Chapter 35
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
Margaret had never imagined that she would one day sit at a war table and be the subject of its design.
The chamber in which they met was not grand, though it bore the quiet authority of use rather than ornament. Cameron stood opposite him, steady and attentive as ever, while Margaret remained at Domhnall’s right, her presence neither incidental nor easily dismissed.
And yet, dismiss it he nearly did.
“Nay.”
The refusal came swiftly, before she had even finished speaking.
Margaret did not start. She had expected as much.
“I will nae have ye placed in the center of it,” Domhnall continued, his gaze fixed not upon her, but upon the map before him, as though the lines of land might offer him a better solution than the one she proposed.
“Me faither has already placed me in the center of it,” she replied, with a composure that might have passed for calm had it not been so deliberate.
That brought his attention to her. There was no anger in his expression, but neither was there ease. It was the look of a man accustomed to command, and unaccustomed to having it questioned where it mattered most.
“This is nae a matter fer argument,” he said.
“Nay,” Margaret agreed. “It is a matter of necessity.”
Cameron, to his credit, did not intervene, though she saw the flicker of consideration in his eyes. He understood, perhaps more quickly than Domhnall would allow himself to, that the matter could not be resolved by refusal alone.
“Me faither will nae come fer ye,” Margaret went on, feeling the weight of each word. “He has nay interest in confronting ye directly. He wants me, because he believes I may be moved, or threatened, or persuaded where force might fail.”
“And he is wrong,” Domhnall said at once.
Margaret met his gaze.
“He is wrong,” she repeated, “but he daesnae ken it yet.”
Silence followed, brief but charged.
“If I dinnae go,” she continued, “he will act against me sister. Ye ken this tae be true.”
Domhnall’s jaw tightened. He did not answer, because he could not deny it.
Margaret allowed that silence to stand for a moment before she spoke again, more quietly now. “This is the only way tae bring him intae the open.”
Cameron shifted slightly, his attention moving between them.
“She is right,” he said at last, not boldly, but with the quiet certainty of a man who did not speak unless he meant to be heard.
Domhnall did not look at him. His gaze remained on Margaret, searching, measuring and still resisting.
“And what would ye have me dae?” he asked.
Margaret drew a breath, steadying herself not from doubt, but from the knowledge that what she was about to propose would bind them all to its outcome.
“I will go tae him,” she explained her plan. “As he has instructed. Alone, or so he will believe.”
Domhnall’s expression darkened immediately, but she did not allow him to interrupt.
“Ye will follow,” she continued hastily, “with a royal representative, one whose presence will ensure that what passes between us is nae dismissed as private grievance, but recognized as a violation of Crown authority.”
At that, Cameron’s attention sharpened.
“A witness,” he said.
“Aye,” Margaret replied. “If me faither speaks as he did before, if he threatens, or attempts tae coerce me, then it will be heard, and it will be recorded. He willnae be able tae deny it.”
“And MacGregor?” Cameron asked.
Margaret’s gaze flickered briefly back to the map.
“I assume he will come as well,” she confirmed. “If me faither has aligned with him, as we suspect, then he will nae trust me faither tae act alone. He will want tae see it done.”
Domhnall’s hand moved, flattening against the table as though to anchor himself against the direction the conversation had taken.
“And ye would just stand there,” he pointed out, “kenning they may both be present.”
Margaret did not hesitate. “Aye.”
The word settled between them. Cameron was the first to break the silence.
“If we place men along the ridge,” he said, already turning slightly to adjust the map, “and keep the main force hidden beyond the rise, they will nae be seen until needed. A smaller escort with the laird, at a distance, would maintain the appearance of compliance.”
Domhnall did not immediately respond, but Margaret saw the shift in him. The refusal had not vanished, but it had begun to give way to calculation.
“And signals?” Cameron added. “We will need clear timing.”
Margaret stepped closer to the table.
“There is a break in the cliffside path,” she said, indicating a narrow marking on the map. “If I stand there, I will be visible from the higher ground, but nae from the approach behind. Ye will see me. They will nae see ye.”
Domhnall’s gaze followed her hand.
“And when dae we move?”
“When he speaks,” Margaret clarified. “When he reveals his intent, nae before.”
Cameron nodded slowly.
“That gives us cause,” he said. “Nae merely suspicion.”
Domhnall exhaled. And she knew he had accepted.
“We will require a representative we can trust,” he mused.
Margaret inclined her head. “Aye.”
His gaze returned to her then. “And ye willnae step beyond what is agreed. Nae a pace further than is necessary.”
Margaret met his gaze without flinching.
“I have nay desire tae be brave,” she assured him softly. “Only tae be effective, so we can end this.”
Domhnall nodded, while Cameron straightened, already moving to gather what would be needed: messages, riders, preparations that would set the plan into motion.
The chamber grew quieter as the details settled into place.
Distances were measured. Positions were assigned.
The shape of what was to come took form not as theory, but as inevitability.
Margaret stood very still. She knew what it meant.
She would go, she would stand before her father and she would draw him into the open.
“Once this is done,” Cameron told them, “there will be nay question of their guilt.”
“Nay,” Domhnall agreed.
His gaze did not leave Margaret.
“There will nae.”
For a moment, no one spoke. And though the plan had been made, though every detail had been set with care and precision, Margaret felt, with quiet certainty, that what lay ahead would not be governed by planning alone, but by will and by trust.
The matter, once decided, admitted no delay.
Domhnall did not linger upon it, nor did he speak further than was necessary. Action followed swiftly where thought had settled, and by the time the sun had begun its descent, the chamber that had held their deliberation was already transformed into a place of execution.
A letter lay before him. It was not long, nor adorned with unnecessary flourish, but written with a precision that allowed for no misinterpretation.
The Crown was invoked and a representative was required not merely to be present, but to witness what would be said, what would be attempted and most importantly, what would not remain in shadow.
He read it once, then again assuring completeness.
Cameron stood at his shoulder, silent, though attentive. He did not interrupt, nor did he offer suggestion unless asked. It was not needed.
Domhnall set the quill aside.
“This will be sent at once,” he told him.
Cameron inclined his head. “Aye, me laird.”
The seal was pressed without hesitation and the letter was handed off before the wax had fully cooled, placed into the care of a rider who would not stop until it had reached its destination.
The man did not speak. He only nodded once, firmly, before turning and departing with the urgency the matter required.
He would not ride alone. Domhnall had seen to that. The roads were not to be trusted, especially not now with what had already been set in motion. Two men rode with him and more would meet them along the way. It would be enough. It would have to be.
Three more letters followed. They were shorter and more direct.
Domhnall did not waste words with men who required none.
They were addressed to Ruaridh, to Colin and to Niall.
He wrote as one who did not ask lightly, and did not expect refusal.
The situation was laid plain in the letters and the threat was named without embellishment.
The request… no, the expectation of readiness was made clear.
There was no need to say more. They would understand. They always did.
Cameron saw to those as well, selecting riders who could be trusted not only for speed, but for silence. Each departed under watch, their routes varied and their timing staggered so as not to draw notice.
By nightfall, the castle had begun to calm. There was no alarm sounded, and no gathering of men in open display. To any who moved through its halls without knowledge, it would appear unchanged. Servants continued their duties. Guards held their posts. The rhythm of the place remained intact.
But beneath it, everything moved. Maps were brought out again, not for discussion now, but for confirmation.
Routes were traced with care and distances were measured not in guesswork, but in certainty.
They were searching for a place where a man might stand unseen and where he might be seen too soon.
Numbers were decided, enough to hold and enough to strike.
Domhnall oversaw the placement of men, speaking in low tones to those he trusted most. Instructions were given once, and not repeated. Each man knew his role before he left the chamber.
There would be no confusion. There could not be.
Domhnall moved among them, not directing every detail, but seeing all of it. There was no part of it that escaped his notice. He corrected where needed and felt that it was not tension that guided him.
It was clarity, and beneath it, fury.
But it was not the kind that clouded judgment. His was the kind that sharpened it.
Her father had made his move. He would answer it.
By the time the last of the arrangements had been set, the castle had grown quieter. Domhnall found himself standing once more before the table, with his gaze resting upon the marked point along the coast, the place she had named.
The ruins.
It was a poor choice for safety, and an excellent one for a trap. He had no doubt it had been chosen with care, but he would meet it with even greater care.
At that moment, Cameron returned to his side.
“It is done,” he said.
Domhnall inclined his head. “Aye.”
There was nothing more to add, nothing more to prepare. The rest would depend upon execution, and upon her.
He did not question that. He had seen the certainty in her. He had felt it, but that did not lessen the weight of it. He would place her there, knowingly, and trust that he would reach her before any harm could follow.
The thought did not sit easily. Then again, it was not meant to.
Domhnall exhaled once, then turned from the table.
He moved toward the door, pausing only briefly from the quiet awareness that all had been set in motion. There would be no turning back from it now.
Only forward.