Chapter 9
CHAPTER NINE
The letter arrived at dawn, carried by a MacLeod rider who looked like he’d ridden through hell to deliver it.
Keith MacKenzie took the sealed parchment from his steward’s trembling hands and dismissed the man with a curt wave.
He waited until he was alone in his study before breaking the wax seal bearing the MacLeod crest—that damned bull’s head that represented everything standing between him and what should rightfully be his.
His eyes scanned the carefully crafted words, and with each line, his grip on the parchment tightened until his knuckles went white.
During a recent raid on Norham Castle, we discovered yer daughter, Lady Moyra MacKenzie...
The fool had found her. After three months of perfect imprisonment, Euan MacLeod had stumbled across Moyra like some hero from a child’s tale and brought her to Dunvegan.
Keith read the rest with growing fury. The audacity of it—demanding he abandon his claim to MacLeod lands in exchange for a daughter he’d deliberately disposed of. As if Moyra held any value compared to the territories that should belong to him through Ishbel’s blood.
He threw the letter onto his desk and moved to the window, staring out at lands that felt increasingly insufficient. Beyond his borders lay MacLeod territory—rich, defensible, strategically vital. And his by right of marriage, regardless of what Euan and his precious Loch Eilein Covenant believed.
Ishbel was the key to everything.
She sat now in the solar, pale and quiet as always, her MacLeod blood the only thing that made her tolerable.
Keith had chosen her carefully—a distant cousin to the main MacLeod line, orphaned and desperate enough to accept his proposal.
Her claim might be weak, but it was legitimate.
And with time, with the right pressure applied to the right people, that weak claim could be strengthened.
Moyra had been an obstacle. His first wife’s daughter, beloved by clan members who still remembered her mother fondly. Her very existence represented a threat—a rallying point for those who questioned his right to pursue Ishbel’s inheritance. Better to remove her from the board entirely.
The arrangement with Sir Geoffrey had been elegant in its simplicity. A staged attack on the road to Lindisfarne. English soldiers who knew better than to ask questions. A cell deep in Norham’s dungeons where no Highland rescue could reach her.
He’d planned to leave her there indefinitely. Perhaps until she died of fever or despair, providing him with a tragic tale to tell and sympathy to harvest. A beloved daughter, lost to English cruelty—it would have served his purposes well.
But Euan MacLeod had ruined everything.
Keith returned to his desk, pulling out fresh parchment. His hand moved across the page with controlled fury, each word carefully chosen to convey exactly what he thought of Euan’s pathetic attempt at negotiation.
Let Euan MacLeod think he held all the power. Let him believe that capturing Keith’s daughter gave him leverage.
The fool would learn.
Laird Euan MacLeod,
I received yer missive regarding me daughter’s current situation. Ye mistake me fer a man who negotiates with kidnappers.
I’ll nae be blackmailed intae abandoning legitimate territorial claims by a laird who kidnaps innocent women and holds them hostage.
Me marriage tae Ishbel of MacLeod blood is legal and binding. Me claim tae MacLeod territories through her lineage is sound. These facts remain unchanged regardless of where me daughter currently resides.
As fer Lady Moyra’s future, I leave that entirely in yer hands. But be warned—any harm that befalls a MacKenzie under yer roof will be answered in kind. The Highlands have long memories, and blood demands blood.
Keith MacKenzie, Laird of Clan MacKenzie
He read it over twice, satisfaction warming his chest. Perfect. Not too aggressive—he couldn’t afford to appear threatening enough to unite other clans against him. But firm enough to show he wouldn’t be manipulated.
He sealed the letter with his signet ring, then called for his steward.
“Have this delivered tae Dunvegan immediately. And make sure the messenger spreads word of MacLeod’s hostage-taking throughout the Highlands.
Make sure the tale spreads properly—how MacLeod discovered me daughter and refused tae return her without extortion.
Frame it as concern, not accusation. Let the other lairds wonder what kind of man uses a woman as leverage. ”
The steward bowed and left. Keith moved back to the window, staring out at his insufficient lands with renewed determination.
Let Euan keep Moyra. The girl was worthless to him now—a reminder of his first wife, a potential rallying point for those who questioned his ambitions. Better she remain at Dunvegan, locked away where she couldn’t interfere.
And if Euan eventually tired of feeding and housing a useless prisoner? Well, that would solve Keith’s problem permanently.
He smiled. Sometimes the best strategy was simply stepping back and letting his enemies create their own difficulties.
But there were still loose ends to tie.
Keith returned to his desk, the satisfaction of Euan’s rebuke still warming his chest. He pulled out fresh parchment—his second correspondence of the morning.
This one, however, required a subtler hand.
No righteous anger here, only careful misdirection.
His quill hovered over the page as he chose each word carefully.
Keith sealed the second letter—this one to Sir Geoffrey at Norham. A shame, really. The English commander had been efficient and discreet.
But loose ends had a way of unraveling plans. Better to cut them cleanly.
He moved to his window again, watching the sun set over MacKenzie lands that would soon—must soon—expand to include everything the MacLeods held.
His marriage to Ishbel was just the beginning.
With pressure applied in the right places, support gathered from the right allies, and Moyra conveniently removed from interfering. ..
Everything he’d worked for was within reach.
Let Euan MacLeod play the noble hero, rescuing damsels and making demands. Keith would play a longer game. A smarter game.
And in the end, he would take everything the MacLeods possessed, piece by piece, until nothing remained but his own expanded territory and the bitter memory of a clan that had dared stand in his way.
The thought warmed him more than any fire could.
In the courtyard below, his messenger mounted a fresh horse and galloped toward Dunvegan, carrying words that would shatter whatever hope Moyra MacKenzie still harbored about her father’s love.
Keith smiled.
Sometimes cruelty wasn’t just effective—it was necessary.
And he’d learned long ago to do whatever was necessary to get what he wanted.