“Aye.” Laird Campbell turned then, the fire glinting off the iron-gray in his short stubble. “Too quiet. Word reached me this morn. There are rumors surroundin’ us… us Campbells an’ ye Grants both. With the Munros an’ the MacLeods dead, the Pact o’ Argyll has lost some o’ its… luster.”
Michael kept his face smooth, though his heart began to thud and he leaned forward, feigning concern instead of the excitement he felt.
If Campbell’s heard o’ this… if he fears, then he’ll be reckless. He’ll become desperate.
But desperation could also make a man dangerous. Michael had long since learned to be wary of men who had much to lose and little chance of winning.
“Has there been dissent, me laird?” asked Michael.
The laird’s gaze shifted to him, sharp as a hawk’s. “There’s always dissent,” he said bitterly. “But now there are rumors, too, things that are completely untrue. They say we’re on the brink o’ collapse. They say the pact will never succeed an’ so they refuse tae join.”
Fergus grunted, stepping forward from behind the other man. “That’s why the marriage must go on. Sooner, not later.”
Michael stiffened. “The marriage? Between the Lady Isabeau an’ Laird Grant?”
“Dae ye ken o’ a different marriage?” Laird Campbell asked, returning to his seat at the top of the table. “This is what we need… a union that binds the Campbells an’ the Grants in blood. The other clans must see us united. We must become the dominant power here if we want the others tae follow us. I have nay sons tae offer tae the cause, but me daughter… she’ll give yer laird heirs. An’ most importantly, we’ll unite our power. Nay one will stand a chance against our soldiers.”
A cold, uncomfortable shiver ran down Michael’s spine, knowing the laird’s words were true. The man was right; the MacDonalds and anyone who opposed the Pact of Argyll would have a much harder time if Laird Campbell had the Grant forces under his thumb. And it was not Cody Grant Michael feared—no, it was his uncle Herman, the de-facto leader of Clan Grant. He was the one to watch, and he was the one to broker this agreement.
But there’s one good thing tae come out o’ this… they dinnae suspect me.
Fergus laid a folded parchment on the table, sealed with wax. “A letter tae yer laird,” he said. “Tae confirm the match and invite his men tae arrive early. Ye’ll see it delivered.”
Michael stared at the letter for a moment, before tucking it into his pocket. The last thing they needed was for Cody Grant to arrive sooner, when they were already so pressed for time, and Michael didn’t know if he should send the letter or not, after all. If he didn’t send it, he risked Laird Campbell finding out. If he did, he risked running out of time.
Either way, the blade was pressed harder to his throat.
He forced himself to nod. “O’ course, me laird. It will reach him swiftly.”
Laird Campbell studied him for a long moment, then leaned back, fingers steepled. “See that it daes. I willnae have delay. The lass’ dowry is prepared, the feast must be readied, an’ the priests sent fer. The keep will host the Grants within a fortnight.”
“A fortnight,” Michael repeated, the words thick in his throat.
Fergus smiled thinly, like a man savoring another’s discomfort. “Ye’ll oversee the preparations, Mr. Gordon. With nay Grant men here yet, the task falls tae ye. A fittin’ test o’ yer diligence.”
Michael’s mouth went dry as he stared at Fergus—the way he was watching him carefully, with what he could only think of as suspicion. But wasn’t there a chance he was imagining it? Wasn’t there a chance Fergus was simply as suspicious as he would be of any stranger, and Michael, in his cautiousness, saw things that didn’t exist?
“I’m honored, o’ course,” said Michael, “that ye trust me with this.”
“Good,” Laird Campbell said, rising. “Ye’ll begin today. Speak with the steward. Ensure the kitchens an’ hall are ready tae host a weddin’ that will bind two great clans.” He made to leave, but then, just as he reached the door, he paused and turned to face him once more. “I’ll nae have rumors o’ hesitation reach our enemies’ ears. The Campbells are strong, an’ this marriage will prove it. Let any who whisper otherwise choke on their tongues.”
He turned to Fergus. “See the letter is sent within the hour.”
“Aye, me laird.”
So there goes me chance tae nae send it.
With that, Laird Campbell was gone, followed by Fergus first, and then the rest of the Council, whose men trickled out of the room one by one, talking amongst themselves in quiet voices. Michael sat there for a moment, gazing out of the window into the tree line, where the tips of the firs and the pines pierced the steel-grey sky.
He had no way to intercept the letter once it left Castle Inveraray’s walls. If it reached Clan Grant, Cody Grant and his people would arrive much sooner than anticipated, urged into action by Herman Forbes.
I must speak tae Tórr an’ Daemon. This isnae somethin’ tae take lightly.
There was also the matter of the preparations. Being tasked with overseeing them was a cruel twist of fate. Laird Campbell had bound him to the very thing he meant to prevent.
Isabeau… how much time can I spend with her afore I dae somethin’ foolish?
He pictured her face when she heard her father speak of her betrothal as though she were nothing but a bargaining piece. He imagined her as if she was standing there—the tension in her jaw, the shadow of defiance that flickered even when she kept silent. Spending so much time with her was out of the question. He was already beginning to care too much about the girl when he could do nothing to change her fate. Getting closer could only lead to trouble.
