Chapter Ten Chains of Choice #2
Anya’s mouth tightened. “Space,” she repeated. “Another name for time.”
She took the quill and wrote with practiced economy, every line measured. Liam did not read over her shoulder. He watched her hand instead, steady in spite of the cage. When she finished, she sealed the letter and held it out.
“This is warning,” she said. “If Father accepts, he will be owned.”
Liam took it carefully. “I will send a fast rider,” he said.
He opened the door and called for Alasdair. Alasdair appeared quickly, eyes flicking past Liam to Anya, then away.
“Fast horse,” Liam ordered. “Ride straight to MacFarlane lands. Deliver this to Laird MacFarlane. No delays.”
Alasdair nodded. “Aye.”
When the door shut again, Anya’s shoulders dipped a fraction, the first sign of fatigue she allowed.
“You should eat,” Liam said, then regretted it.
Anya’s gaze cut to him. “Do not reduce me to a prisoner you manage.”
Liam swallowed. “I am trying to keep you standing,” he said. “Because you will be needed. Not as leverage. As the sharpest mind in this keep.”
A flicker crossed her face, acknowledgment buried beneath pain. “You still talk as if we are partners,” she said.
“I want us to be,” Liam replied.
“Partners do not imprison each other,” she said.
“I know,” Liam answered, and the truth stung.
Anya’s gaze held his. “Tell me,” she said softly. “Did you believe for even a moment that I was part of this offer? That I knew?”
“No,” Liam said. “Not for a moment.”
Anya’s breath left her in a quiet sound. “Then your trust is not broken,” she said. “Only your loyalty is split.”
“My loyalty is being tested,” Liam admitted.
“And I am the test,” she said, voice flat with understanding.
Before Liam could answer, footsteps approached, heavier and more confident than the guards’ pacing. The door opened without a knock.
Kenan entered as if the chamber belonged to him. Two guards stood behind him, expressions hard.
Liam’s gaze turned cold. “You were told to wait outside.”
Kenan’s mouth curled. “And I am telling you the laird wants her secured properly,” he replied. “This is leverage, not courtesy. Guard at the door, and another watching the window. No visitors. No private talks.”
Anya’s face remained composed, but Liam saw the tightening around her eyes. Violations multiplied quickly once men were permitted to view a person as a tool.
Liam stepped between Kenan and Anya. “She is secured,” he said.
“Secured by your feelings,” Kenan answered quietly. “Not by protocol.”
Liam’s hands curled into fists. “Watch your mouth.”
Kenan’s eyes sharpened. “Watch yours,” he said. “If MacFarlane accepts, the clan will demand blood. They will hunt the weakness that allowed betrayal. Do you want to be that weakness?”
“This is manipulation,” Liam said. “Not betrayal.”
Kenan’s expression did not shift. “Manipulation works because men like you keep pretending it will not,” he replied. “Now step aside.”
Anya spoke then, voice calm. “Captain Kenan,” she said. “You may place as many men at my door as you like. It will not change what Roderic is doing.”
Kenan’s gaze cut to her. “It will change what you can do,” he said.
Anya’s chin lifted. “I will do nothing that gives you justification.”
Kenan hesitated, unsettled by her composure, then looked back to Liam.
Liam felt the moment closing. If he fought Kenan here, Kenan would run to Gavin with proof of compromise. Gavin, cornered, would clamp down harder. Liam needed to keep the thread of control, however thin.
He forced himself to nod once. “Two guards outside,” he said. “No entering. No threats. No humiliation.”
Kenan’s eyes narrowed. “And if she tries to escape?”
“She will not,” Liam said, and he looked at Anya as he said it, trusting her with that vow.
Anya met his gaze and gave a slow nod. Not obedience. Agreement. She would not give them the story they wanted.
Kenan gestured. The guards outside took their positions. Kenan lingered a heartbeat longer, letting his presence fill the room.
“You are playing a dangerous game, Liam,” he said.
“So are you,” Liam replied.
Kenan’s mouth curled. “I am playing the one that keeps men alive,” he said, then turned and left.
Liam shut the door. A moment later the bolt slid from the outside. The sound was soft, and it cut deeper than steel.
He turned back to Anya.
She stood at the window, staring into the courtyard as if looking through it. Her shoulders were rigid. Her face was composed. Yet when she spoke, something in her voice had shifted, a quiet severing.
“Now it is real,” she said.
“It was real in the hall,” Liam replied.
“In the hall,” Anya said, “I still believed you might refuse. Now I know you will not. Not yet.”
The separation landed like a blow.
Liam searched for words that were not excuses. “If I lose my place,” he said, “Kenan gains it. Then you become his prisoner, not mine. And you already know what he would do with that.”
Anya’s gaze stayed on the courtyard. “He would make me a lesson,” she said.
“Aye,” Liam replied. “So I stay close enough to prevent that.”
Anya finally turned. “And what do you prevent in the end,” she asked. “My humiliation, or your conscience?”
Liam flinched. “Both,” he admitted, then steadied. “But my conscience is not what matters. Your safety does.”
Anya’s expression did not soften. “Safety,” she said. “Always the word men use when they mean control.”
He could not deny the history in it. He had watched it happen to women in every hall, control painted as protection.
“I will come back,” Liam said. “I will keep you informed. I will speak to Gavin again.”
“And while you speak,” she said, “Kenan gathers men for an assault. My father weighs an offer. Ronan spreads panic. Everything moves.”
Liam swallowed. “Then we must move too,” he said.
Anya nodded once. “Yes,” she said. “You must.”
Not we.
Anya turned away. “Go,” she said quietly. “Before I remember what it felt like to believe you.”
Liam’s chest tightened until it hurt. He took one step toward her, then stopped. He had no right to touch her in a room where she could not leave.
“I am sorry,” he said, and the words sounded small.
“Do not be sorry,” Anya replied without turning. “Be different.”
Liam went to the door and placed his palm against the wood, as if he could feel her heartbeat through it. “If anyone enters,” he said softly, “you shout. Use my name. Alasdair will come.”
Anya’s voice came back flat. “Your name is already on the lock.”
Liam closed his eyes briefly. Then he opened the door, stepped into the corridor, and watched the guards straighten like posts driven into ground. The door shut behind him with finality.
He stood there for a heartbeat, staring at the grain of the wood, listening to the quiet within. He could feel her presence behind the door, steady and wounded.
He had obeyed Gavin. He had placed her under guard.
And he had just watched something vital in her slip away from him, not into rage, but into survival.
Liam walked away from Anya’s door with each step heavy, each step a debt.
By the time he reached the stairwell, he knew one thing with cold certainty.
If he kept paying this price, there would be nothing left of the man Anya had trusted.