Chapter 28
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
The wine cup shattered against the stone wall, red liquid spraying across ancient maps like fresh blood.
“Send her back?” Euan’s voice could have frozen the summer air.
He stood at the head of the war table, his scarred hands braced against the oak surface, every line of his body radiating barely controlled fury.
“Ye want me tae send Moyra MacKenzie back tae the faither who abandoned her in an English dungeon?”
Around the table, the Covenant brothers exchanged glances.
The Fire Fair had ground to a halt hours ago when villagers had entered the castle with the news of a fire.
Now they stood in Euan’s war room, maps scattered between them, while displaced villagers filled the castle’s lower halls with their grief.
“I’m saying she’s a liability.” Archibald MacRae’s blunt assessment cut through the tension like a blade. The massive warrior leaned forward, his scarred jaw set. “Every day she stays here is another day Keith has reason tae attack. Another village burned. Another family destroyed.”
“That’s nae her fault—”
“Isnae it?” Archibald’s voice remained level, but his eyes blazed. “Keith’s men burned that granary because she’s here. They killed those people tae make a point about what happens when ye defy him. How many more need tae die before ye admit keeping her is costing lives?”
Euan’s hands clenched hard enough that wood groaned beneath his grip. The truth of it sat like poison in his gut—three more families dead, a village in ashes, all because he’d refused to let Moyra go.
“Archibald has a point,” David MacDonald said quietly. The strategist’s features were drawn with exhaustion. “Keith’s escalating. First scouts, then raids, now open attacks on settlements. He’s building toward something bigger, and Moyra’s presence here is the justification he needs.”
“So we just hand her over?” Calum MacKinnon’s usually jovial voice carried an edge. “Let Keith win because he’s willing tae murder innocents?”
“I’m saying we consider all options.” David’s fingers traced the map before them, marking each burned village, each site of violence. “Including whether keeping her is worth the cost.”
The room fell silent save for the crackle of torches and distant sounds of refugees settling into temporary quarters. Euan stared at the maps, at the scattered markers representing Keith’s attacks, and felt something twist in his chest.
He’d known. Had known from the moment he’d brought Moyra through Dunvegan’s gates that keeping her would invite trouble. But, dear god, when he thought about sending her back—
“Ye got what ye wanted from Arundel,” Archibald pressed.
“The documents proving his involvement in Loch Eilein. Proof that he was paid tae incite that battle, tae create chaos that nearly killed all of us.” His scarred hand tapped the sealed parchment case lying beside the maps.
“Ye have yer evidence. Yer revenge is within reach. Why complicate it by keeping Keith MacKenzie’s daughter? ”
“Because this isnae about Arundel anymore.” The words came out rougher than Euan intended. “It stopped being about revenge the moment I found her in that cell.”
Understanding flickered across his brothers’ faces—some sympathetic, some concerned, Archibald’s expression hardening into disapproval.
“Euan—” Calum started.
“Nay.” Euan straightened, his jaw set. “I’ll nae send her back tae a man who left her tae rot. Who quite possibly arranged her imprisonment, who’s made it clear she means nothing tae him beyond political inconvenience. Ye want me tae sacrifice her fer strategy? I’ll nae dae it.”
“Even if it costs more lives?” Archibald challenged. “Even if Keith burns every village between here and the mainland?”
“Then I’ll find another way.” Euan’s voice carried absolute certainty. “I’ll strengthen defenses. Increase patrols. Call in more support from our allied clans. But I’ll nae solve this problem by throwing a woman tae the wolves just because it’s easier than fighting.”
Silence fell heavy as stone. David’s keen eyes studied him with uncomfortable perception. Calum’s mouth curved in what might have been approval or concern. And Archibald—
“Ye’re letting yer feelings cloud yer judgment,” the massive warrior said quietly. “I ken ye care fer the lass. We all see it. But caring daesnae change the fact that keeping her here is getting people killed.”
“Me feelings—” Euan bit off the denial before it could form.
Because Archibald was right, wasn’t he? About the feelings, if not the solution.
“Me feelings dinnae matter. What matters is that sending her back solves nothing. Keith will find another excuse tae attack. Another justification fer his land claims. At least this way, she’s safe. ”
“Safe while yer people die.” Archibald’s bluntness was legendary, but this cut deeper than usual. “How many more families need tae burn before ye admit ye’re choosing her over them?”
Euan felt his control fracture, rage and guilt warring in his chest. “I’m choosing tae protect everyone. All of them. Her and me clan both.”
“Ye cannae,” David said gently. “Nae while Keith’s using her as leverage. Ye have tae choose, Euan. The woman or the clan. Which matters more?”
Moyra heard the raised voices from three corridors away.
She’d been helping Brighde tend wounds in the great hall, wrapping burns and soothing crying children, when Euan’s roar had echoed through stone walls. The healer had glanced up, concern flickering across her weathered features.
“Go,” Brighde had said quietly. “See what’s happening. I can manage here.”
Now Moyra stood outside the war room door, her heart hammering against her ribs as she caught fragments of the argument within. Archibald’s voice, blunt and unyielding. David’s quieter, but no less cutting, observations. And Euan—
Euan defending her. Refusing to send her back despite the cost.
Guilt crashed through her with physical force. Three families dead. A village in ashes. All because she existed within those walls.
She should leave. Should walk away from Dunvegan and whatever complicated feelings had tangled between her and Euan MacLeod. Should remove herself from the equation before more innocents paid for Keith MacKenzie’s ambitions.
But the thought of returning to her father—
The door opened. Euan emerged, his scarred face drawn with exhaustion and fury in equal measure. He stopped short when he saw her, grey eyes widening.
“Moyra.” Her name came out rough. “How long have ye been standing there?”
“Long enough.” She lifted her chin, refusing to let guilt bow her spine. “Long enough tae ken that keeping me here is costing lives.”
“Ye heard.”
“Aye. And Archibald’s right, isn’t he? Those people died because of me. Because me faither’s using me presence here as justification.”
“Nay.” Euan closed the distance between them in three strides, his hands finding her shoulders. “Those people died because Keith MacKenzie is a monster willing to murder innocents to get what he wants. That’s nae yer fault, Moyra. That’s his.”
“But if I weren’t here—”
“He’d find another reason.” The certainty in his voice made her chest ache. “Another excuse to attack, another angle to press his claims. Sending ye back solves nothing except putting ye in danger.”
“And keeping me here puts yer people in danger.” She met his gaze steadily despite how her pulse raced at his proximity. “How many more tae to die afore ye admit I’m the problem?”
His jaw clenched. “Ye’re nae the problem. Keith is. And I’ll nae solve that by sacrificing ye tae make things easier.”
“Even if it costs everything?” Her voice wavered despite her best efforts. “Even if he burns every village, kills every family? How many deaths afore me life stops being worth the cost?”
“That’s nae a choice I’m willing tae make.” His hands tightened on her shoulders, not painfully but insistently. “And it’s nae one ye should have tae consider. Ye’re safe here, Moyra. I’ll nae let him hurt ye.”
“But he’s already hurting people.” Tears burned behind her eyes, hot and unwelcome. “He’s already destroying lives, and it’s all because—”
Shouts erupted from below. Running footsteps. The organized chaos of a crisis unfolding.
Euan’s head snapped toward the sound, warrior instincts overriding everything else. She followed him down the stairs, her shorter legs struggling to match his long strides.
The great hall had transformed into controlled chaos. Displaced villagers filled every available space—families huddled together, children crying, wounded men propped against walls while Brighde and her assistants moved between them with practiced efficiency.
But it was the women who caught Moyra’s attention. Or rather, their lack of organization. They clustered in small groups, uncertain, waiting for someone to tell them what to do. Waiting for orders that weren’t coming because every man was occupied with defense or injury.
Something clicked in her mind. This she could fix.
Moyra moved to the center of the hall, her voice cutting through the noise. “Listen! All women capable of working, gather round!”
Heads turned. Euan stopped mid-step, watching her with an expression she couldn’t quite read.
“We need blankets fer the children,” Moyra continued, her voice carrying authority she hadn’t known she possessed. “Catriona, organize the maids—strip every spare bed in the castle if ye have tae. And we need food. Hot food, nae just bread. Cook, can yer kitchens handle feeding this many?”
The head cook stepped forward, a broad woman with flour-dusted hands. “Aye, me lady. If I have enough hands—”
“Ye’ll have them.” Moyra pointed to a cluster of village women. “Any of ye who can work a kitchen, follow Cook. The rest of ye—we need this space organized. Families taegether, wounded near Brighde’s station, children in the warmest corner away from the drafts.”
Around her, women began moving. Purpose replaced uncertainty. The chaotic mass of refugees started taking shape into something manageable.
“And someone needs to check if there are more wounded coming,” Moyra added. “We should have supplies ready at the gates—”
“I’ll see tae it.” Euan’s voice came from behind her, warm with something that made her chest tight. “What else dae ye need?”
She turned to find him watching her with an intensity that made her pulse stutter. The fury from earlier had faded, replaced by something softer. Something that looked dangerously like admiration.
“Fresh water,” she managed. “Lots of it. Fer washing wounds and drinking both. And we’ll need more torches—it’s getting dark and people are frightened.”
“Consider it done.” But he didn’t move, just stood there studying her face as if seeing something new. “Ye’re good at this.”
Heat crawled up her neck. “I’m just organizing. It’s nae—”
“It’s exactly what’s needed.” His scarred hand found hers, squeezing briefly before releasing. “Thank ye.”
The simple gratitude made her throat tight.
Around them, the hall continued transforming from chaos to order, women working together with the efficiency of those who knew their purpose.
Children’s cries quieted as blankets appeared.
The scent of cooking food began replacing the acrid smell of smoke.
And through it all, Euan stayed close. Not hovering, not interfering, but present. Ready to help with whatever task she assigned, his considerable strength turned toward practical needs rather than warfare.
She watched him lift a crying child with surprising gentleness, saw him steady an elderly woman as she settled onto a bench, noticed the way he spoke to each displaced villager—not as their laird commanding from above, but as a man who genuinely cared about their welfare.
Saints help her, but watching Euan MacLeod be kind was doing dangerous things to her already compromised heart.
“Me lady?” Catriona appeared at her elbow, her arms full of blankets. “Where should these go?”
Moyra forced her attention away from the broad-shouldered figure distributing food. “The children’s corner. And see if ye can find some toys—anything to keep the wee ones occupied.”
“Aye, me lady.” Catriona’s knowing smile suggested she’d caught Moyra staring. “Right away.”
The work continued through the evening. Wounds were tended, families fed, children settled into makeshift beds. Slowly, the hall’s chaos gave way to something almost peaceful—the quiet murmur of conversation, the occasional child’s laugh, the sense of safety that came from being together.
When Moyra finally paused to catch her breath, she found Euan leaning against a nearby pillar, watching her with that same unreadable expression.
“What?” She wiped sweat from her forehead, suddenly conscious of how disheveled she must look.
“Naething.” But his mouth curved slightly. “Just thinking about what Archibald said. About ye being a liability.”
Her stomach clenched. “He’s right though, isn’t he?”
“If ye weren’t here, these people would have far less comfort taenight.” Euan pushed off the pillar, moving closer. “They have organization and hope because ye gave it tae them. That’s nae liability, Moyra. That’s leadership.”
The compliment made her chest ache. “I just did what needed daeing.”
“Aye. Because that’s who ye are.” His hand found hers again, and this time he didn’t let go. “And that’s why I’ll nae send ye away, nay matter what me braithers say. Because ye’re exactly where ye’re meant tae be.”
The certainty in his voice should have frightened her, made her pull away, made her remind him of all the reasons their situation was complicated.
Instead, she squeezed his hand back and let herself believe—just for that moment—that maybe he was right.