Chapter Twelve Her Voice in the Silence #2
Gavin’s voice remained tight. “Speak,” he ordered, and Anya heard in it the strained patience of a laird allowing himself to be convinced.
Anya nodded once. She set her shoulders and began.
“Roderic’s offer was not meant to be accepted,” she said. “It was meant to be discovered. It was meant to make you either assault the gate out of anger or cage me out of fear. Either choice isolates you. Either choice lets Roderic claim he is the reasonable power bringing order to unruly clans.”
She looked across the men. “So we do neither.”
A few men scoffed. A few leaned in.
“We do not assault blindly,” Anya continued. “And we do not hold hostages. Instead, we force Eamon, the man at the gate, to show his hand.”
She saw Gavin’s eyes narrow, assessing. Liam remained still beside her, letting her voice lead. It was not deference that made him silent. It was agreement. A rare, precious thing between them.
“Eamon enjoys his power,” Anya said. “He enjoys mocking negotiation because he thinks it costs him nothing. He believes his walls protect him. He believes we are either too timid to strike or too desperate to plan.”
Kenan shifted, impatient. “Get to the point.”
Anya did not glance at him. “The point is this,” she said. “Eamon is greedy. And greedy men cannot resist the promise of an easy win.”
She took another breath and forced herself not to rush. She had to be clear, precise, and unafraid.
“We will send Eamon a message,” Anya said. “Not from Gavin. Not from Liam. From me.”
A murmur ran through the yard.
Ronan’s eyes widened. “No,” he said, louder now. “Anya, do not.”
Anya held his gaze briefly. “You wanted negotiation,” she said. “This is negotiation. Real negotiation, the kind that has teeth.”
She turned back to Gavin. “I will write to Eamon and say that my father is considering Roderic’s offer,” she said. “I will imply that MacFarlane may be willing to renounce Kincaid, but only if certain conditions are met. Conditions Eamon cannot grant from behind a wall.”
Baird, who had been watching from near the steps with narrowed eyes, spoke for the first time. “Conditions like what?”
Anya’s gaze flicked toward him. “Safe passage for MacFarlane carts without toll,” she said. “A written guarantee signed by Eamon and sealed, with witnesses present. A meeting outside the gate at a neutral site, under a flag of truce, to exchange documents.”
Baird’s eyes sharpened. “A written guarantee could be used against Roderic.”
“It could,” Anya agreed. “Or it could be proof of his treachery if he refuses.”
Kenan’s mouth tightened. “Eamon will not leave his walls.”
“He will if he thinks he can take something,” Liam said then, his voice measured and carrying. The yard’s attention snapped to him.
Anya felt a pulse of relief. Liam was stepping in, supporting, showing the men this was not a fancy speech alone.
“He wants coin,” Liam continued. “He wants a prize to bring to Roderic. If he thinks MacFarlane is ready to kneel, he will want to be the man to receive that submission, to savor it.”
Kenan snorted. “And if he does not?”
“Then he confirms he fears us,” Liam said. “And fear makes men act.”
Anya lifted her chin. “The message will offer him more than a signature,” she said. “It will offer him me.”
The yard erupted into immediate sound, angry and startled. Ronan lunged forward, shouting. “No,” he cried, voice breaking. “No, you will not.”
Liam’s head snapped toward her, shock flashing across his face. For the first time since he defied Gavin, he looked truly unsettled.
Anya did not give him time to speak. If she hesitated now, the plan would be torn apart by fear.
“Not as a hostage,” Anya said loudly, forcing the yard to hear the distinction. “As a negotiator. As bait for Eamon’s arrogance.”
Kenan’s expression sharpened into something almost hungry. “You would walk to the gate,” he said, and it was half question, half approval.
Anya held his gaze, refusing to be intimidated by his interest. “I would,” she said. “With Kincaid steel close, unseen. With Liam commanding it. With conditions that make Eamon step outside his walls to receive what he believes is surrender.”
Gavin’s voice was tight. “You would risk yourself.”
“Aye,” Anya said. “Because my father’s compromise has brought us here, and I will not let it end with my people owned. If I must risk my life to break Roderic’s hold without a war, I will.”
Ronan’s face was white. “You are mad,” he whispered, and the word was soaked in terror.
Anya turned to him briefly. “No,” she said. “I am done being afraid.”
Liam’s hands clenched at his sides. Anya could feel the restraint in him, the instinct to forbid her from offering herself in danger. Yet he knew as she did: forbidding her would undermine everything she had just claimed.
She could not renounce negotiation with one breath and then retreat into safety with the next.
Anya continued quickly, before the yard could swallow her courage.
“The meeting would take place in view of the gate,” she said.
“Close enough that Eamon feels secure, far enough that his men cannot reach us quickly. Liam’s men will be positioned along the ridge and in the treeline, where arrows can cut off the path back to the gate without slaughtering every soldier.
We want Eamon alive. We want his seal. We want his orders. ”
Baird’s eyes narrowed. “His orders?”
Anya nodded. “If Eamon signs a guarantee that contradicts Roderic’s aims, it proves he is either acting without authority or lying.
If he refuses to sign and tries to seize me instead, we capture him when he steps beyond his walls, and we take what he carries.
Men like him always carry letters. They always carry proof of their master’s intent, because their power depends on their master’s favor. ”
Gavin stared at her, and Anya could see the calculation in his eyes. Risk. Gain. Risk. Gain. Leadership was always arithmetic with blood as the currency.
Kenan was still glaring, but the glare now contained consideration. He did not like diplomacy, yet he loved a trap, and this was a trap built from ego.
“What of the gate itself?” Kenan demanded. “Even if you capture Eamon, the gate remains. The toll remains. The blockade remains.”
Liam answered, calm. “Eamon’s power rests on his certainty,” he said. “Take him, and his men hesitate. They wait for orders. They scramble. In that scramble, we strike the true weakness.”
Anya’s eyes flicked to him, and he nodded slightly, inviting her to say the next part.
“We do not need to destroy the gate,” Anya said. “We need to make it unusable. The chain that blocks the road, the winch that lifts it, the stores of bolts and pitch that keep the outpost armed. A precise strike, swift and controlled. While their leadership is absent and their attention fractured.”
Kenan’s jaw tightened, but his eyes glinted. “A raid,” he said.
“A raid,” Anya agreed. “Not a war.”
Gavin’s gaze sharpened. “And if it goes wrong?” he asked. “If Eamon refuses to meet? If he sends men to seize you? If Roderic responds with open war?”
Anya felt the question land, heavy and fair. This was the part where her old self would have softened and offered compromise and reassurances. Instead she lifted her chin.
“If Eamon refuses to meet,” she said, “then we learn he is under strict orders not to move, which means he is afraid. Fear can be provoked. We use smaller raids, controlled pressure, until he must respond.”
“And if he sends men to seize you?” Gavin pressed.
Anya’s voice remained steady. “Then he confirms he never intended to negotiate. He reveals himself as a captor. In that moment, Liam’s men act. We take Eamon or his second in command. We take someone with knowledge and seal. We take proof.”
Gavin’s jaw flexed. “And if Roderic responds with open war?”
Anya met his gaze. “Then at least we face a war with unity,” she said.
“Not a war created by our own division. Roderic will have shown his true face to both clans. The MacFarlanes will see that kneeling buys nothing, and the Kincaids will see that strength without wisdom is exactly what he provokes.”
A hush settled again. Not shock this time. Consideration.
Anya realized, with a flicker of surprise, that some of the Kincaid warriors were listening to her as if she mattered. Not because she was a woman, not because she was a hostage, but because she was offering a path that sounded like victory and honor together.
It made her chest ache.
She had always wanted to protect her people. She had believed protection meant bending. Now she understood protection could also mean standing firm, even when your knees shook.
Ronan stepped forward again, voice strained. “Father will not accept this,” he said to Anya, almost pleading. “He will not allow you to risk yourself like this.”
Anya looked at him, and her voice softened, just a fraction. “Father is not here,” she said. “And there are no other MacFarlanes here to speak for him. Only you and me.”
Ronan’s mouth tightened. “Then we must send word,” he insisted. “We must wait.”
Anya shook her head. “Waiting is what Roderic counts on,” she said. “He counts on fear making us slow. He counts on hunger making us desperate.”
She looked across the yard again. “And he counts on men like you,” she told Ronan, “to spread panic until the only option that feels possible is surrender.”
Ronan’s face twisted as if she had struck him. “I am trying to save us,” he whispered.
“I know,” Anya replied quietly. “But your fear will destroy us faster than Roderic’s gate if you let it steer you.”
She turned back to Gavin. “My laird,” she said, voice firm again. “Liam has already risked his standing by defying your order. If you punish him now, you prove Kenan’s worldview. You prove that a laird cannot be challenged even when the challenge is meant to save him from a trap.”
Kenan’s eyes flashed at hearing his worldview named, but Anya continued.