Campbell chuckled, a low, cruel sound. “Ye think Cameron’ll hand the lass over wi’out a fight?”
“He will if he values his walls,” Edwin said. His tone was calm, confident. Inside, he burned. “He took what was mine. He kens I’ll have her back—or I’ll burn his castle tae the ground around her.”
Campbell spat into the dirt. “I hope ye’re right. I’ve nay fondness fer Cameron or his kind.”
Edwin glanced sideways at him, studying the man’s profile. Campbell was useful, that was all. A blunt instrument. The kind that didn’t ask too many questions so long as there was gold at the end of it. Let him have his war; Edwin had other prizes in mind.
The image of Catherine’s face, pale in the torchlight of Achnacarry, her mouth set in defiance even as her eyes had betrayed her fear, rose unbidden. He had seen that fear before. It had thrilled him then; it thrilled him still. She could fight all she liked, deny what she owed him, but in the end she would understand. She belonged to him.
“She’ll come quietly,” he said, almost to himself. “Once she sees the truth.”
Campbell gave a harsh laugh. “Aye? Women like that never come quietly.”
Edwin’s smile didn’t falter. “They all dae, given time.”
The laird’s laughter died off. He looked at Edwin sidelong, perhaps catching a glimpse of something colder than ambition in his eyes.
Beyond them, the first light of dawn began to spread thinly across the sky, pale and brittle. The camp stirred to life—thesound of men shouting orders, the clang of steel, the groan of wagons being loaded. A flock of crows took flight from the trees, their cries cutting through the stillness.
Edwin straightened his coat, the wind snapping the edge of his cloak. “Ready the men,” he said. “We ride within the hour.”
Campbell grunted his assent and turned away to bark orders.
Edwin watched the horizon a moment longer, his thoughts drifting north—to Achnacarry, to the woman who had defied him, to the fire that would soon rise from Cameron’s lands.
“Ye’ll see,” he murmured under his breath. “Ye’ll see what it costs tae deny me.”
The wind caught the words and carried them off, scattering them like ash across the morning.
Night had fallen heavy over Achnacarry, wrapping the castle in stillness. The corridors were dark but for the low burn of the torches, their light flickering along the stone like restless ghosts. In his office, the air was thick with smoke and silence. Aidan sat behind the desk, a half-empty bottle before him, the faint burn of whisky already tracing a slow path down his throat.
He wasn’t drunk. It took more than that to numb a man like him.
The fire crackled low in the hearth, throwing unsteady light across the maps spread out before him. He’d been staring at them for hours without seeing a single line. His mind kept straying elsewhere—to the road that wound south toward Perth, to the small group of riders that would be halfway through the glen by then, to the woman who had turned once in the saddle before vanishing from sight.
He could still see her hair catching the light, the way she’d lifted her chin, proud even in leaving. That look would haunt him more than any battlefield ever could.
A knock came at the door.
“Come,” Aidan said, his voice rough.
The door creaked open, and Gordon stepped inside. The man’s face was half in shadow, his expression unreadable. He closed the door behind him and leaned against the frame, arms crossed.
“So this is how ye mean tae spend yer nights now?” he said.
Aidan gave a short, humorless laugh. “If I had the time tae waste, aye, maybe. But there’s nay such thing as peace long enough fer a man tae drink himself quiet.”
Gordon’s gaze flicked to the bottle, then to Aidan’s face. “Ye call that quiet?”
Aidan leaned back in his chair, the light catching on the edge of his jaw. “It’s quieter than thinkin’.”
Gordon said nothing for a moment, then crossed the room and poured himself a drink from the same bottle, the amber liquid sloshing softly into the glass. “The men say ye’ve barely spoken a word since the Council. Is that true?”
Aidan’s mouth tightened. “Since when dae I answer tae gossip?”
Gordon sat across from him, the chair creaking under his weight. “Since it stopped bein’ gossip. Ye’ve a war brewin’, Aidan. And ye’re here starin’ at maps ye dinnae need tae read.”
Aidan’s eyes drifted to the fire. “I ken what I’m lookin’ at.”
