Chapter One #2
His voice had the brittle ring of authority he used when he wanted to remind the world, and himself, that he, Alexander Gunn, was still chieftain here.
Destiny obeyed at once, smoothing her skirts as she lowered herself into the chair opposite his desk.
She folded her hands in her lap, careful, as she had learned to be.
She caught the briefest flicker of something in the pale-blue depths of his eyes when he finally glanced at her.
It was fatigue, perhaps, or regret, but it vanished before she could be certain.
“You sound so serious, Father,” she ventured softly. “What is it? What is wrong? If it is the furnishings—” She hesitated, then added, “Look inside the wooden box to your right.”
His frown was immediate, sharp with irritation. He dragged the box towards him and lifted the lid. Destiny watched his breath still as silver caught the light, neat stacks of coins gleaming like something holy.
“I told you not to meddle in my accounts,” he said, his voice roughening.
Her heart stumbled. “I had to,” she said quickly before he could close the box again. “You would not let me help, and it was clear we were in trouble. I sold what we could spare. Only what we no longer needed.”
She heard the tremor in her voice and hated it. She waited for anger, for relief, perhaps even gratitude.
The lid snapped shut.
“You had no right,” he snarled. “Do you know what men would say if they learned my daughter was selling household goods to cover my losses?”
Her shoulders drew inward, instinctively. “I only wanted to help,” she said, softer now. “We will make do. We always have.”
For a fleeting heartbeat, she thought he might soften. Thought he might see what she had done for him.
Instead, his mouth twisted. “These coins change nothing.”
Cold settled in her chest.
“You are to be married.”
The words landed like a blow.
Destiny went utterly still, her pulse roaring in her ears. “Married?” she whispered.
“Aye,” he said, already turning back to the ledger, as though the matter were no more than another line item to be recorded. “To the heir of the Munro clan. He will send for you in a fortnight.”
Her hands tightened in her lap, knuckles whitening. “Nay,” she said, the word barely audible. “Father . . . not a Munro.”
He did not look at her. “This marriage is necessary.” His voice, when it came, was calm. Too calm.
And Destiny understood then that this decision had been settled long before she ever crossed the threshold.
“And it will be profitable,” he added.
The word struck her harder than she expected. Profitable. She kept her eyes lowered, staring at the worn edge of the desk, remembering when he had once spoken of honour instead. “For the clan?” she asked softly.
“For me,” he replied without hesitation. “And through me, the clan.”
Her fingers curled into her skirt. She did not lift her head. “The Munros are strong already. They do not need me.”
“They need access to our lands in order to secure their position with the neighbouring clans,” he said. “And I need my name restored. Once you are married, I am no longer a disgraced chief clinging to old favours. I become Munro kin. That changes how men speak to me. How they bargain.”
Destiny felt something cold settle in her chest. “You mean . . . they will listen again.”
“They will court me,” he said. “Doors that are closed now will open. Men are far more generous to a man who stands behind a powerful clan.”
She hesitated. “And if they are not?”
A thin smile touched his mouth. “Then they are not the only clan worth binding myself to.”
Her breath caught, though she kept her voice steady. “You would seek other alliances?”
“I would be a fool not to,” he said. “This marriage is a beginning, not an ending. Once I am tied to Munro blood, I regain leverage. With leverage comes choice.”
Destiny’s thoughts raced, unease prickling beneath her ribs. “Choice,” she echoed.
“The Highlands are a web, Destiny. One must never tie oneself to a single thread. Today the Munros are useful. Tomorrow, it may be another clan willing to pay a higher price for influence.”
Her stomach tightened. “And my place in all this?”
“You are my most valuable asset,” he said plainly. “Amongst the Munro clan, you will hear things. See things. Understand how they move, where they are strong, and where they are not.”
She felt suddenly very small. “You mean as a wife.”
“As a daughter who remembers where her loyalty lies,” he said. “Do not pretend you have forgotten who you belong to.”
Tears crept behind her eyes, but she blinked them away. “And what will the Munros give you?”
“Cattle first,” her father said. “Enough to replace what was lost. Horses. Provisions. And their word. Support, if I require it. A man backed by Munro steel is not easily dismissed.”
“And if their support is not enough?” she asked, her voice barely more than breath.
“Then others will offer more,” he said. “The Mackenzies, for instance, are always eager to weaken Munro influence. A man with insight, with access . . .” He shrugged. “Such things have value.”
Destiny’s heart stuttered. So that was it. Not peace. Not protection. Information.
“I will not have you think this unkind,” he continued, as if granting her comfort.
“You will live well. You will be safe behind their walls. And you will serve a purpose greater than yourself. You should be grateful for what I have done for you this day.” His gaze narrowed. “You will thank me someday.”
She nodded because she had always nodded. Because silence had kept her safe before. Inside, something quiet and fragile folded in on itself.
“And remember this,” her father said, his gaze sharp. “Names are rebuilt through patience and advantage. This marriage is how I begin again.”
Destiny lowered her head, the weight of her father’s ambition pressing down on her like a hand between her shoulders.
“Aye, Father,” she whispered.
But even as she spoke, she knew the truth. She was not being given away. She was being placed.
*
The door closed behind her with a final, echoing click. For a long moment, Destiny simply stood there in the corridor, her breath shallow, her body numb. The cold of the flagstones seeped through her slippered feet, anchoring her in a world that suddenly felt foreign.
The castle was silent save for the distant wail of wind through the high windows. It should have been familiar, these walls, these corridors that she had walked alone for years, but they seemed to close in on her now, heavy with her father’s demand that she marry.
Her vision blurred. She pressed her back to the stone wall and slid down until her bottom struck the floor. The strength she had clung to for so long broke like glass beneath her palms.
A sob escaped before she could stop it. Sharp, choking, raw. She pressed her hand against her mouth to stifle the sound, as if shame could contain it. But the tears came anyway, hot and relentless, spilling down her cheeks in silence.
She had endured much these past months—poverty, loss, the slow crumbling of the world she had been born into. But this was different. This was betrayal. Not from an enemy’s sword, but from her own blood.
Her father’s words spun through her mind, twisting like thorns. In a fortnight, her betrothed would send for her. In a fortnight, her life would no longer be her own. In a fortnight, she would belong to a Munro.