Page 77 of The Laird's Dangerous Prize
"I suspect, me laird, that there is much about yer visit tae MacAlpin Castle that ye have nae shared with this council." His tone carried unmistakable accusation. "Perhaps yer judgment in this matter has been... compromised by other considerations."
Ciaran straightened to his full height, authority radiating from every line of his body. "Me judgment is sound, Lord Dunbar. And while I value this council's wisdom, I remind ye that the final decision rests with me as laird."
The gauntlet had been thrown. Five faces regarded him with expressions ranging from shock to outrage. For the first time in his tenure as laird, Ciaran had directly challenged the council's authority in matters of clan alliance.
"We must consider this... proposal... further," Old Fergus said carefully, breaking the tense silence. "Such a significant decision should nae be made hastily."
Ciaran leaned back in his chair, his gaze moving deliberately around the table. "Aye, ye may consider it. I respect this council enough tae hear yer concerns and trust ye will make the best decision fer our clan."
He paused, letting his words sink in before continuing. "I challenge any man here tae name a single time I have acted against the best interests of this clan. One decision that has nae brought prosperity, security, or honor to the MacCraith name."
The council members exchanged glances, but none spoke.
"Exactly," Ciaran said. "And this marriage will be nay different. With our expertise in agriculture and trade, our troops fer protection, and our resources fer rebuilding, we can turn the MacAlpin lands intae one of the most profitable territories in the Highlands. We're not just gaining land—we're gaining opportunity."
Old Fergus stroked his beard thoughtfully. "Ye have guided us well, Laird MacCraith. If ye believe this path serves our clan..."
"Then I move we put it tae a vote," Lord Dunbar said reluctantly. "All in favor of sanctioning Laird MacCraith's marriage proposal tae Lady Isolde MacAlpin?"
Slowly, hands rose around the table—Old Fergus first, then Murray, then three others.
Ciaran nodded solemnly. "Thank ye fer yer trust. Captain Finlay, select twenty of our finest men. We ride fer MacAlpin lands at dawn tae formally request Lady Isolde's hand."
As the council members began to file out, heavy footsteps echoed in the corridor outside. The great doors burst open, and a mud-splattered messenger stumbled in, his horse's lather still visible on his clothes.
"Laird MacCraith!" the man gasped, dropping to one knee. "Urgent news from the MacAlpin borders!"
Ciaran was on his feet instantly. "Speak."
"Wallace has moved," the messenger panted. "His forces struck three MacAlpin settlements yesterday. Burned the granaries, scattered the livestock. They're saying he means to starve them into submission before winter sets in."
The blood drained from Ciaran's face. Isolde.
"How many men daes he have?" Finlay demanded, stepping forward.
"Near two hundred, sir. And they're moving toward the MacAlpin stronghold."
Ciaran's jaw tightened as he processed the implications. Wallace was positioning for a siege. And Isolde was trapped in the middle of it.
"Change of plans," he said grimly, already moving toward the door. "We leave within the hour. And we're taking every available man."
"Laird," Old Fergus called after him, "if ye ride with such force, it will be seen as an act of war?—"
Ciaran paused in the doorway, his eyes blazing with deadly intent. "Then let Wallace ken that war is exactly what he'll get if he touches what's mine."
The doors slammed shut behind him, leaving only the echo of his boots as he strode toward the stables, and the promise of blood on Highland soil.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
"Lady Isolde! Lady Isolde, wake up!"
The urgent shouting pierced through Isolde's fitful sleep, accompanied by frantic pounding on her chamber door. She bolted upright, her heart racing as the banging continued.
"What is it?" she called, scrambling from her bed and pulling on her robe.
"Please, me lady!" It was young Jamie, the housekeeper's son who also kept the stable, his voice cracking with panic. "Yer faither needs ye in the great hall. There's been an attack!"
Isolde's blood turned to ice. She flung open the door to find Jamie's face streaked with tears, his clothes disheveled as if he'd run the entire way from the stables.
