edges weighted with knives, cups, and iron candlesticks to keep them from curling.
Lines of ink marked the western Highlands and its rivers, passes, villages, and the winding coastline where the lochs cut deep into the land.
Margaret slowed slightly as she approached. She could see trade routes, supply roads, and coastal watch points. Someone had marked several locations with charcoal circles.
Domhnall moved to the head of the table as the captains rose in quiet acknowledgment of his arrival.
“Me laird.”
Margaret felt their eyes shift toward her. Some were curious, while others were uncertain. It was certainly not common for a woman to sit at such a council.
Domhnall seemed not to notice their hesitation. He pulled out the chair beside his own and glanced briefly at her.
“Sit.”
Margaret did. The wood beneath her hands was cool and smooth from years of use. From this vantage she could see the entire spread of maps clearly, the routes stretching across the western hills and the small coastal villages sketched along the loch.
Men gathered around the table quickly. Cameron stood to Domhnall’s right, his one hand resting on the edge of the map as he leaned forward.
Others joined them, older captains with weathered faces as well as younger men with ink-stained fingers from marking patrol routes during the night.
The low murmur of voices faded when Domhnall spoke.
“Report.”
Cameron was the first to answer. “The patrols found nay MacGregor riders within three miles of the castle this morning. They retreated fast once the alarm spread.”
Domhnall nodded once. “That means they came prepared tae move quickly.”
“Aye.”
Another captain tapped the edge of the map. “The damage tae the storehouse will slow shipments from the lower road.”
Margaret followed the direction of his finger. The road curved along the loch’s eastern edge before disappearing into the hills.
“Two wagons burned,” the man continued. “Supplies meant fer the western garrisons.”
Cameron shifted one of the iron weights aside and unrolled another parchment.
“This is the coastal route,” he said.
Margaret leaned slightly closer. Small ports dotted the edge of the loch, each marked with careful ink.
“Three shipments from the south have nae arrived,” Cameron went on. “Salt, grain, and iron.”
Domhnall’s gaze sharpened. “When were they expected?”
“Two days ago.”
Another captain spoke. “We assumed that the weather had delayed them.”
Cameron shook his head. “Now I’m nae so certain.”
He tapped the map again, this time farther north.
“This road crosses near MacGregor territory.”
The implication settled heavily over the table.
Margaret listened without speaking. The men spoke quickly now, their voices low but urgent as they reviewed the movement of goods, patrol routes through the passes, and the vulnerable stretches of coastline where supply boats could be intercepted.
Every route seemed to circle the same dark center.
MacGregor land.
She hesitated. These were soldiers and captains, men who had fought along those roads for years. Margaret had no place among them. And yet, the pattern was clear.
“Me laird…” The words slipped out before she could stop herself.
The room stilled almost immediately. Margaret felt the weight of a dozen eyes shift toward her. She even considered retreating back into silence. But Domhnall turned slightly beside her.
“Aye?” His tone was calm and welcoming.
Margaret drew a quiet breath and stepped closer to the map.
“I was only thinking…” she said carefully, her voice softer than the captains’ had been. “If the MacGregors are watching these roads, then they are expecting cargo tae travel the usual routes.”
A few of the men exchanged skeptical glances.
Margaret continued anyway. “What if we changed the pattern?”
Cameron’s brow lifted faintly. “Explain.”
Margaret pointed gently to the coastline sketched along the parchment.
“Send the real shipments by sea, but nae along the regular ports.” Her finger moved farther south along the map. “Use the smaller coves instead.”
One of the older captains frowned. “That would slow delivery.”
“Perhaps,” Margaret admitted. “But the cargo would arrive.”
Her gaze moved to the road routes crossing MacGregor territory.
“And if the MacGregors are expecting wagons here,” she tapped one of the marked passes, “send them.”
Several captains blinked.
“Send them?” one repeated.
“Empty,” Margaret clarified.
The realization spread slowly across the table.
“Decoys,” Cameron murmured.
Margaret nodded, happy that apart from Domhnall, there was at least one other man who was willing to hear her out.
“Let them believe the cargo still travels these roads. If they attack the wagons, they gain naething. Meanwhile the real shipments move safely along the coast.”
The silence that followed felt heavier than before.
One of the captains cleared his throat. “Me lady,” he said cautiously, “with all due respect, these routes are nae a game of strategy.”
Another added more bluntly. “The Council of War is nae a good place fer speculation.”
Margaret felt heat rise faintly in her cheeks. She had overstepped. Of course.
Her fingers withdrew slightly from the map, as if the paper had somehow burnt her.
“I did nae mean tae—” she started, but she was not allowed to continue.
“That will dae.” Domhnall’s voice cut cleanly through the room.
The captains fell silent immediately. Margaret turned toward him. He had not moved from the head of the table. But his gaze had sharpened.
“Lady Campbell is correct.”
The words settled across the room like a command. Several captains shifted uneasily.
“Me laird,” one began, “with respect—”
Domhnall’s hand came down lightly on the table, but still firmly enough that no one continued speaking.
“The MacGregors expect us tae defend the routes we have always used,” he reiterated what Margaret had already stated. “That is precisely why they will fail.”
His finger followed the same line Margaret had traced along the coast.
“We reroute the shipments through the southern coves.”
Cameron nodded once. “And the wagons?”
Domhnall glanced briefly toward Margaret before answering. “We send them.”
A faint smile tugged at Cameron’s mouth. “Empty.”
“Aye.”
Another captain frowned. “They may discover the deception.”
“Perhaps,” Domhnall agreed. “But by then the cargo will already be beyond their reach.” He straightened. “Prepare the decoy wagons.”
The men around the table shifted into motion almost immediately. Orders were repeated and messengers were called for. Cameron rolled up one of the maps and handed it to a waiting guard.
“Send riders tae the southern ports,” he said. “Inform them tae expect redirected shipments within the week.”
The guard nodded and hurried from the hall. Another messenger followed moments later with sealed instructions for the wagon routes.
Margaret remained standing beside the table. She had not realized she was still holding her breath until it escaped her slowly. Domhnall had not merely allowed her suggestion. He had declared it, before all of them.
Her gaze lifted toward him. Domhnall met her eyes briefly.
There was no ceremony in the look, only certainty in her words, as though it had never been in doubt.
She understood what his support meant before the captains and before the clan.
He had chosen to stand beside her not merely as husband, but as laird who trusted her voice among his own men.
And somehow that realization felt almost as powerful as the victory they had just begun to plan.