Chapter Ten Chains of Choice
The corridor outside the great hall felt narrower than it had a moment ago, as if Gavin’s verdict had pressed the stone inward.
Liam walked with Anya at his side, his body angled just enough to shield her from the stares that followed them out, yet not close enough to look like possession.
Boots kept time behind them, guards falling into step with the steady certainty of men who had been told suspicion was now duty.
Anya’s hand rested on Liam’s sleeve.
Not gently. Not in trust. In control.
The touch told any watcher that she walked on her own legs, not dragged like a criminal. It also told Liam she was bracing herself, using him as the only fixed point in a world that had just shifted.
Ronan’s voice rose once behind them, sharp with outrage, then fell into muttering as another man pulled him back. Liam did not look over his shoulder. If he looked, he might see his own guilt reflected in the MacFarlane warrior’s eyes, and guilt was a poor companion to command.
At the stairwell that led toward the solar wing, Anya stopped. Liam stopped with her. She kept her chin high, but her eyes were bright in a way that made him uneasy. It was the brightness of someone refusing to be broken in public.
“So this is how it ends,” she said quietly.
“It is not the end,” Liam answered, though he did not know what he was promising.
Anya’s mouth tightened. “Do not offer comfort you cannot guarantee.”
The guards shifted behind them, leather creaking, a subtle reminder that privacy was already a memory.
Liam lowered his voice. “I asked Gavin to let me handle this without spectacle,” he said. “You will have a chamber. You will be treated with respect.”
“A chamber,” Anya repeated. “A polite cage.”
He swallowed the urge to argue. Words could not undo a laird’s order, not with Kenan’s warriors listening for weakness.
“I will keep you safe,” he said.
Anya’s gaze cut to his. “Safe from whom?”
“From men who would use you for their fears,” Liam replied. “From Kenan’s temper. From any hand that thinks your name makes you fair game.”
“And from you,” she added softly.
The words struck harder than a blade.
Liam forced his jaw to unclench. “Not from me,” he said. “Never.”
“You do not get to decide what your actions feel like to me,” Anya replied. “You only get to decide what you do.”
He offered his arm, the way a man might escort a lady at a feast. Not restraint, but a small mercy.
Anya stared at it, pride fighting necessity. Then she placed her hand on his forearm, fingers firm.
“I will not give them the pleasure of seeing me dragged,” she said.
“I know,” Liam murmured.
They climbed. The higher they went, the quieter the keep became. Down below, the news would already be spreading: MacFarlane treachery, Gavin’s strength, Liam’s obedience. Rumor was a faster rider than any messenger.
Near the landing, Ronan broke free from whoever had tried to restrain him and stormed up the stairs two at a time. His eyes were wild, his breath harsh.
“Anya,” he barked. “Tell him you will not go. Tell him this is kidnapping.”
Anya did not flinch. “Lower your voice,” she said. “You are feeding the story they want.”
Ronan’s gaze snapped to Liam. “You will not touch her,” he snarled.
Liam stepped between them, not drawing steel, but placing his body where it mattered. “I am not here to harm her,” he said. “And you are not helping.”
Ronan shoved forward a fraction, anger trembling through him. “You told us you needed unity,” he spat. “You told her you trusted her. Now you lock her away.”
Anya’s eyes hardened. “Ronan, enough.”
Ronan looked at her as if he had not heard her. “Father will accept the offer,” he said, voice cracking. “He will accept because he has no choice. And when he does, Kincaid will call us traitors and kill us. You think this man will save you then?”
Liam kept his voice even. “Your father has not answered yet.”
“He will,” Ronan said. “And when he does, it will be because he chose food over pride.”
Anya stepped forward, close enough that Ronan finally met her gaze. “Pride is not what this is about,” she said, quiet and fierce. “It is about a chain. If Father takes it, he will never stop paying. I will not be the reason he kneels.”
Ronan’s jaw tightened. “Then what do you offer him,” he demanded. “Words?”
Anya’s eyes flashed. “I offer him time to see the trap,” she said. “And I offer him my own voice, not yours.”
Ronan’s face twisted. For a heartbeat his anger looked like fear stripped bare. Then pride slammed back into place.
“This keep will swallow you,” he said. “And he will let it.”
He pointed at Liam like a curse, then turned and strode down the stairs, boots striking stone with a violence that echoed after him.
Liam’s chest tightened. Ronan’s desperation would not fade. Desperate men grabbed the first solution that looked like relief.
Anya exhaled slowly, as if forcing herself to remain solid. “Do not let him speak to Gavin alone,” she said.
“I won’t,” Liam replied. He did not add that Kenan might not allow it.
Liam chose a chamber near the main corridor, not hidden, not deep in the keep. A room that could be guarded without turning her into a spectacle for servants. He hated that he was thinking like this, measuring the shape of a cage.
Two guards waited at the corner, already placed there by someone who moved quickly. Liam’s stomach tightened. Kenan was always quick.
“Wait outside,” Liam told them. “No entering unless I command it.”
One hesitated. “Captain, Kenan said she’s to be watched closely.”
Liam’s gaze sharpened. “Kenan is not laird,” he said. “I am responsible for this prisoner. You answer to me.”
The guard swallowed and nodded.
Anya watched the exchange in silence. Her face did not soften, yet Liam saw the smallest shift in her breathing when he asserted control. She did not want to need him. Need was dangerous. Still, his authority was the only barrier between her and men who would enjoy the power of the lock.
Liam opened the door and stepped aside.
“After you,” he said.
Anya entered. The chamber held a hearth, a narrow bed, a table, and a window overlooking the courtyard. Warm enough to pretend it was kindness. Secure enough to be a warning.
Liam closed the door behind them, leaving it unbolted for the moment. He remained near it, not blocking her, but close enough to stop any sudden intrusion.
Anya stood by the table, hands at her sides. “Is this where you question me,” she asked evenly, “to prove I did not write that letter?”
“I do not need proof,” Liam said. “I know you did not.”
Anya’s eyes narrowed. “You know,” she repeated. “Yet you did not say it in the hall.”
“I did not have the power to change Gavin’s choice in that moment,” Liam said.
Anya’s laugh was quiet and without humor. “So you chose obedience.”
Obedience had been Liam’s shield his entire life. It had made him trusted. It had made him useful. Now it looked like betrayal wearing a familiar face.
“I chose the path that prevents blood in the hall,” he said.
“And if blood had spilled,” Anya asked, “whose blood would it be?”
Liam did not answer at once, and that hesitation was enough. Anya’s expression flickered, as if she had been struck.
“There,” she whispered. “You cannot swear it would not be mine.”
He stepped forward a fraction, then stopped. Touch would be comfort, and comfort without freedom was cruelty.
“Gavin is under pressure,” Liam said. “Roderic’s offer is meant to divide us. Kenan wants a straight assault. Baird wants trade restored. Gavin thinks he must show strength.”
“And strength looks like caging a woman,” Anya said softly.
“It looks like buying time,” Liam replied, and the words tasted thin even to him.
“Time is what men always claim when they take something from a woman,” Anya said. “Meanwhile she waits behind a door and prays she is not traded away.”
Liam’s chest tightened. “I will not trade you,” he said.
“You cannot promise that,” Anya replied. “Not if Gavin decides I am useful currency.”
Liam breathed in slowly. “If Gavin tries to hand you to Roderic,” he said, “I will stop it.”
The vow was reckless, raw.
Anya stared at him. For a heartbeat something like hope moved in her eyes, then turned into pain, as if hope itself offended her.
“Then why do you not stop this,” she demanded, calm cracking into heat. “Why do you not walk back downstairs and tell Gavin you refuse?”
Because the keep would fracture. Because Kenan would seize the story. Because a failed defiance would leave her with no shield at all.
“Because I do not know how to stop it without tearing the clan apart,” Liam said. “And if the clan tears, Kenan’s kind of strength will rule. You would be safer with wolves than with men who think they are righteous.”
Anya’s breath shook once, then steadied. “At least wolves do not pretend,” she said.
She turned toward the window, staring into the courtyard as if she could see beyond stone to the border hills where their plan had lived.
“My whole life has been built on compromise,” she said quietly.
“My clan survives by bending. I told myself it was wisdom. I came here to keep us from being crushed, and I thought words could steer men away from cliffs. Then I learned from you, how to use pressure without slaughter. I began to believe there was a third way.”
She turned back. “And the moment it looked possible, I became a hostage.”
Liam’s throat tightened. “You are not a hostage to me,” he said.
Anya’s smile was small and pained. “You may not see me that way,” she said. “But you are still the hand closing the door.”
The room went quiet. Outside, a guard coughed and then tried to swallow the sound. Even their breathing belonged to the keep.
Anya drew herself taller. “I need to write to my father,” she said. “Before Ronan’s fear reaches him first.”
“Aye,” Liam said at once. “Write. I will see it carried.”
Anya hesitated, suspicion flaring. “You will allow it?”
“I will insist on it,” Liam replied. “If Gavin wants leverage, he also needs your father to know you live and are treated with dignity. Your letter buys space.”