Page 35 of The Laird's Dangerous Prize
His father's voice echoed in his memory: "A laird who ignores his council soon finds himself without wisdom or clan." The MacCraith had thrived for generations by respecting the balance between laird's authority and council's guidance. To override them now would break centuries of tradition.
"The council has spoken," Old Fergus said, his tone softening. "Lady MacAlpin must be returned tae her family. It's nae only the honorable course, but perhaps it will resolve the matter of these armed men within our borders."
Ciaran felt the weight of their judgment pressing down on him. He'd failed to sway them. Failed to find a path that would allow him to follow both duty and heart.
"She leaves taemorrow," Dunbar declared. "I'll arrange an escort?—"
"Nay," Ciaran's voice cut through the chamber like a blade. "I brought her here. If Lady Isolde MacAlpin returns tae her clan, it is me duty tae see her safely delivered."
I want tae assess the MacAlpin situation firsthand. I might yet find some advantage there.
The council members exchanged glances, then slowly nodded their agreement.
"A fair compromise, me laird," Old Fergus conceded. "But our decision stands. There will be nay alliance with Clan MacAlpin, and ye must consider this matter settled, me laird. The girl goes home, and we seek more advantageous connections elsewhere."
Ciaran stood, signaling the meeting's end. "I understand the council's decision." The words tasted like ash on his tongue. "Lady MacAlpin returns tae her clan, and I shall abide by Highland tradition."
The men filed out, relief evident in their postures. Only Finlay remained, his expression unreadable as he watched his laird.
"A word, me laird?" Finlay glanced toward the door to ensure none of the council members lingered within earshot.
Ciaran gestured to the empty chair beside him, suddenly weary beyond measure. "Speak freely."
Finlay sat, studying his laird's face with the frank assessment of a lifelong friend. "I've known ye since we were lads throwing stones in the burn. I've followed ye into battle and council alike." He leaned forward. "Never have I seen ye argue so passionately for a political alliance. Indeed, MacCraith is so strong, that ye’ve taken yer time tae choose a bride."
Ciaran's jaw tightened. "The strategic value?—"
"Is real," Finlay conceded, "but insufficient tae explain the fire in yer eyes." He paused. "This is about her, isn't it? About Isolde herself."
The truth hung between them, impossible to deny. Ciaran looked away, gaze fixed on the dancing flames in the hearth.
"So she's truly a MacAlpin?" Finlay asked softly, breaking the silence between them.
"Aye. Lady Isolde MacAlpin, eldest daughter of Laird Alistair."
Finlay exhaled slowly. "Fergive me, me laird. I should have voted with ye in the council."
Ciaran's head snapped up. "Ye agree with me?"
"Nae about the alliance," Finlay clarified. "The council's reasoning is sound—by Highland tradition, a laird's lady must bring strength tae the clan." He hesitated. "But I've seen how ye look at her. How she watches ye when she thinks no one notices."
Heat rose in Ciaran's neck. "It matters nae. The council has spoken. Besides, even yer support would not have swayed them," he muttered.
"And when has that ever stopped the great Ciaran MacCraith?" A hint of the old mischief flashed in Finlay's eyes. "The man who once stole old MacDonald's prize stallion on a dare?"
"We were merely lads then. I'm laird now, with responsibilities tae me clan." Ciaran rose, straightening his shoulders. "I must tell her tae prepare fer the journey home. She has tried to escape enough times fer the news tae be a welcome relief."
CHAPTER ELEVEN
"Leave it," she told herself aloud. "It was never meant tae be yers anyway."
Isolde stared at the single pearl bead rolling across the floor and disappearing beneath the bed. She was folding the cream silk dress when her thumb tugged at a loose thread, causing it to snap and fly to the floor.
A knock at the door interrupted her thoughts.
"Enter," she called, quickly wiping her cheeks.
Elspeth appeared with a bundle of clothing in her arms. "I've brought ye traveling clothes, m'lady. Sturdy things fer the journey ahead."
