Chapter 24
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
"Gone? What dae ye mean, gone?"
Torquil's voice cut through the hall like a blade, making the messenger flinch. The man stood near the doorway, muddy from hard riding, his face pale with the knowledge that he bore bad news.
"The men we sent to retrieve Lady Alba, me lord," the messenger said carefully. "They were intercepted before they could reach the boat. MacNeil's forces caught them on the eastern road."
"Intercepted." Torquil set down his wine cup with deliberate precision. "Ye mean captured."
"Aye, me laird."
"And the woman?"
"Returned tae MacNeil's castle. Unharmed, from what our scouts report."
Torquil's hands flattened on the polished wood of his desk.
"So let me understand this correctly. I paid those fools a small fortune.
I arranged fer a traitor inside MacNeil's own walls.
I gave them exact instructions on how tae extract the girl without raising alarm.
" His voice remained calm, almost conversational.
"And despite all that, they managed tae fail. "
"MacNeil tracked them, me laird. Faster than we anticipated. He—"
"I dinnae care how fast he was." Torquil stood abruptly, his chair scraping against stone. "They had the girl. In their hands. On a horse. All they had tae dae was reach the damned boat."
The messenger wisely said nothing.
Torquil moved to the window, staring out at his lands—good lands, profitable lands, lands that should have been enough but somehow never were. Not when compared to what others had. Not when measured against what he deserved.
"What of the men themselves?" he asked, his back still to the messenger.
"Captured, me laird. Along with the guard who helped them—Thomas, he was called. All three are in MacNeil's dungeon."
"Will they talk?"
A pause. "I... cannae say fer certain, me laird."
"That means yes." Torquil's jaw clenched. "Of course they'll talk. Everyone talks eventually. Which means MacNeil will ken I'm behind this. Will have proof beyond mere suspicion."
"The coins were unmarked, me laird. And the note said nothing tae point tae ye."
"It daesnae matter." Torquil turned from the window, his expression hard. "MacNeil's nay a fool. He kens who wants the girl. Who has the resources tae bribe his guards and coordinate an extraction." His hands curled into fists. "The only question is what he'll dae with that knowledge."
The messenger shifted uncomfortably. "Should we prepare fer retaliation, me lord?"
"Oh, we're well past preparation." Torquil moved back to his desk, pulling out a fresh sheet of parchment. "We're movin' tae the next phase."
"Me laird?"
"Leave me and send fer Captain Ross. I'll need him within the hour."
The messenger bowed and fled, clearly grateful to escape Torquil's presence.
Alone, Torquil sat back down and stared at the blank parchment before him. His mind raced through possibilities, strategies, contingencies. The kidnapping had been meant to be quiet—grab the girl, spirit her away, present MacNeil with a fait accompli before he could respond.
But it had failed.
Which meant subtlety was no longer an option.
Torquil dipped his quill in ink and began to write, the scratch of pen on parchment the only sound in the quiet hall.
Tae His Majesty, James V, King of Scotland,
I write tae ye concerning a matter of grave injustice that demands yer immediate attention. Lady Alba MacKinnon, daughter of the late Laird MacKinnon, was formally betrothed tae me by private agreement between meself and her braither, Calum MacKinnon, prior tae his departure fer England.
Torquil paused, reading back what he'd written. A complete lie, of course. But delivered with enough conviction, backed by the right evidence—or the appearance of evidence—it might be enough to force the king's hand.
He continued writing.
This betrothal was made in good faith, with the understanding that Lady Alba would be delivered tae me protection following the completion of certain political arrangements.
However, Lachlann MacNeil, Laird of Clan MacNeil, has unlawfully seized Lady Alba and holds her against her will on the Isle of Barra.
I have attempted tae resolve this matter peacefully, sending envoys tae negotiate her return. MacNeil has refused all reasonable requests and has gone so far as tae imprison me men when they attempted tae rescue Lady Alba from her captivity.
I therefore petition Yoer Majesty tae intervene in this matter. Lady Alba is being held in violation of her lawful betrothal contract. MacNeil's actions constitute not only a personal insult tae me honor but a threat tae the stability of clan relations throughout the Western Isles.
Torquil sat back, studying his words. Good. Formal enough to be taken seriously. Outraged enough to seem genuine. And vague enough on specifics that it would be difficult to immediately disprove.
He added a final paragraph:
If Yer Majesty daes nae act tae restore order and see Lady Alba returned tae her rightful betrothed, I fear I will have nay choice but tae take whatever measures necessary tae reclaim what is mine by right.
I pray it daesnae come tae that, but I will nae stand idle while MacNeil flouts both law and honor.
Yer loyal subject,
Torquil MacLean, Laird of Clan MacLean
Perfect.
The king would receive this letter within a week and would be forced to at least acknowledge the complaint. And even if he didn't immediately side with Torquil—he probably wouldn't, not without more evidence—it would put MacNeil on notice.
Would make him defensive.
Would force him to explain why he was harboring another laird's betrothed.
Torquil sealed the letter with his signet ring and set it aside for the messenger who would depart at first light.
A knock at the door interrupted his thoughts.
"Enter."
Captain Ross stepped inside—a solid, reliable man in his forties with the scarred hands of someone who'd spent decades holding a sword. He bowed briefly.
"Ye sent fer me, me laird?"
"Aye." Torquil wasted no time. "I want ye tae rally the men. I want two hundred fully armed and provisioned within the fortnight. We'll need supplies fer a sustained campaign—weapons, food, medical provisions. Begin scouting the waters around Barra fer weak points in their coastal defenses.
Also, send word tae our allies. Anyone who owes us favor or has grievance with MacNeil. I want tae ken who we can count on when the time comes.
Dae this quietly. Nay public announcements. Nay obvious preparations that might draw attention. But be ready. When I give the order, I want us able tae move immediately."
Ross remained neutral while listening to his orders. When he finished, he looked up.
"Two hundred men, fully equipped? Two weeks is tight, me laird. We'd need tae call in the outer holdings, which means—"
"I dinnae care what it means. Can it be done?"
"Aye." Ross nodded slowly. "It can be done. Though it'll cost us, supplies aren't cheap and pullin' that many men from their lands will impact the harvest."
"The harvest is irrelevant if we cannae secure what's rightfully ours." Torquil stood, moving to the map mounted on his wall. "MacNeil thinks he's won because he stopped one attempt. He thinks I'll back down now, accept defeat like some whipped dog."
"And ye willnae?"
"I never back down, Captain. Surely ye ken that by now." Torquil's finger traced the outline of Barra on the map. "The girl should have been mine from the start. I declared me interest openly. I made me intentions clear. And that bastard stepped in as if he had any right."
"He claims he's protectin' her, me laird. From the attempted kidnappin’ at Dunstaffnage."
"Protectin'." Torquil's lip curled. "Is that what they're callin' it? Because from where I'm standin', it looks more like theft. He saw somethin' he wanted and took it, Covenant be damned."
Ross said nothing, which was probably wise.
Torquil studied the map, his mind working through possibilities.
A direct assault on Barra would be difficult—the island's natural defenses were formidable, and MacNeil's reputation as a strategist was well-earned. But there were other approaches. Other pressures that could be brought to bear.
"What about the supply lines?" he asked. "How daes MacNeil provision his island?"
"Mainland trade, mostly. Ships comin' from Oban and the surrounding ports."
"And if those ships... encountered difficulties?"
Ross's eyes narrowed. "Ye're talkin' about a blockade."
"I'm talkin' about makin' life uncomfortable fer anyone who supports MacNeil. Merchants lose ships tae storms all the time, Captain. Tragic, really. But these things happen."
"That would be an act of war, me laird."
"Only if we're caught." Torquil turned from the map. "And even then, only if MacNeil can prove it. Which he cannae, if we're careful."
"It's a risk."
"Everythin' worth havin' is a risk." Torquil moved back to his desk, pulling out a third sheet of parchment. "Here's what we're goin' tae dae. Ye rally the men as I instructed—that's our primary force, held in reserve fer when we need it. Meanwhile, we apply pressure through other means."
He began writing again, his hand moving quickly across the page.
"Merchants who trade with Barra will receive... warnings. Friendly suggestions that their business might be better conducted elsewhere. Ships that ignore those warnings might encounter unfortunate accidents. Nothing obviously connected tae us, ye understand."
"Aye, me laird."
"At the same time, we spread word about MacNeil's.
.. unusual interest in his guest. The way he's keepin' her isolated on his island.
How he refuses tae let her go despite her rightful betrothal tae another.
" Torquil's mouth curved without humor. "Gossip spreads faster than any army, Captain.
And once people start questionin' MacNeil's motives, once they start wonderin' if maybe the great laird isn't quite as honorable as he pretends—"
"Public opinion turns against him."
"Exactly." Torquil finished writing and looked up. "By the time I actually move against him, if it comes tae that, he'll be isolated. Nay allies. Nay support. Just him and his island and a woman he has nay legal right tae keep."
Ross studied the map thoughtfully. "And if the king sides with him? If he rejects yer claim?"
"Then we adjust." Torquil's expression hardened.
"But I dinnae think he will. James is practical above all else.
He wants stability in the Highlands, wants the clans cooperatin' rather than feudin'.
When I present this as a matter of honor, of a betrothal contract being violated, he'll have tae at least investigate. "
"And when MacNeil claims there was nay betrothal?"
"It becomes he-said-she-said. Me word against his." Torquil smiled coldly. "And I've been very careful tae establish me interest publicly. Everyone at that ball saw me dancin' with Alba. Saw me tryin' tae court her properly. MacNeil, meanwhile, has been hidin' her away like stolen goods."
Ross nodded slowly. "It's clever, me laird. Risky, but clever."
"It's necessary." Torquil stood, rolling up the map and setting it aside. "I want ye tae begin immediately. Quietly rally the men. Start applyin' pressure tae the merchants. And spread the word about MacNeil's... questionable behavior with his guest."
"It'll take time, me lord."
"Then ye'd better start now." Torquil moved to the window again, looking out toward the west where Barra lay beyond the horizon. "That bastard thinks he's won. Thinks he can keep what's mine simply because he moved faster."
"And he's wrong?"
"He's about tae learn exactly how wrong." Torquil's hands curled into fists on the windowsill. "Alba MacKinnon will be mine, Captain. One way or another. Whether MacNeil surrenders her willingly or I have tae pry her from his dead fingers—she will be mine."
Ross bowed. "I'll begin the preparations, me laird."
"Good. And Ross?"
"Aye, me laird?"
"Fail me in this, and ye'll wish ye'd never been born. Am I clear?"
The captain's face went pale. "Crystal clear, me laird."
"Excellent. Then get out."
Ross left quickly, closing the door behind him.
Alone again, Torquil returned to his desk and spread out the two letters—the one tae the king, and the one he'd begun drafting to potential allies among the other clans.
Everything was falling into place.
The kidnapping had failed, yes. But failure was only permanent if you accepted it. And Torquil MacLean had never accepted failure in his life.
He would have Alba MacKinnon.
He would humiliate Lachlann MacNeil.
And he would show everyone in the Highlands that Torquil MacLean was not a man to be trifled with.
Whatever it took.
Whatever it cost.
He picked up his quill and continued writing, the scratch of pen on parchment filling the silent hall as he planned his war.