Campbell’s eyes narrowed. “More?”
Edwin smiled, slow and deliberate. “Aye. Information, and a connection ye’ve long desired but ne’er managed tae secure.”
That earned a flicker of interest. The old man leaned back in his chair, one brow lifting. “And what would that be?”
“The MacDonalds o’ Keppoch.”
Campbell’s expression changed at once. The name still held bitterness. “They’re a stubborn breed. Stood their ground even when their walls were burnin’.”
“Then let me speak fer ye,” Edwin said. “They’ll listen this time.”
“And why would they?”
Edwin’s smile sharpened. “Because I mean tae marry one o’ them.”
That drew a low, humorless laugh from the laird. “Dae ye now? And which daughter has agreed tae that?”
“Catherine MacDonald,” Edwin said, letting the name hang in the air like a promise. “She was mine once, in all but name.The match was understood, if nae signed. Then the Camerons meddled—spirited her away after an ambush gone wrong. They claim it was tae keep her safe. I say it was theft.”
Campbell’s gaze turned speculative. “So ye’d have me help ye steal her back.”
“Aye,” Edwin said easily. “And in return, I pledge me loyalty tae Argyll’s pact. Me men, me land, all I ken o’ Keppoch’s borders. Ye’ll gain what ye’ve wanted fer years—an open road intae MacDonald country, and an ally who kens every inch o’ it.”
Campbell said nothing. The firelight threw his shadow across the wall, long and bent. Finally, he nodded once. “Ye’re ambitious, MacLeod. I’ll grant ye that.”
Edwin met his eyes, unblinking. “Help me bring her home. When she’s mine, the MacDonalds will nae be able tae refuse the tie. Ye’ll have what ye seek without liftin’ a blade.”
Campbell’s gaze drifted to the map on the table, tracing a line with one finger. “Keppoch’s daughter,” he murmured. “A clever move. Their faither’s gone. A marriage would anchor them—and through them, me.” He looked up, eyes sharp. “Aye. It could work.”
Edwin’s chest tightened, victory blooming like heat in his veins. “Then ye’ll back me?”
“I will,” Campbell said slowly. “But quietly. Ye’ll keep this pact between us until I say otherwise. If word spreads that Campbell and MacLeod plot together, it’ll stir the glens before we’re ready.”
“Understood.”
“Good. Then here’s what ye’ll dae first.” Campbell tapped the map where Keppoch’s keep lay marked. “Ye’ll send a letter tae Tòrr MacDonald. Ask formally fer his sister’s hand. He’s a proud lad—he’ll answer, one way or another. Either we’ve his blessing, or we’ve his defiance, and both will serve.”
Edwin frowned. “Ye think he’ll agree tae such terms?”
Campbell’s grin was thin. “I think men are easier tae move when they believe they’ve chosen the path themselves. Let him refuse. It gives ye cause tae act. And when ye act, ye’ll have me shadow at yer back.”
It was simple, subtle, and cruel enough to work.
Edwin nodded slowly. “Aye. I’ll write the letter this night.”
“Good.” Campbell’s voice softened, almost thoughtful. “If ye mean tae claim the lass, see that ye dae it cleanly. Women have a way o’ complicatin’ war when their hearts get involved.”
Edwin’s smile was thin as glass. “Her heart’s already mine. She only needs remindin’.”
Campbell studied him, something unreadable flickering behind his eyes. Then he rose. “Then we’re agreed. Go rest. Ye’ll have a horse and rider tae carry yer message by dawn.”
Edwin inclined his head and turned toward the door. The corridor beyond was dark and narrow, the stone cold against his hand as he trailed it along the wall.
She thought herself safe behind Cameron’s walls, thought she’d escaped him. But there was no escaping what was owed. He would send the letter. He would play the obedient suitor, the wronged man seeking justice. He would write with all the charm that had once made her blush, the same lies wrapped in gentleness.
And when Tòrr refused, as he surely would, he would have his excuse to ride north again. He would tear down every gate between them. And this time, when he came for her, there would be no one left to stand in his way.
The laughter from the hall had followed Catherine down the corridor long after she’d left it behind, a fading echo swallowed by stone. The air beyond the feast had been cooler, still scented faintly with smoke and wine, but it felt quieter. She could still feel the heat of the room on her skin, the hum of music in her pulse. The conversation—his voice—lingered like a brand she could not scrub clean.
