Chapter 24
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Roy learned that maps possessed an unfortunate talent for making danger appear reasonable.
Spread across the council table, Cormac’s possible hiding places became no more than dark marks upon parchment: a hunting lodge in the western woods, caves beside the inland river, ruined encampments abandoned after old clan quarrels and narrow glens where a dozen armed men might vanish for weeks.
The map did not show Donaldina bound inside one of those places. It did not show blood upon her wrists or the terror she had concealed until she reached the safety of her chamber.
Ink was considerably kinder than truth.
Roy stood at the head of the council table with one hand resting beside the western coast. Captains from both clans crowded the great hall, their wet cloaks steaming faintly in the heat of the fires.
MacIver warriors occupied one side of the table and MacNicol men the other, though the distinction had become less precise with every patrol they shared.
Donaldina was seated beside him. She wore deep green wool, her hair braided at the nape of her neck, and the healing cuts on her wrists concealed beneath narrow linen bands. No one looking at her composed face would have guessed how violently she had trembled the night before.
Roy knew. The knowledge lived beneath every thought he possessed.
“The eastern road is watched from the town tae Dun Ard,” Hamish reported. He placed a wooden marker beside the route. “Two riders at each crossing and four men stationed near the upper bridge.”
“Too few,” Roy said.
“The bridge is narrow.”
“So is a grave.”
Hamish’s mouth tightened, but he moved another marker into position.
Malcolm leaned over the map. “Cormac lost men at the lodge. He may retreat north and seek aid among the smaller clans.”
“Or he may remain near enough tae watch us searching farther away,” Donaldina said.
The council quieted.
She reached across the parchment, placing one finger upon the western woods. “Cormac knows Dun Ard. He knows which roads we use, which guards are likely tae be trusted and how quickly rumors travel between the coastal villages.”
Roy looked at the route beneath her hand.
“He willnae require a large force if he intends sabotage rather than open attack,” she continued. “A few men could strike the fishing stores, poison a well or burn winter grain before disappearing intae the trees.”
Finlay frowned. “He wouldnae destroy MacNicol stores.”
Donaldina looked at him. “He dragged the last MacNicol heir from a festival and imprisoned her in an abandoned lodge.”
Finlay lowered his eyes. Roy felt a grim satisfaction which lasted no longer than a breath. Donaldina should not have been required to defend the truth of what happened to her before men who witnessed Cormac’s treachery from the beginning.
He placed another marker beside the coastal path. “MacIver riders will cover the northern road. MacNicol men ken the western woods more closely. They will search the old encampments and every cave within half a day’s ride.”
One of the MacNicol captains shifted uneasily. “Me laird, some of the caves flood when the tide changes.”
“Then send men who ken the tides.”
Donaldina glanced toward him. Roy recognized the warning in her expression. His temper had sharpened his voice more than the captain deserved. He forced his hand to loosen upon the table.
“Send pairs,” he amended. “Nae one must enter unfamiliar ground alone.”
The captain nodded.
Hamish leaned over the southern portion of the map. “The river crossings must be tightened. Cormac will need supplies if he intends tae remain in hiding. Food, weapons and messages will all pass through someone’s hands.”
“Search wagons entering MacNicol lands,” Malcolm suggested.
“And anger every merchant before winter?” Donaldina asked.
“A delayed wagon is preferable tae an armed rebellion.”
“Aye, but hunger creates rebels more quickly than Cormac’s speeches.”
Roy watched her move two markers from the central bridge to the smaller ford farther south.
“Search only at the crossings,” she told them. “Dinnae hold merchants once their goods are inspected. Grain and salt wagons are tae receive priority.”
Roy understood her reasoning before she finished.
“Add a written token from the watch captain,” he ordered. “A searched wagon neednae be stopped again unless the seal is broken.”
Hamish nodded. “That will keep the roads moving.”
It happened so naturally that Roy did not notice until afterward.
Donaldina observed the people, while Roy created a protective barrier for them.
The council had started to wait for both before proceeding, as if leadership had shifted from the head of the table to the subtle dialogue shared between their chairs.
Malcolm pointed toward the lower cliffs.
“There are old paths beneath the southern wall. Smugglers used them during Lachlan’s father’s rule.”
“They collapse in winter,” Finlay said.
“Nae all of them,” Donaldina corrected. “One reaches the shore below the apiary garden.”
Roy’s attention sharpened. “The beehives?”
Donaldina’s fingers closed lightly over one another.
“Cormac has used places important tae me before. He kent the apiary garden was sheltered and poorly visible from the western tower. The storm damaged the hives, but nae every broken board came from weather.”
Roy looked toward her. She had not told him that.
“Ye believe they were sabotaged?”
“I believe it is possible.”
“Why was this nae reported?”
Donaldina’s chin lifted. “Because at the time, we had a castle rebellion, damaged stores and a council divided over whether ye were an invader. Several broken hives appeared a lesser matter.”
“There is nae lesser matter if Cormac touched it.”
The words came too fiercely. Several men around the table became still. Donaldina held his gaze. There was no fear in her expression, but something quieter and more painful: understanding.
Roy turned toward Hamish. “Double the watch along the apiary wall.”
“Roy—” Donaldina began.
“Two men by day. Four after dusk. The lower cliff path is tae be inspected before every change of watch.”
Finlay looked doubtful. “Four men for a garden?”
“For an approach beneath the castle wall.”
The councilor ceased objecting.
Roy placed both hands upon the table. “From this evening, there will be nae separate MacIver and MacNicol rotations.”
A murmur moved through the hall.
Roy continued before tradition could gather sufficient courage to argue.
“Each patrol will include men from both clans. Nae watchtower, crossing or storehouse will be held by one clan alone. Captains will exchange written reports at sunrise and dusk. Any rider who fails tae return at the proper hour will be searched for immediately.”
One MacIver warrior frowned. “Some MacNicol men may object tae answering tae our captains.”
“And some MacIver men may object tae taking orders from theirs,” Roy replied. “They may object while performing the duty.”
Hamish concealed a smile. Malcolm did not trouble to conceal his.
Donaldina leaned forward. “The rotations should change every three days. Cormac has friends within the villages. If patrols become predictable, word will reach him.”
Roy nodded. “Agreed.”
Again, the word came without thought.
Not I agree.
Simply agreed, as though the decision belonged to neither of them separately.
Theirs.
He felt its meaning and pushed it aside before it could soften anything vigilance required.
For another hour, they marked routes and assigned riders. Inland caves were divided among scouting parties. Abandoned hunting lodges were placed under observation rather than searched only once. River crossings received additional men, and messengers were forbidden to travel without escort.
When the final order had been written, the map appeared crowded with markers. Protected, any reasonable man might have called it. Roy saw only the gaps between them.
“There is one final matter,” Malcolm said. “What are we tae tell the villages?”
“The truth,” Donaldina answered.
Several councilors shifted.
Roy looked at her. “How much of it?”
“That Cormac abducted me and continues tae threaten both clans. That anyone providing shelter, supplies or messages tae him will answer before the council.”
“And the lodge?” Finlay asked.
Donaldina’s expression did not alter. “They need nae hear every cruelty tae understand the danger.”
Roy felt relief he had no right to feel. He would have permitted her to speak as much or as little as she chose, but the thought of men carrying the details of her captivity from hearth to alehouse filled him with a violence he had scarcely restrained since the rescue.
“The notice will bear both seals,” he announced.
No one questioned it. The council dispersed slowly. Captains collected written assignments. Malcolm rolled the smaller maps beneath his arm. Hamish remained long enough to give Roy a searching look, then followed the others from the hall without speaking.
Donaldina gathered the petitions beside her. Roy stared at the central map.
Twenty-two patrols. Six guarded crossings. Scouts in every direction.
It was not enough. Cormac moved where the map remained empty. He struck through grief, pride, festival music and every weakness Roy recognized only after it had been used against them.
Roy had entered Dun Ard beneath the King’s decree. Since then, Donaldina had been dragged toward a cliff, shut outside her own castle, seized from a crowded festival and carried into the forest.
Cormac wanted control before Roy arrived. Yet Roy’s presence had given the man a target. Every choice Roy made seemed to bring violence closer to her.
His hand closed around one of the wooden markers. It broke between his fingers.
Donaldina looked up.
Roy set the pieces upon the map. “I require air.”