Page 34 of The Laird's Dangerous Prize
Ciaran's jaw tightened. "Our clans share alliances from centuries past. The first MacCraith laird was an ally tae a MacAlpin."
"Ancient history and mere sentiments," dismissed Dunbar, who'd remained silent until now. "We need practical strength, nae sentiments of kinship long dissolved."
"The men who pursued Lady Isolde the night I found her. I believe now these men may be targeting her to use her in some way to force an alliance between their clan and the MacAlpins. If that is the case, we are better off making this alliance ourselves."
The council members exchanged glances.
"Dae ye ken this fer certain?" Old Fergus asked, suddenly attentive.
"I cannot prove it," Ciaran admitted reluctantly.
Dunbar waved a dismissive hand. "Speculation. The girl probably fled an arranged marriage her faither had already brokered with someone else."
"What cannae be denied," Angus added sharply, "is that since the MacAlpin lass arrived, armed men have breached our borders and MacCraith blood has been spilled on our own soil.Whether she intended it or nae, she has brought war tae our doorstep. Dae we truly wish tae formalize an alliance with a clan that drags such trouble in its wake?"
Murmurs of agreement rippled through the chamber. Ciaran's knuckles whitened as he gripped the edge of the table.
They're nae listening, nae seeing the opportunity.
Ciaran's frustration mounted as he watched skepticism settle back into their expressions.
"Me lords," he tried again, "think beyond immediate concerns. The MacAlpin lands are extensive, their soil fertile. With proper management?—"
"Which they've failed tae provide fer a generation," interrupted Angus.
"Aye. Strategic position means little without strength tae defend it," Dunbar countered dismissively. "The MacAlpins has all daughters, their laird ailing with no male heir. Why should MacCraith gold revive their fortunes that our own people may see nay benefit from?"
"Because sometimes strength lies nae in what a clan has, but what it might become," Ciaran's voice rose, passion coloring his words. "The MacAlpins have endured centuries of Highland winters. Their blood is as ancient as our own. And Lady Isolde?—"
"Ah, now we come tae it," Lord Dunbar smirked. "The lady herself. A comely lass, by all accounts."
Ciaran's fists clenched beneath the table. "Lady Isolde has managed her clan's affairs alongside her father fer years. She shows intelligence, resourcefulness?—"
"But nae wealth. Nae soldiers. Nae influence," Old Fergus said gently. "The qualities a laird must seek in alliance."
"It's nae only about counting coins," Ciaran insisted, desperation edging into his voice. "The strategic value alone?—"
"Is insufficient," Murray cut in firmly. "Me laird, we understand your... interest... in the MacAlpin lass. But our duty is tae our clan, and so must yers be. You have nae duty tae yer desires."
The chamber fell silent. Ciaran looked from face to face, finding no allies there. Even Finlay's expression showed only sympathy, not support.
They've already decided.
The realization burned in his chest. For the first time since becoming laird, his will alone would not carry the day.
"We've heard enough," Old Fergus said, rising to his feet. "It's time tae vote."
The ancient ritual hadn't been invoked during Ciaran's tenure as laird. Until now, his decisions had been accepted without formal challenge. He watched as Old Fergus lifted his ceremonial staff.
"Those in favor of an alliance with Clan MacAlpin?"
Ciaran raised his hand. It stood alone in the chamber.
"Those opposed?"
Five hands rose in unison, their judgment unanimous.
Ciaran's jaw tightened as the reality sank in. By Highland law, the council could not prevent him from choosing his bride, but a laird's lady must be politically advantageous. The unanimous opposition made their position clear—no MacAlpin alliance would receive council support.
