Chapter 15 #2
"The coastal watch," Callum said, his voice dropping back into the register he used when the thinking was done and the planning had begun. "How many?"
"Doubled since the weddin'," Fergus said. "Four men on the north cliffs alone. The dock is watched day and night. Gunnarsson himself has walked the perimeter every third day without fail."
"He's expectin' us."
"Aye. He's been expectin' us since Kinlochaline."
Callum nodded slowly, without surprise. He'd expected that too.
The boat had been a test—sent deliberately, running without lights, close enough to the island to be spotted, and he'd wanted to measure response time and alertness and how quickly Gunnarsson's men moved when they saw something on the water that shouldn't have been there.
The answer had been faster than he'd hoped for.
Gunnarsson's men were well-trained and they knew their ground and a direct approach by sea was never going to get anyone close to the keep before it was answered.
"The fair," Callum said. His voice was quiet, almost conversational.
Fergus looked at him steadily, waiting.
"It's public. Open," Callum repeated, "He let the word sit for a moment. "Anyone who cares tae attend can go."
"Aye."
"Anyone." He leaned forward. "Which means the door is open and the island is full of faces that Gunnarsson's men dinnae ken and cannae account fer. Which means everywhere is nowhere, because when ye're watchin' everythin', ye see naethin'."
He felt the cold, sharp precision of it clicking into place, each piece finding the next, the way a well-made lock found its key. He set his hands flat on the table and looked at the men across from him.
"He'll be managin' a public appearance," he said.
"Presentin' himself and his wife, managin' the King's men, his own clan's expectations and the eyes of everyone on the island, all of it at once.
His attention will be divided a dozen ways, and he will have none of it to spare.
" He paused. "He'll be managin' the performance of a marriage the court has already questioned.
And in that gap when the Raven is lookin' everywhere and therefore naewhere, that's when we move. "
The fire crackled. Callum looked at Fergus.
"We'll attend," he said.
The words landed quietly, with finality.
Fergus was still for a moment. "He'll have men everywhere. The whole island will be on watch."
"Aye." Callum picked up his cup and drank from it at last, the ale warm now from sitting, bitter in the way of things left too long. He set it down. "That's the point. When ye're watching everythin' ye see only crowds. The eye tends tae skip over what it's already decided is familiar."
"And ye think in all of that we can get tae her."
It wasn't quite a question. Fergus had been with him long enough to knew when a plan was being presented.
"I think one person," Callum said, "in the right place at the right moment, is all it takes.
Nae an army, nae a raid. One moment, one gap, and it's done before anyone has finished understanding what's happened.
" His fingers rested flat on the table. "That's always how it works.
The raids fail because raids announce themselves. This willnae announce itself."
"And if there's nay gap?"
Callum looked at him.
"There's always a gap," he said. "Gunnarsson is good, I’ll say it plainly.
It was because of underestimatin' him that we went wrong at Kinlochaline, and I willnae make the same mistake twice.
He's careful, he's thorough, he thinks ahead, and his men are better trained than most. But he's also a man who refused the King of Scotland twice and offered a celebration as his answer tae a royal demand.
" He let that sit for a moment. "That isnae a man without pride.
And pride," he said, "creates gaps in even the most careful men, because pride makes ye certain, and certainty is where the blind spots live. "
He pushed back from the table and stood.
"We wait fer the date," he said. "When it comes, we move quietly.
We go as attendees with nay clan colors, nay armed force, naethin' that identifies our clan.
We arrive separately, in ones and twos, with faces they dinnae ken and reasons that sound ordinary.
" He looked at Donal, then Rory. "And when the moment comes, we take her. "
Rory's jaw worked. "She willnae follow."
"Nay," Callum agreed, pleasantly. "She willnae."
"Then how dae ye plan to make it work?"
"She willnae need tae follow," Callum said. "She'll need tae be unable tae dae otherwise. There's a difference, and it's a simple one." He reached for his cloak. "She's never had a choice in any of this. Nae at fifteen, and nae when her faither handed her tae a Norse laird, and nae now."
"Gunnarsson has had his opportunity with her and spent it being careful instead of claiming what the law gave him, and the King's own men have put that failure in writing.
By the time anyone understands what's happened, the deed will be done and the argument about it will be legal, which is all I need. "
He crossed to the door and stopped with his hand on the frame.
"Get word tae MacAlpin," he said, without turning.
"Tell him the window is open and I'll send word when the date is confirmed.
Tell him tae welcome me men." A pause, and his voice dropped to something that was almost quiet.
"And tell him this time there'll be nay mistakes. He'll understand what that means."
He didn't wait for an answer.
The cold of the Lorne night came at him immediately, sharp and salt-edged. The sky was black and clear and full of stars that gave him nothing useful, and he stood in it for a moment and breathed and let his eyes adjust to the dark.
Gunnarsson thought he'd protected her.
Callum buttoned his cloak against the wind, the metal button biting cold against his fingertips.
What Gunnarsson had actually done was stand in front of two royal delegations and tell the world the marriage wasn't what it claimed to be.
Then he'd offered a public celebration and called it an answer, and now he was going to stand in front of his entire clan and the King's observers and present his wife as evidence of an alliance that the sheets would have proven simply and quietly and without fanfare.
The window he'd opened himself wasn't going to close in time.
Callum started walking. His boots were loud on the frozen ground, deliberate and unhurried, the sound of a man who had already done the difficult part of the work, which was the thinking, and had only the doing left.
He had work to do.
The coast was waiting, and so was everything else.