Chapter 37
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
They rode hard for Inveraray.
Domhnall did not press the pace beyond reason, but neither did he permit delay.
The road was known to him, every turn and rise marked not in memory alone but in instinct, and he measured their progress without needing to look.
The matter behind them, which was Eleonor and her husband safely set upon her path, had been resolved as far as it could be. What remained lay ahead.
Margaret hadn’t spoken much since they had parted from her sister. He did not expect her to. There was a quiet in her now, not empty, but settled, like ground after storm, still bearing the marks of what had passed. He did not disturb it.
By the time the castle came into view, the light had begun to fade. Torches burned along the walls, steady against the wind, and the gates stood open to admit them without question.
That was when Domhnall realized that a man awaited them in the courtyard. It was Kerr, Domhnall recognized him at once.
Margaret dismounted beside him, and her attention was already drawn to him, though she said nothing.
Domhnall did not keep them waiting. He crossed the courtyard at once.
The man inclined his head in greeting, neither overly deferential nor presumptuous. His face was composed, his expression arranged in that careful neutrality Domhnall had come to associate with those who lived too long within halls of law rather than upon ground that could not be reasoned with.
“Me laird,” he said.
Domhnall returned the nod. “Sir Laurence Kerr. Ye were expected,” he told him.
“I made what speed I could,” Sir Laurence explained.
Domhnall studied him. There was nothing immediately amiss, nothing that would have given cause for distrust. And yet, there rarely was, with men such as these.
“Ye will be informed of what is required,” Domhnall said. “And of what ye are here tae witness.”
Sir Laurence inclined his head again. “That is me purpose, me laird.”
They did not linger in the courtyard. Domhnall led the way within, with Margaret and Cameron following, while the man from the Crown followed at their side.
The castle shifted around them as they passed.
Servants were stepping aside and guards were acknowledging without question, but the movement was quieter now and more contained.
The matter at hand did not require spectacle. It required precision.
The chamber was prepared. Domhnall did not waste time in pleasantry.
“Ye will attend a meeting,” he said, addressing Sir Laurence directly. “A private one, arranged under coercion. Ye will hear what is said, and bear witness tae it.”
Sir Laurence’s expression did not change.
“And this coercion,” he mused, “ye believe it sufficient tae constitute interference with a Crown-sanctioned union?”
“I dinnae believe,” Domhnall replied. “I ken.”
There was no force in the words. There did not need to be.
Margaret spoke then, giving the account of what had happened without any embellishment.
She did not falter in it, neither did she soften the threat her father had made, nor the implication of alliance that lay beneath it.
Sir Laurence listened attentively, without interruption.
When she finished, he inclined his head once more.
“It will be recorded,” he said. “And judged accordingly.”
The discussion turned to detail. Timing, first, then distance, where the representative would stand and what he had to see, what had to be heard without question or interpretation.
“There can be nay ambiguity, nae room fer later doubt,” Domhnall warned.
Sir Laurence agreed to each point without resistance.
Cameron noted it. So did Domhnall. Margaret listened closely as the final arrangements were set, her attention fixed not upon the man from the Crown, but upon the plan itself.
“Ye will stand where we agreed,” he told her. “Nae further and nae closer.”
She inclined her head. “I understand.”
“And ye willnae act before the signal.”
“I willnae,” she promised.
Their gaze held for a moment. There was no need to say more, although he had a million words swarming inside his mind, and all of them were telling him that she shouldn’t be allowed to be a part of that mad plan. Yet he knew better than to try and dissuade her.
Outside the chamber, the castle continued its quiet transformation. Men were positioned along the road that led to the ruins, along the higher ground, where sight could be held without being seen. Riders prepared to move when called, but not before.
Nothing could be left to chance.
By the time the final word had been spoken, the matter stood complete. Sir Laurence withdrew to his quarters, leaving them to their own. Cameron remained.
“It is set,” he said.
“Aye.” Domhnall’s gaze returned once more to the map.
The marked point did not change. It never had. Only the meaning behind it had.
“With the Crown present,” Cameron added, “they willnae be able tae deny what is done.”
Domhnall did not answer at once. He did not question it. There was no reason to. Authority, once invoked, would hold. It always had.
“Aye,” he agreed, and turned from the table.
The plan would proceed. Everything was in place.
And when the moment came, it would end.
The morning appointed for the meeting arrived with a composure most at odds with its purpose.
Margaret stood within the stables, where the quiet industry of the castle carried on as though no greater matter pressed upon it than the ordering of tack and the feeding of horses.
A groom passed her with a respectful inclination.
Another adjusted a bridle with habitual care.
All was ordinary and yet, to her, nothing could be so.
She had dressed without ornament, choosing neither richness nor neglect, but that modest propriety which might pass without remark. It was necessary that she appear exactly as her father would expect her to be: obedient, unguarded and alone.
Her gloves lay in her hands. She was not unaware that she lingered.
“Ye should nae delay, now or when ye get there.”
She turned at the sound of Domhnall’s voice.
He stood a few paces within the doorway, with the morning light falling behind him so that his figure appeared at once distinct and shadowed.
There was no ease in his expression, nor any trace of the gentler humor she had come, of late, to recognize in him.
He was composed, but it was the composure of a man fixed upon purpose.
“I am nae delaying,” she said, though she could not deny that her breath came a little more carefully than usual. “Only ensuring I have forgotten naething.”
He crossed the space between them with that same measured certainty she had observed in him in all things.
“Ye ken what is required,” he said.
“I dae.”
“And ye willnae deviate from it.”
“I willnae.”
There was nothing uncertain in her answer. And yet, she remained where she stood. His gaze rested upon her, searching not for weakness, but for assurance. She felt it keenly, though she did not shrink from it.
“Be careful,” he whispered.
The words were quietly spoken, but not lightly meant. Margaret inclined her head.
“I shall.”
It was enough, and yet, it was not. For a fleeting instant, she had thought hoped that he might say more, that he might give voice to what had passed between them in silence, in gesture, in every moment that had drawn them nearer to one another.
He did not.
And though she would not have named it disappointment, she felt something like it, before it was mastered and set aside. This was not the moment for such expectations. When this was done, when all that threatened them had been brought to its end, then perhaps…
She did not allow herself to finish the thought.
He stepped back. There was nothing further to be said.
Margaret drew on her gloves, one and then the other, and turned to her horse. She mounted without assistance, her movements as steady as they had ever been, and set her course without looking behind her. She did not need to, because he would follow immediately, as arranged.
The road stretched long before her, pale beneath the clear light of morning. She rode at a measured pace, neither hurried nor hesitant, allowing the illusion of compliance to remain unbroken.
The ruins came into view gradually, their outline dark against the edge of the sea. Even at a distance, they held something forbidding in their aspect, stone worn low by time, walls broken and incomplete, and the ground about them uneven and exposed.
It was not a place for meeting, but it was precisely the place her father would choose.
She saw him before she reached the structure. He was standing near the remains of a wall, his figure as composed as though he had been there always, awaiting her with the certainty of one accustomed to being obeyed.
Margaret dismounted some distance away. She did not hurry toward him, but she did not hesitate.
“Ye came,” he said, as she approached.
“I said I would,” she almost snarled, but kept her composure.
There was no tremor in her voice.
“And alone.”
“As ye required.”
He regarded her closely, as though searching for some sign of deceit. He would find none.
“What dae ye wish of me?” she asked.
“Resolution,” he replied with a shrug. “This need nae continue as it has.”
Margaret held his gaze. “I am solely here because of Eleanor and her safety.”
He smiled, though there was little warmth in it.
“If ye act wisely, she willnae be troubled.”
“And if I dinnae?”
“Then I shall be obliged tae ensure that she is found.”
There it was, the threat, plainly given.
Margaret felt the moment settle, as though time itself had marked it.
“And what would ye have me dae?” she asked.
“Come back with me,” he urged. She half expected him to offer her his hand, as a true father would do to his daughter. “End this alliance before it draws further consequence.”
Margaret did not answer at once. She couldn’t, because she was focused on a sound, a presence… movement. She caught it at the edge of her vision, and then, she turned slightly.
Men emerged from concealment, their number not great, but sufficient. Their purpose was clear. They were MacGregor’s men. Her father did not even look toward them. He did not need to.
“Ye see,” he said, almost mildly, “I have taken precautions.”
Before Margaret could respond, another figure stepped forward.
It was Sir Laurence Kerr.
She felt a tidal wave of relief. Now, it would all be brought before the Crown, and everyone would see…
But Sir Laurence moved past the point at which he ought to have stopped, past the distance agreed upon, past the role he had been called to fulfill.
Margaret’s breath caught.
“Sir—” she began.
He did not even look at her. He looked to her father and inclined his head.
“Proceed,” he said.
The word fell with dreadful clarity. In that instant, everything altered. The plan, so carefully constructed and laid out, fractured beyond recovery. The authority they had relied upon, the witness meant to secure their advantage, turned against them without hesitation. They had been betrayed.
Shouts broke the silence. Steel rang. From the ridge, from behind the ruined walls, from every place that had promised concealment, men moved, no longer hidden and no longer restrained.
What had been arranged as exposure became conflict.
What had been intended as proof became battle.
Margaret stepped back, her pulse striking hard, though her composure did not wholly abandon her. Her father did not retreat. He watched, with a devilish grin on his face. And in that moment, she understood.
This had never been meant to be resolved.