Chapter Two The Diplomat’s Request #2
“My clan is being strangled,” she said. “The toll-gate at the pass has cut off our trade. It has kept our people from moving freely. It is not a toll, my laird, it is a leash.”
The captain by the hearth, Kenan, shifted as if resisting the urge to speak. His impatience was loud even in silence.
Anya continued, “I know you feel pressure too. Your merchants are being bled. Your roads watched. This is not only our crisis, it is yours.”
A murmur rose among the men, then settled. She had named what they already knew. Some men hated hearing their troubles spoken by an outsider, as if her voice made the truth more insulting.
Gavin’s expression remained controlled. “We are aware.”
“I come to propose a path that prevents war,” Anya said.
At the word war, Ronan stiffened beside her, as if the sound itself called him forward.
Kenan cut in before Gavin could answer. “And what path is that? More pleading?”
Anya turned her gaze to him, meeting the challenge without lowering her eyes. “Not pleading. Negotiation backed by unity.”
Kenan gave a short laugh. “Unity,” he repeated, as if the word tasted sour. “Between a clan that bends and a clan that holds.”
Heat crept into Anya’s cheeks, anger and embarrassment combined. She did not let it enter her voice. “My clan survives,” she said. “That is not weakness. It is strategy.”
The older adviser, Donal, watched her closely. “What does your negotiation look like?” he asked, voice low.
Anya drew a breath. She had rehearsed this argument in her mind until it felt like bone. Now she shaped it into something these men might accept, even if they disliked hearing it from her.
“We approach Eamon together,” she said. “Not as separate clans he can play against each other, but as one front. We demand the same terms. We offer the same consequence if he refuses. If he sees the Kincaids ready to protect the pass, and sees the MacFarlanes unwilling to bow, he loses leverage.”
Kenan’s eyes narrowed. “And if he refuses anyway?”
“Then we have proven to anyone watching that war was not our first choice,” Anya said. “We take away Roderic’s excuse. We make it harder for him to paint the Kincaids as aggressors. We gain time, and we gain legitimacy.”
Baird, the economic voice Anya recognized from past talks, stepped forward with impatience in every line of his body. “Time does not fill wagons,” he snapped. “Legitimacy does not return coin.”
Anya felt the sting of it, but she did not retreat. “I cannot promise profit,” she said. “I can promise that a war in the pass will cost more than coin. It will cost men, it will cost harvest, and it will leave the road broken even after the gate falls.”
Liam shifted, a small movement, but Anya noticed because he had been so still. His gaze had not left her face.
He spoke, calm, and that calm carried more weight than Kenan’s bark. “You speak as if a war is a choice we can simply avoid.”
Anya met his eyes. Dark, steady, guarded. “It is a choice,” she said. “Not whether we fight forever, but when and how. If you ride to the pass with an army, you give Roderic what he wants. He built that gate to provoke you.”
Liam’s mouth tightened slightly. “Or he built it because he can.”
Because he can.
The truth sat heavy in Anya’s chest. The world often belonged to men who had strength, and she had spent her life learning how to survive within that reality without being consumed by it.
Gavin watched the exchange, eyes narrowing with consideration. “You propose we go to the pass together,” he said. “You and I, or you and my men?”
“An audience between lairds would be powerful,” Anya said carefully, “but I know you cannot leave your keep lightly. I propose I go with your envoy. With the man you trust to assess the situation.”
Kenan’s gaze snapped to Liam, then back to Anya. Anya caught the undercurrent there. Liam was trusted, and he was also being used as the spearpoint of Gavin’s restraint. A man like Kenan did not enjoy restraint.
Gavin’s eyes returned to Anya. “You seek to attach yourself to our response.”
“I seek to ensure your response does not destroy us,” Anya said plainly.
Ronan could not hold back any longer. “And I seek to ensure their response does not leave us starving,” he snapped. “My laird, we have been patient. We have sent coin. We have offered terms. Eamon laughs at us. He steals from us. He will not stop until our knees touch the earth.”
Kenan’s expression shifted, surprise mixed with something like approval. “At least one MacFarlane speaks sense,” he muttered.
Anya shot Ronan a warning look, but he was beyond restraint now, eyes bright with the desire to be heard.
Gavin lifted a hand. His voice was quiet, but it carried a final edge. “Enough. This is my hall. I will not have men from either clan snarling like dogs.”
Silence fell. Ronan’s jaw flexed, but he obeyed.
Anya steadied her breathing. She could not afford to let emotion make her careless. She had come to convince a laird whose duty was to his own people, not hers.
“My laird,” she said, softening her voice without weakening it, “I understand the risk you take even hearing me. Your warriors want swift action. Your merchants want the road reopened. My people want relief. Roderic wants us divided.”
Gavin held her gaze. “You speak of unity,” he said. “Yet you come without your laird.”
“My father cannot leave,” Anya replied. “He must hold our clan together. And if he comes here, Roderic may move while he is gone. He may claim the MacFarlanes have abandoned their lands.”
It was a partial truth, and it tasted bitter. The fuller truth was that her father’s health had been failing, hidden behind stubbornness and duty. She would not expose that weakness in this hall. Not when men already looked at her clan as something that might be broken.
Donal spoke again, thoughtful. “Custom matters,” he said. “If we refuse her audience, we declare we will not treat with neighbors. If we accept, we tie ourselves to whatever her presence means.”
Kenan’s impatience flared. “Custom will not stop arrows.”
“But it will stop other clans from calling us oath-breakers,” Donal replied calmly.
Gavin’s eyes flicked to Liam. “You were leaving today.”
“Aye,” Liam said.
Gavin turned back to Anya. “If I send you with him, you understand what that looks like to my men.”
Anya did. She could feel their suspicion already, the way their eyes moved over her as if searching for hidden knives.
“They will think I am here to delay you,” she said.
“They may think you are here to spy,” Kenan added.
“If I were here to spy,” Anya said, keeping her voice steady, “I would not request an audience. I would slip into your village like a traveler and listen quietly. I came openly because I have nothing to gain from deceit.”
Kenan’s eyes narrowed, but he did not deny the logic.
Gavin’s voice softened a fraction. “And what will your people think, when you ride with a Kincaid force?”
Anya felt her pulse stutter. Her clan would think she had gambled everything on help that might never arrive. Ronan’s faction would say she had placed herself in the hands of men who did not care if MacFarlanes lived or died.
But if she did not go, nothing changed. The gate stayed. The rope tightened.
“They will think I have chosen action,” Anya said. “They will think I have chosen to stand in the open rather than hide behind my father’s walls.”
Ronan let out a harsh breath. “They will think you are reckless.”
“Perhaps,” Anya said, not looking at him. “But I would rather be called reckless than be remembered as the woman who watched our stores empty and did nothing.”
A murmur ran through the hall. Not acceptance, but acknowledgement. These men understood desperation, even if they disliked the shape it took when it arrived as a woman asking them to slow their swords.
Gavin leaned back, fingers steepled. “If you go with Liam,” he said, “you go under my protection while you are on my land. You follow the rules of his camp. You do not undermine his command.”
Anya’s gaze flicked to Liam. He was still. She could not read his reaction, and that unsettled her more than open hostility.
“I will follow the rules,” she said. “And I will not undermine his command. My goal is not to weaken him. My goal is to keep this from becoming a war that consumes us all.”
Gavin’s eyes returned to Liam. “Will you take her?”
The question hung in the air like a blade suspended between choices.
Anya’s stomach tightened. She had not expected to care what Liam thought, not personally. She needed only his agreement. Yet pride flared anyway, the need not to be dismissed as a foolish girl chasing peace because she feared blood.
Liam held Gavin’s gaze, then looked at Anya again. In that look, she saw something she had not expected.
Not contempt.
Concern, buried beneath restraint. The kind of concern a man carried when he saw risk and could not decide whether it was brave or foolish.
“I will take her,” Liam said. “If she understands the border is not a hall. It is cold, tense, and watched. And if she becomes a target, my men will react.”
“I understand,” Anya said.
Liam’s gaze held hers a heartbeat longer. “Do you?” he asked quietly. “Because if you misstep there, it will not be you who pays first. It will be the men around you.”
The words cut, not because they were cruel, but because they were true.
Anya felt heat rise in her cheeks, anger threatening, then she forced it down.
On the border, pride was dangerous. She had known that all her life.
She had simply hoped she would not be reminded so sharply in front of men who already doubted her.
“I do,” she said. “And I will not misstep for my pride.”
Ronan stepped forward, the tension returning to his posture like a tightened strap. “And what of me? If she rides to your border camp, I ride with her.”
Kenan’s eyes flashed. “We do not need another hot head in camp.”
Ronan’s gaze sharpened. “I am not your man.”
“No,” Kenan snapped. “You are a guest, and you will remember it.”