Chapter 25
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Alba stretched on her toes, her fingers just brushing the spine of the scroll she needed. Almost there. Just a few more inches—
The library door swung open with a loud creak.
"Alba, I was wonderin' if ye—"
The sudden sound made her jump. Her foot slipped on the narrow stool, her arms windmilling as gravity took over and she pitched sideways.
Strong hands caught her under the arms, stopping her fall.
Alba found herself pressed against Lachlann's chest, his arms wrapped around her waist, their faces so close she could see the flecks of darker grey in his eyes.
Her hands had instinctively grabbed his shoulders for balance, and now they were frozen there, caught in the sudden intimacy of the position.
"Careful," Lachlann murmured, his breath warm against her face. "These floors are hard. I'd hate to see ye damage that stubborn head of yers."
"I—" Alba's face burned hot enough to rival the sun. "I was perfectly fine before ye startled me."
"Ye were about tae fall and break yer neck." His mouth curved slightly, though his arms didn't loosen their hold. "But aye, blame me fer yer poor balance."
"It's nae poor balance. It's perfectly reasonable surprise at someone burstin' through the door without warnin'."
"I knocked."
"Ye did nae."
"I did. Ye just didnae hear it because ye were too focused on whatever ye were reachin' fer." Lachlann's gaze shifted to the shelf above them. "Which is...?"
He released her with obvious reluctance, stepping back just enough to let her breathe while still staying close enough to catch her if she swayed.
Alba straightened her skirts with trembling hands, acutely aware of how her heart was racing. "A scroll. About Highland history. Orla mentioned it and I thought—" She stopped, realizing she was rambling. "I thought it might be interestin’."
"The Chronicles of Loch Eilein?" Lachlann reached up easily, curse his height, and pulled down the scroll she'd been struggling for. "This one?"
"Aye." Alba took it from him, their fingers brushing in the exchange. "Thank ye."
"It's one of me favorites." Lachlann moved to lean against the table, arms crossed, watching her with undisguised amusement. "Has accounts of the battle that formed the Covenant. Some of it's probably exaggerated, ye ken how these things grow with each tellin', but the core of it is true."
Alba clutched the scroll to her chest, still trying to calm her racing pulse. "Ye've read it then?"
"Multiple times. Me faither used to read it to me when I was a lad. Said it was important tae remember where we came from. What we'd survived." His expression softened with memory. "Some of the passages I practically have memorized."
"Would ye—" Alba stopped, suddenly shy. "Would ye have time tae read some of it tae me?"
Lachlann's eyes showed something that looked like regret. "I wish I could, lass. But I've got a council meetin' that's about tae begin."
Disappointment flooded through Alba's chest. "Oh. Of course."
"But tomorrow." Lachlann pushed off the table, moving closer again. "Tomorrow I'm takin' ye somewhere special. Just the two of us. And I promise we'll have all the time ye want fer readin' and... other things."
Alba's breath caught at the way he said other things, low and rough and full of promise.
"Where are we goin'?"
"That's a surprise." His hand came up to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. "But ye'll like it. I promise."
"Ye're very free with yer promises lately."
"Only because I intend tae keep every single one of them." His thumb traced the shell of her ear, making her shiver. "Trust me?"
"Aye." The answer came without hesitation. "I dae."
Something fierce and warm flashed in Lachlann's eyes. For a moment, Alba thought he might kiss her right there in the library, propriety be damned.
But footsteps sounded in the corridor outside, and reality intruded.
Lachlann stepped back, his hand falling away. "I should go. James will have me head if I make them wait any longer."
"Of course." Alba clutched the scroll tighter, using it as armor against the sudden awkwardness. "I'll just... continue readin' then."
He moved to the door, pausing with his hand on the frame. "Tomorrow, lass. I promise."
Then he was gone, his footsteps fading down the corridor.
Alba stood alone in the library, the scroll still pressed to her chest, and tried to remember how to breathe normally.
Tomorrow.
She moved to the window seat and settled in, carefully unrolling the scroll. The parchment was old but well-preserved, the ink still dark against the aged surface.
In the year of our Lord 1495, during the season when heather blooms purple across the highland hills, a great battle was waged at Loch Eilein...
Alba read slowly, tracing the words with her finger, imagining Lachlann as a boy listening to his father read those same passages. Imagining him memorizing them, carrying them with him into adulthood.
She smiled despite the lingering flutter in her chest from their encounter.
Tomorrow couldn't come fast enough.
"The king? Ye're certain?"
Lachlann's voice cut through the tense atmosphere in the council chamber. He sat at the head of the long table, his hands flat on the polished wood, staring at James with an intensity that made the other man shift slightly.
"Aye." James pushed a letter across the table. "Our contact in Edinburgh sent word this mornin'. Torquil's filed a formal petition with the Crown, claimin' Alba as his betrothed and demandin' her return."
Lachlann snatched up the letter, his eyes scanning the contents rapidly. With each line, his jaw grew tighter.
"This is shite," he said finally, throwing the letter down. "Complete and utter shite. There was never a betrothal. Calum would never."
"We ken that," Someone said from the seat near the window. "But the king daesnae. And Torquil's been clever about it, he's framin' it as a matter of honor and contract law rather than an attempted kidnappin’."
"Because that's what it is." Another council member leaned forward, his scarred hands clasped on the table. "A calculated political move. He kens if he can get the king on his side, we're forced tae either surrender Alba or openly defy royal authority."
Lachlann's hands curled into fists. "I'll be damned before I hand her over tae that bastard."
"Which is exactly the response Torquil's hopin' fer," James said quietly. "He's settin' a trap, Lachlann. Makin' ye choose between Alba and the stability of the Highlands."
"There's nay choice." Lachlann's voice was flat. "She stays here. Under me protection."
"We're nae sayin' we disagree," Malcolm said carefully. "But ye need tae understand what ye're committin' tae. If the king sides with Torquil—and he might, given the way it's been presented—ye'll be in direct violation of royal decree."
"Then I'll be in violation." Lachlann stood abruptly, the chair scraping against stone. "I willnae hand Alba over tae be forced into a marriage she daesnae want. I dinnae care what the king says."
"Even if it means war?" James asked.
"Even then."
Silence fell over the council chamber.
Finally, one of the council member spoke. "Under the Covenant, if any of ye are threatened, ye all stand taegether. That's what was sworn. What we've always sworn."
"Aye," Malcolm agreed. "Which means if Torquil comes for Alba—if the king sides with him—he's nae just facin' Clan MacNeil. He's facin' all of us. All the convent braithers too."
Warmth bloomed in Lachlann's chest despite the gravity of the situation. "Ye'd dae that?"
"We've faced worse together me laird," Malcolm said, his sea-blue eyes serious.
"But we need tae be smart about this," James continued. "Reactin' emotionally is exactly what Torquil wants. He wants ye angry and reckless and makin' decisions that can be used against ye later."
"So what dae ye suggest?" Lachlann forced himself tae sit back down, tae think strategically rather than just wanting tae ride out and put his sword through Torquil's chest.
"First, we prepare fer the worst." James pulled out a map, spreading it across the table. "If this escalates tae actual conflict, we need our defenses ready. Fortifications strengthened. Supply lines secured. Alliances confirmed."
"I've already doubled the patrols," James continued. "And we're workin' on stockpilin' provisions in case of a siege."
"Good. But it's nae just about defendin' Barra." Lachlann's finger traced lines across the map. "Torquil will try tae isolate us. Cut off support. Turn other clans against us by makin' it seem like ye're the aggressor."
"So, we get ahead of it," The elder near the window said. "Send letters tae our allies explainin' the situation. Make sure they hear our side before Torquil's lies take root."
"And we need tae contact Calum." James chipped in looking at Lachlann. "He's Alba's braither and guardian. If anyone has the right tae speak against this false betrothal, it's him."
"He's in England," Malcolm said. "It'll take weeks tae get word tae him and receive a response."
"Then we send fast riders. Multiple routes in case one is intercepted.
" Lachlann made notes on a separate parchment.
"And we make sure the message is clear, there was never a betrothal.
Torquil's lyin' tae manipulate the Crown.
We also have the letter from Calum where he wrote about the rumors he had heard and asks me tae protect his sister.
We can use that tae convince the Crown as well. "
Lachlann's mind raced, processing strategies and contingencies. This was what he'd been trained for—thinking three moves ahead, anticipating his opponent's tactics, preparing for multiple scenarios.
But it was harder when the stakes were Alba.
When failure didn't just mean losing territory or resources but losing her.
"What about the immediate threat?" he asked. "Torquil's petition tae the king is one thing. But he's nae the type tae wait patiently fer a royal decision. He'll be plannin' somethin' more direct."