Chapter Two The Diplomat’s Request #3
The air tightened. Anya felt the hall tilt toward violence, the way men leaned forward when insulted, when blood felt close enough to taste.
Liam moved. Not fast, not dramatic, but decisive. He placed himself between Kenan and Ronan without making a spectacle of it. His presence interrupted the clash, a wall placed in the path of sparks.
“If Ronan comes,” Liam said, voice low, “he follows camp discipline. No reckless charges. No challenges. No starting fights he cannot finish.”
Ronan glared at him. “And if your men insult my sister?”
“They will be corrected,” Liam said.
“And if they threaten her?”
Liam’s gaze hardened slightly. “Then you will learn how quickly my correction becomes something else.”
Anya’s breath caught. The warning was clear, and it was not aimed at her. Liam was making a boundary, telling Ronan that protection could become a weapon if Ronan used it as excuse.
Ronan’s jaw flexed. For a moment, Anya feared he would challenge Liam outright. If he did, the room would turn on them, and Anya’s mission would die in blood before it ever reached the pass.
But Ronan’s gaze flicked to Gavin, then away. He swallowed pride, barely. “Fine,” he said. “I will follow your rules.”
Gavin nodded once, satisfied. “Then it is decided. Lady Anya will ride to the border with Liam. Ronan will accompany her, and he will be held to our rules while on our land.”
Baird muttered something under his breath about wasted time, but he did not press it. He wanted results, not arguments.
Donal’s eyes rested on Anya. “If you seek diplomacy,” he said, “understand that diplomacy is not only talk. It is posture. It is timing. It is knowing when to hold and when to threaten.”
“I understand,” Anya said, hoping she did.
Gavin looked at her with a controlled steadiness that felt like stone. “You will speak with me again once you have seen the gate from our side. Perhaps what you propose will still make sense then. Perhaps you will understand why my men want steel first.”
Anya bowed her head. “I will speak with you, my laird. And I will not ask you to gamble your people’s lives blindly.”
Gavin’s expression softened a fraction, then hardened again with duty. “Kenan, arrange provisions. Liam leaves before midday. I want word from the border camp by nightfall tomorrow.”
Kenan inclined his head, though his eyes lingered on Anya with distrust that made her skin prickle.
The council broke. Men moved away in low-voiced conversation, eyes flicking to Anya as they passed. Anya held her posture steady, even as the weight of their judgement settled across her shoulders.
She had come asking for an audience.
She was leaving under escort, bound by another man’s rules.
It was what she wanted, in truth. It placed her closer to the problem, closer to the lever she might still pull. But it also meant she would be confined in a camp of warriors who already believed her clan was weak.
And she would be confined beside a man who believed diplomacy was a fool’s game.
As the hall emptied, Gavin stepped closer and lowered his voice. “Lady Anya. I respect the courage it took to come here.”
“Courage is easier than watching my people starve,” Anya said quietly.
Gavin’s eyes sharpened with understanding. “Another truth,” he said. “My men are tense. If Roderic built that gate to provoke us, he may also be watching for you. He may decide you are useful in ways you did not intend.”
Anya had thought of that in darker moments. A noble woman was a bargaining chip, and Roderic collected leverage like other men collected coin.
“I am aware,” she said.
Gavin glanced toward Liam, waiting near the door as if he were already half gone. “Liam will keep you alive,” Gavin said. “He is stubborn, but he is careful.”
That was not comfort. It was a reminder that her safety now depended on another man’s priorities.
Anya nodded. “Thank you.”
Ronan shifted at her side, impatience returning. “We should go.”
Anya turned toward the door, and as she approached, her gaze met Liam’s again. He did not bow. He did not offer polite words. He looked at her as if she were a factor in an equation, a piece that might tip the outcome if moved wrongly.
“I do not want to be a burden,” Anya said before she could stop herself.
Liam’s expression remained controlled. “Then do not be.”
Blunt. Unsoftened. It stung, but it also steadied her. She had not come for kindness. She had come because kindness did not open roads.
Outside, cold air struck her face again. The courtyard seemed louder now, work sharper, voices clipped. Men were gathering supplies near the gate: bedrolls, arrows, sacks of oats. The sight made Anya’s chest tighten. They moved like men who expected trouble, because they did.
Kenan stood near a line of horses, giving orders. When he saw Anya, his mouth tightened.
“We do not have time for comfort,” he said. “You ride hard, you keep up, and you do not complain.”
“I did not come for comfort,” Anya replied.
Kenan grunted, not impressed.
A stable boy brought Anya’s horse. She took the reins and smoothed a hand along the animal’s neck, grounding herself in the simple warmth of living flesh. The horse flicked an ear back, sensing her tension.
Ronan mounted with his shoulders set, scanning the yard as if expecting attack.
Liam’s men gathered, veterans with quiet eyes, men who did not need to prove themselves with bravado. Anya felt a flicker of relief. It suggested Gavin’s chosen response was cautious, at least for now.
Liam mounted his dark gelding and looked toward the gate. His focus was already on the road ahead.
“Once we leave,” he said, voice carrying, “we travel as one. No riding ahead. No straggling. If we stop, we stop together.”
His gaze landed on Ronan. “That includes you.”
Ronan’s jaw tightened, but he nodded.
Liam’s gaze shifted to Anya. “If you need to speak to me, you do it when I call a halt. Not while we ride.”
“Understood,” Anya said.
The gate opened. Iron and wood moved with a groan that echoed through the yard. The sound felt like a threshold, like a line crossed that could not be uncrossed.
Outside the walls, the road waited, pale and hard, winding toward the border where her clan’s fate sat like a stone on the chest.
As the riders filed out, Anya glanced back once at the keep, at the stone walls and the men watching from the battlements.
She had entered seeking diplomacy.
She was leaving under the protection of a man who did not trust diplomacy.
The irony tasted bitter.
Yet beneath it, a thin thread of determination tightened into something steadier.
If she could make Liam see what she saw, if she could make him understand that words and steel did not need to be enemies, then perhaps she could give her people something more than survival.
Perhaps she could give them a future.
The keep shrank behind them as the riders settled into a steady pace. Wind pulled at Anya’s cloak, and the hills ahead looked closer than she liked.
Anya rode in the midst of Kincaid warriors, the weight of their scrutiny pressing at her back. She told herself the truth she needed to hold.
This was the price of trying.
If she wanted to save her clan, she would have to endure being judged by strangers, walk into danger, and place trust where trust did not come easily.
The road rose toward the hills, and the wind carried the faint scent of snow.