Page 76 of The Laird's Dangerous Prize
The council chamber buzzed with low conversation as Ciaran entered, the five elders rising in respect before resuming their seats around the ancient oak table. Sunlight streamed through narrow windows, illuminating dust motes dancing in the air and the expectant faces of men who had advised his father before him.
Old Fergus, his white beard nearly reaching his chest, sat at Ciaran's right, in the position of senior advisor. Beside him, Dunbar's severe features remained unreadable as always.Murray's red beard had acquired more silver, while young Angus—at thirty-five, the newest council member—fidgeted slightly with the hilt of his ceremonial dirk. Lord Maxwell, the fifth member, studied Ciaran with the calculating gaze that had earned him his reputation as the council's most pragmatic voice.
"Me lords," Ciaran began, remaining standing as tradition dictated when a laird addressed his council formally. "I thank ye fer gathering on such short notice."
"Yer message suggested urgency," Old Fergus observed, his rheumy eyes sharp despite his advanced years. "What news from MacAlpin lands?"
"Wallace gathers his forces along their borders," Ciaran replied, his voice carrying in the stone chamber. "Our scouts confirm activity consistent with preparation fer territorial expansion."
Murmurs passed between the council members, none seeming particularly surprised or concerned by this information.
"The MacAlpins have been declining fer years," Lord Dunbar said dismissively. "If Wallace absorbs their lands, it merely hastens the inevitable."
"And puts a hostile force directly against our eastern border," Ciaran countered. "Rather than a weakened but friendly clan."
"Ye speak as though we should involve ourselves in their troubles," Laird Murray observed, his tone making clearhow little he favored such intervention. "Clan MacCraith has historically maintained neutrality in such matters."
Ciaran drew a deep breath, knowing the moment had arrived. "I propose more than involvement, me lords. I propose alliance—through marriage.
The stunned silence that followed was broken by Angus's incredulous laugh. "Marriage? Tae a MacAlpin? Surely ye jest, me laird."
"I have never been more serious," Ciaran replied, his voice hardening. "I intend tae take Lady Isolde MacAlpin as me wife."
Old Fergus's bushy eyebrows shot toward his hairline. "The eldest daughter? The one yee kept at Mac Craith castle fer days?"
"The very same."
Lord Maxwell leaned forward, fingers steepled beneath his chin. "A bold declaration, me laird. May we inquire what prompted this... unusual choice? Three days ago, ye wanted only an alliance, today ye want a wedding."
Ciaran had anticipated the question, had rehearsed a response that emphasized political advantage and strategic positioning. Yet standing before these men who had known him since childhood, he found himself speaking a simpler truth.
"I believe she is the right woman tae stand beside me as Lady MacCraith," he said. "She brings intelligence, courage, and a fierce loyalty tae her people that would serve our clan well."
"She brings little else," Lord Dunbar observed coldly. "Nay dowry worth mentioning, nay military strength, nay powerful connections."
"She brings territorial advantage, legitimate claim to lands that border our own, and the opportunity to prevent Wallace from expanding his influence," Ciaran countered, his voice remaining measured despite the anger building in his chest.
"All those advantages could be claimed through simpler means," Laird Murray suggested. "A formal alliance requires nay marriage. Or, should Wallace succeed in his apparent ambitions, we could negotiate with him directly from a position of strength."
Ciaran's hand tightened around the edge of the table. "I will nae barter with Wallace after he has destroyed a Highland clan that has stood fer centuries."
"Yer concern fer Highland tradition is admirable," Old Fergus said, his tone gentler than the others, "but the council must consider practical matters. What tangible benefits would such a marriage bring tae the MacCraith?"
A flash of impatience crossed Ciaran's features. "I told ye before, but ye wouldnae listen tae yer laird. This land is strategically positioned—" He gestured toward the window facing MacAlpinterritory. "Ye all can remember when it was once among the most fertile in the Highlands. The soil is rich, the water sources abundant. With proper management, it could be prosperous again."
For the first time since entering the chamber, Finlay spoke from his position near the door. "Perhaps, me lords, ye might consider that our laird's judgment in clan matters has never led us astray before. His strategic vision has brought the MacCraith unprecedented prosperity."
Five pairs of eyes turned to regard Finlay with varying degrees of surprise and displeasure at this unexpected intervention. Council meetings traditionally excluded all but elders and the laird himself.
"Captain Finlay speaks out of turn," Lord Dunbar said coldly, "but raises a point worth considering. Yer leadership has indeed benefited our clan, Laird MacCraith. Which makes this sudden fixation on a MacAlpin bride all the more concerning."
"It is not a fixation," Ciaran replied, his voice dangerously quiet. "It is a decision made after careful consideration of all factors—including some that may not be immediately apparent to the council."
Lord Maxwell acknowledged, "Ye may be right, but these advantages exist whether the MacAlpins hold the land or Wallace does. The question remains: why risk allying ourselves with a failing clan?"
"Because some traditions are worth preserving," Ciaran answered firmly. "Because the MacAlpins have stood as honorable neighbors fer generations. Because Wallace is making incursions intae their lands, nae just ours, burning their crops, villages, and stealing their livestock. That is an ally I couldnae trust. And… because I have given me word."
The final statement hung in the air like a challenge. Among Highland lairds, one's word was sacred—a bond as binding as blood.
