“He daesnae care about her,” Michael said, too quickly. “I’ve seen it. He willnae care if somethin’ happens tae her.”
Tòrr leaned forward, the moonlight catching an old scar across his jaw. “If Angus Campbell’s that desperate tae wed his lass tae the Grants, then she’s his weakness. Even if it is as ye say, he will care about the alliance. He wants this. He wants tae strengthen the pact, an’ he’ll dae anythin’ fer it.”
The words landed like cold steel in Michael’s chest. Once, he would have considered this a good plan. With Isabeau’s willingness to leave the castle, with her eagerness to escape her father, it would be very easy to convince her to follow him out of the safety of Castle Inveraray’s curtain walls. She would come without protest, without hesitation, without fear.
Only for Michael to betray her.
Daemon nodded slowly to himself. “Aye. He would dae anythin’ tae secure the deal. That’s all that matters tae him, an’ the lass is the only way fer him tae get it.”
“An’ then what?” asked Michael with a shake of his head.
“We get Alyson back, o’ course,” said Daemon.
“Aye, I got that much,” said Michael in a dry tone, unable to conceal his irritation. “But what happens tae the lass?”
Tòrr shrugged a shoulder, seemingly unbothered, but there was scrutiny in the way he looked at Michael, as if he was suspecting something was wrong.
“Once she’s nay longer useful, she’s nay burden tae us. We may as well send her back tae her faither an’ avoid any further conflict.”
A muscle jumped in Michael’s jaw and he pulled his hands behind his back, cursing under his breath as his fingers curled into fists. He could still see her—Isabeau, sitting in the dim light of her chamber, her face pale and her arms bruised, her chin lifted despite the pain. He remembered the tremor in her voice when she spoke, the way she had said so little and yet it had been more than enough for him to understand.
“Ye’ve nae seen her,” he said finally, his voice low and taut. “Her own faither treats her like property, like somethin’ tae be bartered, tae be bruised when she resists. I’ll nae dae the same.”
Tòrr and Daemon both stared at him in silence, glancing amongst themselves for a moment. Michael couldn’t fault them—they hadn’t met Isabeau. They didn’t know her, not even the little he did. Why should they put her comfort, her safety, over Alyson’s?
Why should they think him anything but mad for protesting?
Daemon’s eyes narrowed, studying him in the dark. “It’s a means tae an end, braither. Naethin’ more.”
Michael turned to him, his gaze fierce, his voice a low hiss. “She’s nae a means tae an end. She’s his daughter, aye, but she’s nae monster. She’s… she’s sufferin’, same as Alyson. I’ll nae treat her like her faither daes.”
Tòrr let out a rough sound, half frustration, half disbelief. “Dinnae tell me ye’ve gone soft fer the lass.”
The accusation struck too close to truth. Michael’s breath caught, his fists tightening. “If I were soft, I’d have taken her already an’ run. But I’ve nae. I mean tae see this through cleanly. We free Alyson, an’ if I can—” He hesitated, the thought forming even as he said it. “If I can, I’ll see Isabeau sent somewhere safe. A nunnery, perhaps, or a convent beyond her faither’s reach.”
Michael looked out into the dark, toward the distant glow of Inveraray’s torches. The thought of her gone—of never hearing her laugh, never catching that defiant spark in her eyes again—gnawed at him like hunger. It was a selfish thing, wanting to keep her there, where he could see her, at least; in his peripheralvision, always there but never close enough. But that was one; using her to get Alyson back was another. He couldn’t stomach it, the thought of betraying her like that.
For a long moment, none of them spoke. Michael wasn’t going to back down and he knew his brothers could tell from the way he stood, motionless and stiff and steady as a pillar.
Finally, Michael exhaled, breaking the silence. “I ken we cannae wait much longer. How about this: I’ll take three men with me an’ if they can reach the keep unnoticed, then we’ll ken there’s a way fer ye tae get Alyson out o’ there without anyone seein’ me. I dinnae have tae risk anythin’ like that. The men will be at risk, aye, but me identity will remain a secret.”
Tòrr and Daemon nodded, the plan as reasonable to them as it was to him—especially since it didn’t put Alyson’s or Isabeau’s lives in danger. It was one thing for the three of them to be discovered, and another for the two girls to be caught up into it.
Alyson had already gone through too much because of this feud.
“Alright,” said Michael. “Where will ye be?”
“We’ve set up camp near here,” said Daemon. “There’s an abandoned croft nae too far, just outside Campbell lands. If ye need us, ye’ll find us there.”
“Very well,” Michael said, as the three men who had accompanied his brothers there stepped out of the shadows,finally fully revealing themselves. They were cloaked like his brothers, the black of the wool concealing their presence.
“Go,” said Tòrr. “An’ be safe, Michael.”
After leaving his brothers, Michael walked with the three warriors toward the looming silhouette of Castle Inveraray. The earth was damp under his boots, the forest hushed but for the whispers of nocturnal animals.
None of them spoke. When the first torchlight of the keep came into sight, he slowed his gait and signaled the others to stop.
“This is where we part,” he said quietly. “Too close, an’ the guards might take note o’ me comin’. Circle back once ye’ve reached the northern ridge an’ test the patrols there. If ye make it tae the wall unseen, light nay flame. I’ll ken by the silence.”
