Chapter Nine The Price of Peace #2
Anya drew a breath and lifted her chin. “My father has not seen this from my hand,” she said. “I will write to him. I will warn him. He will not accept a deal that demands shame.”
Ronan barked a laugh. “You will warn him while our children starve,” he said. “And if he refuses, what then? You think Kincaid will protect us? You think your new alliance will save us when war comes?”
The words were meant to cut Anya. They also cut Liam, because Ronan’s suspicion pointed toward the thing Liam most feared: that the camp would decide Anya’s presence had softened him, and that softness would be blamed for every hardship.
Liam forced his voice calm. “Enough,” he said. “We do not decide this in a ring of angry men.”
Ronan’s eyes snapped to him. “Who decides then? Gavin? A laird who does not bleed from this gate each day?”
Liam’s jaw tightened. “Gavin decides. And until he speaks, no one here acts like MacFarlane has already betrayed us.”
Muttering rose again, rough as gravel. Liam saw it, the way some men leaned toward violence the moment their pride was scratched. They needed an enemy they could touch.
Anya’s gaze met Liam’s, and for a heartbeat he saw fear there. Not fear of Roderic. Fear of the Kincaids turning on her, of being trapped among men who no longer saw her as ally.
The memory of last night flashed through him, sharp and private. Anya had asked him to see her as equal. The camp was trying to make her a symbol.
He turned to Alasdair. “Saddle horses,” he ordered. “Now. I ride for the keep.”
Alasdair blinked. “Captain?”
Liam kept his eyes on Anya. “You come with me,” he said quietly. “We put this in Gavin’s hands before rumors do.”
Ronan stepped in front of Anya’s path. “She does not go anywhere without me.”
Anya’s voice was low. “You will come, then,” she said. “But you will not shout in Gavin’s hall. You will not embarrass our father with panic.”
Ronan’s mouth twisted. “Panic is honesty.”
“Panic is fuel for enemies,” Anya replied.
Liam did not wait. He moved to the horses, the camp’s eyes following. He could feel the unspoken questions: would he protect the MacFarlane woman, or would he treat her like a threat? Would he carry this to Gavin as a warning, or as proof of betrayal?
He did not know what Gavin would do. That uncertainty settled into his gut like stone.
They rode hard. The road from the border camp to Kincaid Keep cut through wet forest and over ridges that caught the wind.
Anya rode with her shoulders squared, hands steady on the reins.
Ronan rode like a man trying to outrun dread, pushing his horse too fast, eyes fixed ahead as if he could force the keep to appear sooner.
Liam’s mind churned. He weighed what he would say.
He knew Gavin was under pressure from merchants like Baird, from warriors like Kenan, from every family whose stores were shrinking because Eamon’s gate was a blade at their throat.
Gavin had hoped Liam’s controlled pressure would work.
If it did not work fast enough, Gavin would be cornered into a full assault.
Roderic’s letter was designed to push him there.
They reached the keep by late afternoon, hooves thudding across the yard. Guards stared at the sight of Anya riding in again, cloak snapping in the wind. A few men muttered as if she carried plague.
Liam dismounted and held his posture steady. He could not afford to look torn. Torn men made others anxious.
Gavin’s steward met them and led them straight to the great hall.
The air inside smelled of peat smoke and damp wool.
Kenan was already there, standing near the table with arms folded, face carved into impatience.
Baird sat by the hearth with a cup in his hand, eyes sharp.
Two elders stood near the wall, as if bracing for whatever storm would break.
Gavin entered last. He looked tired. The kind of tired that came from carrying other people’s fear until it pressed into bone.
“What is this?” Gavin asked, gaze moving from Liam to Anya to Ronan.
Liam stepped forward and offered the parchment. “From Lord Roderic,” he said. “Addressed to Laird MacFarlane. It reached the border camp.”
Ronan bristled. “I did not write it,” he snapped. “I only made sure it was heard.”
Kenan’s eyes narrowed. “Heard by whom?”
“By the camp,” Ronan said. “By men who deserve to know when they are being sold.”
Anya’s voice was controlled. “It is an offer, not an answer.”
Kenan scoffed. “Offers like this only exist because MacFarlane might take them.”
Gavin read in silence. His expression did not change much as his eyes moved, but Liam saw the tightening around them. Each line was another pressure point pushed.
When Gavin finished, he read the key terms aloud. Reduced toll and reopened passage for MacFarlane carts. Protection through the pass. In return, public renunciation of Clan Kincaid, condemnation of Kincaid aggression, and pledge of obedience to Roderic’s authority.
Silence fell. It was deeper than before, not a pause, but a shift. Liam felt the balance in the hall tip toward something harder.
Baird spoke first, voice clipped. “If MacFarlane accepts, they move goods while my men starve. They profit while Kincaid bleeds.”
An elder murmured, “It would poison the region.”
Kenan’s voice was cold. “It is betrayal written in ink.”
Anya stepped forward. “It is manipulation,” she said. “Roderic wants you to believe my clan has already chosen him. He is trying to make you strike first.”
Kenan’s gaze cut to her. “And what is your father’s answer?”
“He has not answered,” Anya said. “He has not even seen my counsel. I will write to him now. I will warn him.”
Ronan shook his head. “He will accept,” he said, the words harsh with despair. “He will accept because he must.”
Anya turned toward him, eyes bright. “He must not,” she said. “If he renounces Kincaid, Roderic will own us. He will demand more. He will tighten the chain.”
Ronan’s voice cracked. “And if he refuses, we starve. Or we fight and die. Those are the only ends I see.”
Liam watched Gavin, waiting. Gavin’s gaze was fixed on the parchment as if it were a blade.
“This letter has already done its work,” Gavin said quietly. “Roderic does not need MacFarlane’s answer to fracture trust.”
Anya’s throat tightened. “My father will refuse,” she said. She sounded as if she was trying to convince herself as much as Gavin.
Kenan stepped forward. “We cannot wait for a refusal,” he said. “Waiting is weakness. Roderic will use the delay. Eamon will tighten the gate. Our stores shrink every day.”
Baird nodded sharply. “I agree. I do not care about honor, I care about trade. We need the pass open.”
An elder’s voice was calmer. “If we assault, men will die. That will also shrink stores.”
Kenan’s gaze flashed. “Better to die fighting than to starve begging.”
Gavin lifted a hand. The hall quieted, reluctant.