Chapter 5
CHAPTER FIVE
The heavy oak door of Euan’s office slammed shut with a finality that echoed through the stone corridor.
He leaned against it for a moment, eyes closed, trying to banish the image of Moyra MacKenzie standing in nothing but a thin linen shift, her damp auburn hair falling around her shoulders like flame.
“Took ye long enough.”
Euan’s eyes snapped open to find Niall sprawled in the chair beside the fire, boots propped on the hearth, a cup of whisky dangling from one hand.
His friend’s expression held that particular blend of curiosity and concern that meant questions were coming—questions Euan wasn’t sure he wanted to answer.
“I was ensuring our guest was settled.” Euan moved to the sideboard and poured himself a generous measure of whisky. The burn down his throat did nothing to ease the tension coiling through his muscles.
“Our guest.” Niall’s tone was dry as Highland wind. “Is that what we’re calling Keith MacKenzie’s daughter now?”
“What would ye have me call her?”
“A problem.” Niall swung his boots off the hearth and sat forward, his weathered face serious in the firelight. “A complication we cannae afford—a lass wandering yer corridors at night in naething but a shift, found at yer office door.”
Heat crept up the back of Euan’s neck. “She heard a sound. Got turned around in the corridors.”
“Did she now?” Skepticism colored every word. “And ye believe that?”
Did he? Euan took another swallow of whisky, letting the question settle. Those green eyes had held nothing but confusion and exhaustion when he’d found her. No calculation. No deception. Just a woman lost in an unfamiliar place, trying to help someone she thought was in pain.
“Aye,” he said finally. “I dae.”
Niall’s eyebrows climbed toward his hairline. “Saints preserve us. Ye’ve kenned the lass all of four days and already she’s got ye defending her.”
“I’m nae—” Euan caught himself, jaw tightening. “I’m assessing the situation objectively.”
“Objectively.” Niall snorted. “Right. And I’m the King of France.” He stood, moving to refill his cup. “Tell me everything. From the beginning. How exactly did ye end up with a MacKenzie in yer custody?”
Euan settled into his chair, the familiar leather creaking beneath his weight.
The fire crackled between them, casting dancing shadows across stone walls that had witnessed generations of MacLeod councils.
He thought of Moyra in that cell—filthy, defiant, breathtaking despite three months of captivity.
“She was in Norham’s dungeons,” he began. “Locked in the deepest cell, treated like a common prisoner. When I questioned her, she said she’d been counting the meals. Three months.”
“Three months?” Niall’s hand stilled on his cup. “And nay word tae her clan? Nay ransom demand?”
“None that I could determine.” Euan rotated his scarred shoulder, feeling the old injury pull. “Sir Geoffrey’s men were prepared tae kill fer her when she tried tae run. English soldiers, willing tae die fer a Highland lass. That’s nay random capture, Niall.”
“Nay” His friend’s expression darkened. “That’s strategy.”
“Aye.” Euan stared into the amber depths of his whisky. “She daesnae ken. Of our suspicions about her faither.”
Niall was quiet for a long moment, his soldier’s mind working through the implications.
“Keith MacKenzie sends his daughter tae a priory—or so she claims. But she ends up in an English dungeon instead. Leaves her there fer three months with nay rescue attempt. Then ye raid Norham fer entirely different reasons and stumble across her.” He looked up, brown eyes sharp.
“That’s either the worst luck in Highland history, or the best-laid trap I’ve ever seen. ”
The same thought had occurred to Euan. Multiple times. “What would be the purpose? What daes he gain by having me find her?”
“Access.” Niall’s voice went hard. “A MacKenzie in yer castle, under yer roof. And she might be bait fer something larger.”
“She’s nay spy.” Even as he said it, Euan wondered at his certainty. He barely knew the woman. But those bruised wrists, that haunted look in her eyes when she’d spoken of the dungeon—that couldn’t be fabricated.
Could it?
“Maybe nae willingly.” Niall stood, beginning to pace. “But Keith MacKenzie is nay fool, Euan. The man married Ishbel specifically fer her MacLeod blood, weak as that claim might be. He wants yer lands. Everyone kens it. And now his daughter conveniently appears in yer custody?”
“Mayhaps fer him but nae fer me. I had tae fight me way through half of Norham’s garrison tae reach her.”
“But it could appear that way tae those looking fer reasons tae doubt us.” When Euan started to protest, Niall raised a hand. “I’m nae saying that’s what happened. I’m saying it’s what others might think. Especially when they learn ye brought her here instead of sending her back tae her faither.”
The accusation hit its mark. Euan’s grip tightened on his cup. “And what would ye have me dae? Send her back tae the man who likely had her imprisoned? Let her become a pawn in whatever game he’s playing?”
“Nay. She could be useful,” Niall said carefully. “Keith MacKenzie’s daughter, willing or nae, gives us leverage. Information about his household, his plans, his weaknesses.” He paused. “But only if we handle this right. The Council need tae understand why ye kept her.”
Euan turned from the fire, meeting his friend’s gaze. “Aye, I’ll call them fer a meeting first thing in the morning. Give them the full account of what happened at Norham. Let them help decide what’s tae be done with her.”
“And the Covenant braithers?” Niall asked quietly. “Calum, David, Archibald, Lachlann—they’ll want to ken about this too. A MacKenzie under yer roof affects more than just Clan Macleod.”
The Loch Eilein Covenant. The five boys who’d survived the Battle of Loch Eilein together, raised as brothers to prevent another such bloodshed. That bond still held strong, even now that they ruled their own clans—a network of trust and counsel that had served them all well.
“Aye,” Euan said slowly. “I’ll write tae them. But the Council decides first—this is MacLeod business before it becomes Covenant business.”
“Fair enough.” Relief flickered across Niall’s face. “That’s the smart play.
Even as he said it, something in his gut twisted. The thought of subjecting Moyra to the scrutiny of his Council, their suspicions, their potential verdict—it sat wrong. But Niall was right. This decision was too large for one man, even a laird.
Especially a laird whose judgment might be compromised by the memory of green eyes and defiant courage.
“They might want tae send her back,” Niall said. “Ye ken that, aye?”
“Perhaps.” Euan moved to refill his whisky. “Or perhaps they’ll see what I see—an opportunity. Keith MacKenzie sent his daughter away fer a reason. If we can discover that reason—”
“Then we’re using her exactly as her faither intended.” Niall’s expression was troubled. “Just in a different direction.”
The accusation hit home. Was he any better than Keith MacKenzie if he kept Moyra there against her will, using her as a pawn in clan politics? The thought made him want to put his fist through the stone wall.
“I’ll nae harm her,” he said, more to himself than to Niall. “Whatever the Council decides, I’ll see she’s treated with honor.”
“I ken ye will.” Niall moved toward the door, then paused. “But honor and wisdom dinnae always walk the same path, me friend. Sometimes ye have tae choose between what’s right fer one person and what’s right fer hundreds.”
The door closed behind him, leaving Euan alone with the fire and his troubled thoughts.
He should sleep. Dawn would come too soon, bringing with it the necessity of facing his Council and explaining how he’d managed to bring a MacKenzie into the heart of their stronghold.
They’d have questions—hard ones. And he’d need to have answers that made sense to men who hadn’t seen Moyra in that cell, hadn’t watched her fight with broken courage against odds that would have crushed most people.
Instead, he found himself staring at the maps spread across his desk. Territories that had been MacLeod for generations, now under threat from a man who’d married his way into a weak claim and was willing to do anything to strengthen it. Including, apparently, sacrificing his own daughter.
The pieces still didn’t fit together cleanly. If Keith wanted to use Moyra as leverage, why imprison her? If he wanted her out of the way, why leave her alive? And why in an English dungeon?
Unless discovering her there was the point.
The possibility sat like poison in his gut.
A soft knock at the door pulled him from his dark thoughts.
“Enter.”
Brighde slipped into the room, her healer’s bag in hand and concern creasing her weathered face. She’d been tending the MacLeod clan for nearly ten years now, and her sharp eyes missed nothing.
“I’ve been tae see the Lady Moyra.” Brighde set down her bag and fixed him with a look that made him squirm. “Found her pacing her chamber like a caged wolf, looking like death warmed over.”
Guilt twisted through him. “She should be resting—”
“Aye, she should. But ye try telling a lass who’s spent three months in a dungeon that she’s safe tae sleep in strange quarters.” Brighde’s expression softened slightly. “I gave her something tae help ease her intae sleep. She’ll rest easier now.”
“Thank ye.” He paused. “How bad are the injuries?”
“Bad enough.” The healer’s mouth tightened.
“Rope burns on her wrists and ankles that went untreated too long. Bruises in various stages of healing—some fresh from yer journey here, others older. She’s malnourished and exhausted, and I’d wager she hasnae had a decent night’s sleep in months.
” She leveled a stern gaze at him. “Whatever ye plan tae dae with her, me laird, she needs time tae heal first. Mind and body both.”
“She’ll have it.” The words came out more forcefully than he’d intended. “I’ve given me word she’ll be treated well.”
“See that ye keep it.” Brighde stood, gathering her bag. “That lass has been through enough without adding more suffering tae her burdens.”