Chapter 35
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
The messenger arrived at dusk, mud-splattered and breathless. Keir received him in the main hall, dismissing the servants with a sharp gesture.
He listened to the news.
"When did ye hear this?" Keir asked, his voice dangerously quiet.
"This morning, me laird. One of our informants inside MacEwan Castle sent word immediately."
"And ye're only now bringing it tae me?"
The messenger paled. "I rode straight through, me laird. Didnae stop except tae change horses."
Keir crumpled the letter in his fist. Two days. Maighread MacEwan would marry Tavish MacBain in two days.
"Get out," he said.
The messenger fled.
Keir stood alone in the hall, rage coiling through his chest like smoke. He forced himself to breathe slowly, to think clearly. Emotion was weakness. Control was power. His mother had taught him that from childhood.
But control felt impossible when everything he'd planned was collapsing.
He crossed to the window, staring out at Sinclair lands stretching into the distance. Good land. Prosperous land. But not enough. It would never be enough as long as MacEwan territory remained separate, unconquered, outside of his grasp.
Maighread was supposed to be his. The Council had practically promised her to him. The betrothal had been all but arranged before she'd left for the Lowlands. Everyone understood the logic: Sinclair strength combined with MacEwan resources. A natural alliance.
Except she'd refused. Politely at first, then firmly, then with outright defiance.
And now this. Marriage to some MacBain bastard who'd appeared out of nowhere and claimed her like she was yet unclaimed.
The audacity of it burned.
Keir's hands curled into fists against the stone windowsill.
He'd been patient. Respectful, even. He'd waited for Angus to see reason, for the Council to pressure her, for circumstances to force her hand.
He'd orchestrated the attacks carefully, making sure she understood the danger she faced without him.
And still she'd chosen someone else.
The door opened behind him. Keir didn't turn.
"Leave me," he said.
"It's important, me laird."
Keir spun, fury flashing across his face. His captain stood in the doorway, expression carefully neutral.
"What?"
"Confirmation just arrived. The wedding is set fer two days hence. Midday ceremony at MacEwan Castle."
"I already ken."
"There's more. Angus MacEwan is dying. Rapidly. The healers give him weeks at most."
Keir went still. "How certain?"
"Very. Our source is reliable."
Information clicked into place. The rushed wedding. The sudden formality. Angus was securing Maighread's position before his death, binding her to MacBain protection before the Council could interfere.
Clever. Desperate, but clever.
"Anything else?" Keir asked.
"MacBain brought sixty men. They're positioned throughout the castle and grounds. Security is tight."
"Of course it is." Keir turned back to the window. "Thank ye. That will be all."
The captain hesitated. "Me laird, what are yer orders?"
"I said that will be all."
The door closed quietly. Keir stared out at the darkening landscape, his mind racing through options and discarding them just as quickly.
He could challenge the betrothal publicly, but that ship had sailed weeks ago, when Maighread had first claimed Tavish.
He could appeal to the MacEwan Council, but they'd already shown themselves willing to accept MacBain as her husband.
He could wait and hope the marriage failed, but that was the coward's path.
No. Waiting was over.
Maighread belonged to him. Not by affection, but by right. He was the stronger laird, the better match, the obvious choice for her clan's future. She simply refused to see it.
Someone needed to make her see it.
Keir crossed to his desk and pulled out fresh parchment. His hand was steady as he wrote, the letters sharp and precise.
When he finished, he rang the bell. A servant appeared within moments.
"Summon me captains. All of them. Immediately."
"Aye, me laird."
The servant scurried away. Keir read over his orders once more, checking for flaws, finding none. This would work. It had to work.
Within twenty minutes, four men stood before him in the hall. Battle-hardened warriors who'd served his father and now served him. Men who understood that victory came through force, not negotiation.
"The MacEwan wedding takes place in two days," Keir said without preamble. "That cannae be allowed tae happen."
The men exchanged glances. The oldest, a scarred veteran named Malcolm, spoke carefully. "Forgive me, me laird, but MacBain has brought considerable forces. A direct assault on the castle would be costly."
"I'm nae suggesting a direct assault." Keir's voice was ice-cold. "I'm ordering an immediate attack on the MacEwan border villages. Hit them hard. Burn what ye must. Take hostages if possible. Make it impossible fer MacBain tae ignore."
Malcolm's expression shifted. "Ye want tae draw him out."
"Exactly. MacBain fancies himself a hero.
A protector. When he hears his future wife's people are being slaughtered, he'll ride out tae defend them.
" Keir's mouth curved into something that wasn't quite a smile.
"And when he daes, he'll have tae choose between protecting the borders and staying fer the wedding. "
"He might send men instead of going himself," another captain suggested.
"Then we escalate until he has nay choice. We keep attacking until he personally responds. The man's too honorable tae hide behind castle walls while innocents suffer." Keir's voice dripped contempt. "It's his greatest weakness."
"And if he chooses tae defend the borders?"
"Then the wedding is delayed. Maighread loses her window tae marry before her father dies. The Council fractures. Chaos descends. And in that chaos…" Keir spread his hands. "Opportunities arise."
The captains nodded slowly, understanding spreading across their faces.
"When dae we move?" Douglas asked.
"Tonight. Immediately. I want reports of burning villages reaching MacEwan Castle by dawn tomorrow at the latest."
"That daesnae give us much time tae prepare."
"Then stop wasting time standing here." Keir's voice sharpened. "Gather yer men. Ride fast. Strike hard. Make sure MacBain understands the cost of his interference."
The captains bowed and turned to leave. Keir stopped them with a raised hand.
"One more thing. Maighread MacEwan is nae tae be harmed. If ye encounter her, ye capture her and bring her tae me unharmed. Anyone who disobeys that order will answer tae me personally. Am I clear?"
"Perfectly, me laird."
"Good. Now go."
They filed out quickly, already barking orders to the men outside. Within minutes, Keir heard the sounds of mobilization: boots on stone, weapons being gathered, horses stamping in the courtyard.
He returned to the window, watching his forces assemble in the fading light. Dozens of men, all loyal, all capable. More than enough to terrorize a few undefended border villages.
This would work. MacBain would ride out to play the hero. The wedding would be delayed or canceled. And Keir would have another chance to claim what should have been his from the beginning.
Maighread thought she could escape him by hiding behind MacBain's protection. She thought marriage to another man would end his pursuit.
She was wrong.
Keir had been raised to understand a fundamental truth: power was the only thing that mattered. Not love, not honor, not fairness. Just power. The strong took what they wanted, and the weak either submitted or were crushed.
He was strong. MacBain was an interloper. Maighread was a prize worth claiming.
The mathematics were simple.
Footsteps approached from behind. Keir didn't turn.
"The men are ready, me laird," Douglas reported. "We ride within the hour."
"Excellent."
"Are ye certain about this course of action? Once we attack MacEwan lands openly, there's nay going back. This becomes open war."
"It was always going tae be war." Keir's reflection stared back at him from the darkened glass. "MacBain made that choice when he claimed her. I'm simply accepting the terms he set."
"And if Angus MacEwan dies during the chaos? If the clan collapses entirely?"
"Then we'll be there tae pick up the pieces. Sinclair influence, Sinclair protection, Sinclair control. One way or another, those lands will be mine."
Malcolm was quiet for a moment. "What about the lass herself? If she hates ye fer this, if she refuses tae cooperate after…"
"She'll come around." Keir's voice was absolute. "Once she understands there's nay other option, once MacBain is dead or disgraced, once her clan needs what only I can provide, she'll accept reality. Women always dae."
"Aye, me laird."
"How long until yer men reach the borders?"
"If we ride through the night, we'll hit the first village by dawn. The others shortly after."
"Perfect. Make sure messengers report back regularly. I want tae ken exactly when MacBain receives word. I want tae ken the moment he makes his choice."
"It will be done."
Malcolm left. Keir remained at the window, watching the last of his men ride out into the darkness. Torches bobbed in the distance, slowly disappearing down the road toward MacEwan lands.
He poured himself a dram and drank slowly, savoring the burn.
Two days. Maighread thought she had two days to marry her precious MacBain and secure her future.
She was wrong.
By dawn the following day, her world would be burning. Her people would be crying out fer protection. And MacBain would have tae choose: ride out and defend them or stay and marry her while innocents died.
Either way, Keir won.
Either the wedding was delayed and chaos followed, or MacBain abandoned the people he'd sworn to protect and proved himself a coward. Either outcome served Keir's purposes.
He raised his cup.
"Make yer choice, MacBain," he murmured. "Prove ye're the hero she thinks ye are. Ride out tae save them."
The whisky was smooth and dark on his tongue.
"And when ye dae, I'll be waiting."