"She kens about the men, she saw them another time. When we rode tae the cliffs and when she was playing outside of the keep with our sisters." Tòrr's expression darkened. "She reported it tae me immediately, but I thought they were just scouts. Didnae realize they were part of a larger force."
"She needs tae stay within the keep walls," Michael said firmly. "Nay more rides out, nay more trips tae the village. Nae until we've cleared every last one of those bastards from our lands."
"She'll hate that, she's already feelin' trapped. Confined. This will only make it worse." But Tòrr knew his brother was right.
"Better trapped and alive than free and dead," Daemon said bluntly. "Munro's clearly nae givin' up. He wants her back, and he's willin' tae risk open conflict tae get her."
"Which is exactly why we need tae end this." Tòrr's voice hardened further. "We find every man he's sent. We eliminate them. And then we send Munro a message he cannae ignore, that me wife is mine, and anyone who tries tae take her dies."
"That's as good as declarin' war," Michael warned.
"Is it? Because from where I'm standin', Munro's the one who started this war. When he sent men tae abduct me wife from a clan gatherin'. When he stationed scouts on me borders. When he made it clear he'll keep comin' until he either gets what he wants or we stop him permanently. And that is after I played the game with his own rules from the beginning." Tòrr met his brothers' eyes, letting them see the cold fury there. "I'm just endin' it."
Silence fell over the library. Outside, the sun was beginning to rise, painting the sky in shades of gold and pink.
"How dae ye want tae structure the search parties?" Daemon asked finally, accepting Tòrr's decision without question.
"Six groups of five men each. Experienced fighters, preferably those who ken the lands well." Tòrr traced routes on the map with his finger. "We start at their known camp, and work outward in a grid pattern. Any man found wearin' Munro colors or admittin' tae workin' fer him gets questioned. Once we've learned what we need, they're eliminated."
"Nay prisoners?" Michael's tone was neutral, but his eyes held approval.
"Nay prisoners. They came here tae kidnap me wife from her own home. They forfeit any right tae mercy the moment they stepped ontae MacDonald land with that intent." Tòrr's voice was ice. "I want it understood by every man we send out, these arenae bandits tae be captured and tried. They're invaders. Enemies. And we deal with enemies permanently."
"The men will understand," Daemon said. "Especially once they ken these bastards attacked Lady MacDonald at the festival. There's nay sympathy fer that."
"Good. Then spread the word carefully. I want captains assembled in the great hall within the hour. We'll brief them, coordinate the search pattern, and have the first parties out by midday." Tòrr rolled up the map with sharp, decisive movements. "Daemon, ye'll lead the eastern search. Michael, take the western approach. I'll coordinate from here and lead the party that searches the areas closest tae the keep."
"Ye should stay at the keep," Michael protested. "Let us handle the search while ye protect Liliane."
"I'll be daein' both. The keep is well-defended, and I'll make sure she stays within the walls." Tòrr's tone allowed no argument. "But I'll nae sit idle while me men hunt on me behalf. These bastards came fer me wife, I'll be part of the response."
His brothers exchanged glances but didn't argue further. They knew that tone, that set to his jaw. Their laird had made his decision, and nothing would change it.
Daemon moved toward the door. "I'll gather the captains. Have them assembled within the hour, as ye said."
"And I'll start coordinatin' the search grids," Michael added. "Make sure we dinnae have any gaps in coverage."
"Good. Both of ye, go.”
After his brothers left, Tòrr stood alone in the library for a long moment, staring at the map on the table. Somewhere out in those forests, men were hiding. Waiting. Planning another attempt to take Liliane from him.
The rage that thought provoked was cold and calculating rather than hot and impulsive. He'd learned long ago that fury was useless unless channeled into action. And he had plenty of action planned.
By nightfall, the first search parties would be combing the forests. Within days, every man Munro had sent would be dead or fled back across the borders. And if any of them resisted, if any tried to fight... well, they'd learn what happened to those who threatened a MacDonald wife.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Liliane woke to an empty bed and the memory of Tòrr's hands on her body.
Heat flooded her face as the events of the previous night rushed back. The way he'd touched her, the pleasure he'd shown her, the sounds she'd made. She pressed her palms to her burning cheeks, mortified and confused in equal measure.
She'd never imagined it could be like that. Never dreamed that a man's touch could bring anything other than pain or fear. But Tòrr had been so gentle, so careful, watching her face for any sign of distress even as he'd coaxed her body into responding in ways she hadn't known were possible.
And he'd gotten nothing in return. Had left himself aching and unsatisfied just to prove she could trust him. The thought made her chest tighten with an emotion she didn't quite know how to name.
She dressed quickly, fingers fumbling with her laces as her mind replayed every moment. The heat in his eyes as he'd watched her come apart.
Stop it. Ye're bein' ridiculous.
