Chapter Four Terms of Fire #2
Kenan answered before thinking. “March where?”
The older man blinked.
Kenan leaned forward. “At whom? A neutral clan whose men we may still need? A cautious laird whose storehouses we cannot spare to burn? Every step taken in anger still has to be paid for in grain, blood, and road.”
A small silence followed.
He realized only then that he had reinforced Eilidh’s point, though not in her language.
She did not smile. She only watched him for a beat, then looked back to the table.
Donal finally spoke. “It seems we have before us a rare useful thing. A war council with both the mind for roads and the mind for pride. Perhaps we may survive if we let them both talk.”
A few quiet laughs moved around the table, enough to ease the strain without dispelling it.
The council turned to practical measures. Which neutral routes might still be opened quietly. Which elders might answer private envoys more readily than public summons. Whether two small caravans could be sent under trader colors toward Beathan lands to test sentiment without forcing commitment.
On that point Kenan objected at once. “Trader colors are thin shields if Roderic’s riders stop them.”
Eilidh answered, “So is naked provocation if we send armed envoys instead.”
“They at least can fight.”
“And die. Along with any chance of the message being heard.”
He looked at her, irritation rising. “You trust too much in reason.”
“You trust too quickly in force.”
“Because force is already here.”
“And reason is still needed precisely because force is here.”
The exchange sharpened the room.
Kenan bent over the route marks. “If the caravans go, they need shadow riders.”
“That defeats the point.”
“It preserves lives.”
“It makes the effort look like covert deployment.”
“It is covert deployment.”
Her eyes flashed. “Then call it that and stop pretending diplomacy is something done by soldiers hiding behind barrels.”
Against his will, Kenan felt the edge of a grin trying to form. He forced it away.
Baird, surprisingly, raised a hand. “On this point, my lady is right.”
Kenan turned. “You?”
“Aye. A soldier sits a horse like he expects trouble. A trader sits it like he expects profit. Men notice.”
A few mutters of agreement followed. Kenan disliked that Baird had a point.
Gavin ended the matter. “Then we send merchants with eyes, not soldiers with poor disguises. Two trusted riders at a distance only, no more. Lady Eilidh will advise which houses to approach. Kenan will decide the routes least likely to get them killed.”
That silenced further protest.
The council ran on through reports and projections until even the candles seemed exhausted.
By the end, Eilidh had spoken little, but enough that the room could no longer dismiss her as ornamental.
Several still disliked her. MacNair plainly resented her.
A few younger captains watched her with cautious interest.
When Gavin finally dismissed them, chairs scraped stone and the hall broke into knots of lesser conversation.
Kenan gathered his route sheets and turned to leave.
“War Chief.”
He paused.
Eilidh stood beside her chair, one hand resting lightly on the table edge. “You were wrong about one thing.”
He looked at her. “Only one?”
A flicker passed through her expression. “Possibly more. But the one I mean now is this. I did not slow the council.”
He glanced at the marked pages, then back at her. “No,” he said at last. “You did not.”
She nodded once. “And you were right about the roads. If those caravans go blindly, they will not return.”
He found himself answering in the same blunt spirit. “Then we are both cursed with usefulness.”
This time she almost smiled.
Before either could say more, Fergus strode up with two patrol reports and a face like carved oak. He handed the parchments to Kenan without looking at Eilidh at all.
“Western ridge and south ford,” he said.
Kenan took them. “Any trouble?”
“Only the kind that waits.”
Then Fergus was gone again.
The moment between Kenan and Eilidh closed behind him.
***
By late afternoon the rain had begun in earnest.
It drummed against the roof above the records room like impatient fingers. The chamber was small, lined with shelves holding rolled maps, land records, clan agreements, trade tallies, and enough dust to choke a lesser person. A single brazier gave off more smell than heat.
Kenan had not expected Eilidh to come.
Yet there she was across from him, sleeves rolled slightly back, reading through a list of minor clan stewards who could be bribed, persuaded, or embarrassed into opening roads if properly handled.
She looked up from the page. “If you glare at that ledger much longer, it will surrender out of fear.”
Kenan snorted. “If only the rest of this war were so easily managed.”
“You say that as though fear has not already done half the work.”
He dragged one of the maps closer. “Fear, yes. Sense, less so.”
She studied him. “You are still annoyed I am here.”
“Aye.”
“Yet you asked for my help sorting which names matter.”
“I asked because Baird writes like a dying goose.”
That did it. She laughed.
The sound startled both of them.
It was not loud, nor long. But in this keep, in this season of war and ash and cold strategy, it felt startlingly alive.
Her laughter faded quickly. A faint flush rose along her cheekbones. “Well,” she said, regaining herself, “on that at least we are united.”
Kenan looked back to the ledger before he did something foolish like stare. “A rare blessing.”
They worked in silence for a few moments. Rain. Scratch of quill. Crackle of brazier.
Eilidh set down one parchment and drew another closer. “MacAuley will not respond well to open pressure from Gavin.”
“He responds well to very little.”
“True. But he trusts his sister’s husband more than any oath from outside his walls. If word goes through that household, it may carry.”
Kenan marked the name. “And Beathan?”
She hesitated. “That is trickier.”
“Because?”
“Because Beathan will ask what Kincaid offers after the war.”
Kenan looked up. “After.”
“Yes.”
“There may not be an after if they keep dithering now.”
“That is not how they will think. Men who have spent years guarding small power do not make decisions only on the next battle. They count what may remain when the larger beasts finish tearing at one another.”
His mouth hardened. “Then perhaps they deserve what comes.”
Eilidh’s gaze sharpened. “Do not say that.”
He frowned. “Why?”
“Because if you start deciding every hesitant clan deserves ruin, you will become careless about saving any who disappoint you.”
The words hit harder than he liked.
He leaned back in his chair. “You think me that near the edge?”
“I think this war pushes every one of us closer to becoming what frightens us.”
For a moment, the rain seemed louder.
Kenan looked at her carefully. There was no rebuke in her tone, only warning.
“You watch me too closely,” he said.
She did not deny it. “Someone should.”
A strange heat moved through him at that. “And you trust yourself for the task?”
“No,” she said honestly. “But I trust silence less.”
That answer stole the sharpest reply from him.
He looked back down at the map. “Beathan then. What do they want?”
“Assurance their western grazing borders will not be redrawn if they throw in with Kincaid.”
“That is Gavin’s authority.”
“Then Gavin must see that promising tomorrow may help secure today.”
Kenan made a rough sound. “You do enjoy impossible work.”
“You confuse impossible with unpleasant.”
He met her gaze. “No. I know the difference very well.”
Something changed between them then. Not in words. In stillness.