Chapter 33
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
"Dae ye nae feel pressured?" Liliane asked suddenly, her voice small. "Takin' on me problems along with yer own? Riskin' yer clan fer me family?"
Tòrr looked up from the table, finding her still standing by the window, her arms wrapped around herself. The morning light caught in her hair, turning it gold. The sight of it made something in his chest tighten.
"Pressured?" He stood up and moved toward her. "Nay. This is just another responsibility tae manage."
"Even though she is me sister, nae yers."
"She's family now." He stopped beside her, close enough to feel her warmth.
He was quiet for a moment, staring out the window at the courtyard below where men were already assembling for the search parties. When he spoke, his voice was rougher than he'd intended.
"Ye when ken me father died?"
"I ken it was hard fer ye." Her hand found his arm, a gentle touch.
"Aye, but when he died, I had tae go home." He turned to face her, letting her see the old pain in his eyes. "Had tae walk intae this keep and tell me siblings that their faither was dead. That I'd failed tae protect him. That they were orphans and I was all they had left."
"Ye were barely more than a lad yerself."
"I was the eldest. The heir. It was me responsibility tae step up, tae become what they needed.
" His voice hardened with remembered determination.
"So I did. I became laird and took on the weight of the entire clan while still grievin' meself.
While tryin' tae hold me siblings taegether through their own grief. "
"How did ye manage?"
"I didnae have a choice. They needed a parent, nae just a braither. So that's what I became."
"Aye, like I did for Nessa." Her eyes glistened.
"Aye. And ye ken that is why I understand what ye're facin' with her.
Why I admire ye fer it." He reached out to cup her face, his thumb brushing her cheekbone.
"Ye had tae protect her from yer faither's rages while carryin' yer own grief.
That takes strength, Liliane. More strength than most people have. "
He leaned closer, his forehead resting against hers. "Ye're remarkable, Liliane. Strong and fierce and so damn bonnie it makes me chest ache just lookin' at ye."
"Tòrr." His name came out breathless.
His thumb traced her lower lip. He kissed her then, pouring everything he couldn't say into the press of his lips against hers.
All the grief he still carried for parents lost too soon.
All the weight of responsibility he'd borne for a decade.
All the unexpected hope she'd brought into his carefully controlled life.
She melted against him, her mouth opening under his, as if afraid he might disappear. The kiss deepened, grew heated, until they were both breathing hard and his control was hanging by a thread.
"I need tae go," he said against her lips, though he made no move to pull away. "The council meetin'. The search parties."
He kissed her once more, quick and hard, then forced himself to leave before he did something foolish like barring the door and spending the entire day showing her exactly how desperately he desired to taste her one more time.
The great hall was packed when Tòrr arrived, every seat at the council table filled and warriors lining the walls. The air was thick with tension—word had spread about the search parties deploying.
Tòrr took his seat at the head of the table, Michael on his right. Elder Malcolm and Gregor sat across from him, their weathered faces grave.
"Ye've called us here with little notice, me laird," Malcolm began. "And sent men intae the forests without explanation. What's this about?"
"Armed men wearin' Munro colors attacked me wife at the festival. Tried tae abduct her." Tòrr's voice was flat. "Three are dead. Daemon reports at least a dozen more hidin' in the forests."
Murmurs rippled through the assembled warriors.
"Why would Munro send men after his own daughter?" Malcolm's confusion was evident. "The marriage is legal."
"He wants the alliance she was meant tae bring. Thinks he can reclaim her, annul our marriage, and complete his original plan."
"Can he dae that?" another council member asked.
"He thinks he can." Tòrr met Malcolm's eyes. "But the marriage has been consummated. I've provided the proof ye demanded."
Malcolm nodded slowly. "Aye, the sheet. But Munro daesnae ken that."
"Which is why he's still sendin' men." Tòrr leaned forward. "And why we need tae remove his leverage entirely. Liliane has a younger sister. Nessa. Fourteen years old, currently at Foulis under Munro's control."
The silence was immediate and heavy.
"Ye want tae take her," Gregor said flatly. "Kidnap a laird's daughter from his own keep."
"Munro threatened tae put her on that auction platform if Liliane refused tae cooperate. Threatened tae sell a fourteen-year-old girl." Tòrr's jaw tightened. "So aye, I want tae take her. Before he follows through."
"It's an act of war," one of the other council members protested.
"He started this war when he sent men tae abduct me wife from a clan gatherin'."
"And what dae we dae with the girl once we have her?" Malcolm demanded. "Use her as a hostage?"
"We protect her. Keep her safe where Munro cannae reach her." Tòrr's voice was steady. "With both his daughters beyond his reach, he loses his ability tae forge the alliance he wants. He'll have nay choice but tae accept the marriage."
"And if he refuses? If he demands her return?"
"Then we refuse."
Silence fell over the hall. The council members exchanged glances.
"Ye're askin' us tae approve kidnappin'," Gregor said finally. "Tae sanction an act that could bring the full weight of the Pact down on our heads."
"I'm askin' ye tae help me protect a child from a man who beats women tae death." Tòrr's voice was quiet but absolute. "Liliane's maither died from his violence. I'll nae leave another girl under his control."
Slowly, reluctantly, heads began to nod around the table.
"Very well," Malcolm said finally. "We'll support this operation. But it needs tae be planned carefully." He paused, his eyes sharp on Tòrr's face. "And we expect regular reports. If this escalates beyond what we can handle, we reserve the right tae reconsider."
Tòrr nodded, though he had no intention of ever givin' Nessa back. That was a truth the council didn't need to know. Not yet.
"First teams deployed at midday," Tòrr continued. "They're sweepin' the eastern forests now. Any man found wearin' Munro colors dies. Nay prisoners."
No one argued. Everyone knew what Munro's men had tried to do.
"Then we're agreed," Malcolm said, standing. "We support both operations."
Tòrr stood as well. "Now if there's naethin' else, I have search parties tae coordinate and a raid tae plan."
The council members filed out slowly, still murmuring among themselves about the boldness of what they'd just approved.
Foulis Castle
"Three men dead. Three! And naethin' tae show fer it but MacDonald's insult delivered with their corpses."
Roderick Munro's fist slammed against the oak table in his solar, making the wine cups jump. Rain lashed against the narrow windows, matching the fury in his voice as he paced before the hearth.
"Calm yerself," Angus Campbell said from his seat, though his own expression was dark with displeasure. "Rage solves naethin'."
"Rage is all I have left! That bastard killed me men and sent word through the villages that anyone else who tries fer his wife will meet the same fate. He's makin' me look weak, Campbell. Weak before the entire Pact."
"Aye. He is." Campbell took a measured sip of wine. "Which is why we need tae be smarter about this."
"The festival was supposed tae be the perfect place—crowds, chaos, enough confusion that me men could take her and disappear." Roderick resumed his pacing. "Instead, he killed them all. And now Liliane's locked away in Keppoch Castle."
"Tell me, have ye heard from the men ye stationed near MacDonald's borders?"
"Nae since the festival. Their silence tells me MacDonald's found them too. Probably huntin' them through the forests as we speak."
"Then we assume they're compromised." Campbell steepled his fingers. "Which means we need a new approach. One that daesnae involve direct confrontation."
"What are ye suggestin'?"
"I'm suggestin' we stop tryin' tae take yer daughter back and start thinkin' about the real problem." Campbell leaned forward. "The real problem isnae Liliane. It's MacDonald himself. As long as he lives, that marriage stands. So we remove the obstacle."
"Ye want tae kill him." It wasn't a question.
"I want him dead. Preferably in a way that cannae be traced back tae either of us.
" Campbell rose, movin' to stand beside Roderick at the hearth.
"MacDonald dies in a tragic accident, and suddenly everythin' would change.
The clan would be in turmoil. And yer daughter would become a widow.
Free tae marry again. This time tae Ross, as originally planned. "
"She'd never agree. She hates me."
"She's yer daughter. She'll dae as she's told." Campbell's voice hardened. "But first, MacDonald has tae die. And that requires careful plannin'."
Roderick stared into the flames. "How?"
"We place men inside his keep. Nae Munro men—they'd be recognized. But men loyal tae the Pact, men with reasons tae hate MacDonald." Campbell's tone took on the quality of a teacher instructin' a slow student. "Servants, guards, merchants. People who can move freely without raisin' suspicion."
"That takes time. Weeks, maybe months."
"Aye. But it's the only way tae ensure success without startin' open war." Campbell met his eyes. "Unless ye'd prefer tae march an army tae Keppoch's gates? See how well that works fer ye?"
Roderick's hands clenched. "I'm nae afraid of war."
"Nay. But ye're smart enough tae ken ye cannae win one. Nae against MacDonald on his own lands, with his clan united behind him." Campbell's voice carried brutal honesty. "He's younger, stronger, and his warriors love him. They'd die fer him without question. Can ye say the same about yer own men?"
The silence was answer enough.
"So we infiltrate his keep," Roderick said. "But that still leaves the question of how. Poison? An accident?"
"All of the above. Multiple possibilities, multiple chances fer success.
" Campbell's smile was thin and cold. "The beauty of havin' men inside is that they can wait fer opportunities.
A hunt where MacDonald rides ahead of his guards.
A late night in his chambers. A meal where poison can be slipped intae his cup. "
"And if it fails? If our men are caught?"
"Then they ken naethin' that can be traced back tae us. They're mercenaries, hired through intermediaries, paid in coin that cannae be connected tae Munro or the Pact."
Roderick moved tae the sideboard, pourin' himself fresh wine. "Who dae ye have in mind?"
"I have people. Men who've done this kind of work before." Campbell's expression gave nothin' away. "Displaced warriors who've lost lands or position and need coin tae survive. They're nae loyal tae any clan, which makes them perfect."
"And ye trust them?"
"I trust their greed. And their fear of what happens if they fail or talk."
"From Pact funds or yer own coffers?"
"Daes it matter? The result is the same—MacDonald dead, yer daughter available fer remarriage, and the western trade routes firmly under our control."
Roderick barked a laugh. "Nay. I left morality behind when I decided tae sell me daughters at auction. This is just the next logical step."
"Good. Then we're agreed." Campbell moved to the window. Rain still fell in sheets. "I'll make the arrangements. Within a month, maybe two, we'll have people inside Keppoch who can strike when ready."
"I want updates. Regular reports."
"Ye'll have them. But ye need tae trust me tae handle the details." Campbell's pale eyes were sharp. "The less ye ken about specifics, the better. If this goes wrong, ye need tae honestly say ye kent naethin' about the particulars."
"Plausible deniability."
"Exactly." Campbell moved toward the door, then paused. "When MacDonald dies, there'll be questions. So make sure ye're visible, surrounded by people, far from Keppoch when the deed is done."
"I ken how this works, Campbell."
"Good. Then we understand each other. I'll send word when the first men are in position. Until then, maintain appearances. Be the concerned faither willin' tae accept an unfortunate situation fer the sake of peace."
After Campbell left, Roderick stood alone in his solar, starin' into the fire. MacDonald dead. Liliane returned. The marriage to Ross secured. His position within the Pact restored. All the pieces fallin' into place exactly as they should have.
And if a few more bodies had to fall to make that happen? Well. That was simply the cost of power.
A knock at the door interrupted his thoughts. "Enter."
One of his guards stepped inside. "Me laird, there's a messenger arrived. From the village. Says there's been sightings of MacDonald men near our western borders."
"MacDonald men? Here?" Roderick's attention sharpened. "How many?"
"The messenger wasnae certain. Said they were seen in the forest, movin' quiet-like."
"Double the guard on the keep. I want patrols along all our borders, especially the western approaches." Roderick's mind was already working through possibilities. "And send someone tae fetch Campbell back. He needs tae hear this."
After the guard left, Roderick moved back to the window, his eyes scanin' the rain-soaked landscape. MacDonald men on his borders. That suggested MacDonald wasn't content to simply hold onto Liliane and wait. He was planning something.
The question was what.
And whether Campbell's plan could move fast enough to counter whatever MacDonald was scheming.
Because when the enemy started moving first, ye were already behind.
And being behind in this game meant being dead.