"Which Campbell will discredit as lies from defeated warriors tryin' tae save face." Michael wiped blood from his eye, wincing. "He's got influence, Tòrr. Connections. He'll make sure his version is the one that reaches the other clans first."
Tòrr looked at the bodies scattered across the field, at the wounded being tended by their comrades, at the castle gates still standing open like a mouth waiting to swallow them. This had been supposed to be a surgical strike—get in, get Nessa, get out. Instead, it had turned into a bloodbath that would have consequences reaching far beyond that single day.
"We need tae move." He made the decision quickly, the way command required. "Gather our wounded. Strip the dead of anything useful. We're leavin' within the hour."
“What about Nessa?" Liliane's voice was small. "We came for her. We can't just leave."
"We're nae leavin' without her." Tòrr squeezed her shoulders. "But we need tae move fast. Campbell's probably halfway tae the nearest Pact stronghold by now, and every moment we delay gives him more time tae spin his version of events." He looked at Michael. "We’ll take ten men. Search the castle and find the girl."
Michael nodded and turned to call out orders. Warriors began moving with purpose, some tending wounded, others gathering supplies, still more forming a defensive perimeter around the castle entrance.
Tòrr pulled Liliane closer, his hand stroking through her tangled hair. "I need ye tae stay here. With the men. Dinnae go intae the castle."
"I'm goin' in." Her voice was firm. "Nessa will be frightened. She'll need tae see a familiar face, someone she trusts. And that's me, nae yer warriors."
CHAPTER 41
Tòrr strode forward with Liliane at his side, Michael and ten warriors flanking them, weapons still drawn.
The remaining Munro men clustered near the entrance to the great hall, their faces pale and uncertain. They'd watched their laird die, watched Campbell flee. Now they stood like men caught between two tides, unsure which way would drown them.
"Where's yer commander?" Tòrr's voice carried across the courtyard, hard as steel.
An older warrior stepped forward, his sword held loosely at his side. "Dead, me laird. Fell in the first charge." His eyes flicked to Tòrr's blood-stained clothes, to Liliane standing beside him in men's garb. "We... we've nay orders. Nay laird tae follow."
"Then I'll give ye orders." Tòrr moved closer, and the Munro men instinctively stepped back. "Roderick Munro lies dead by me hand. His first daughter stands beside me as me wife. The second daughter, Nessa, is under me protection now. Anyone who has a problem with that can step forward and we'll settle it with steel."
Silence. The Munro warriors exchanged uneasy glances, weapons wavering in uncertain hands.
"Or," Tòrr continued, his tone slightly less harsh, "ye can lay down yer weapons, tend tae yer wounded, and consider what happens next. Because Campbell and Munro are gone. And I've no quarrel with men who were just followin' orders."
"What about the keep?" another warrior asked. "Our families, our homes, what happens tae them now?"
"That's fer yer clan tae decide." Michael spoke up, his hand still on his sword hilt. "Choose a new laird, swear whatever oaths ye need to swear. But ken this—if ye come after the MacDonalds, if ye seek revenge fer what happened here today, ye'll find us ready. And we willnae be as merciful a second time."
One by one, the weapons clattered to the ground. The Munro men didn't kneel, didn't surrender formally, but their resistance had broken. They were leaderless warriors watching their world reshape itself before their eyes.
"Where's the lass?" Tòrr demanded. "Nessa Munro. Where are her chambers?"
"North tower," the older warrior said quietly. "Third floor, door at the end of the corridor. She's got two handmaids with her, but they're unarmed."
“I ken where tae go,” Liliane murmured.
"Good." Tòrr turned to Michael. "Stay here. Keep watch in case anyone tries anythin'."
"I'll handle it." Michael's expression was grim. "Go get the girl. The sooner we're away from this cursed place, the better."
Tòrr nodded and started toward the keep, Liliane hurrying to keep pace. Her heart hammered against her ribs as they entered the castle proper, climbing stone stairs that spiraled upward into shadow.
"Are ye alright?" Tòrr asked quietly as they reached the second landing.
"Aye." Her voice came out steadier than she felt. "Just... it's strange, bein' back here. In his house." She swallowed hard. "Kennin' he's dead and cannae hurt anyone anymore."
His hand found hers, squeezing briefly. "Ye never have tae come back here again. After today, this place holds no power over ye or yer sister."
They climbed the final flight of stairs. The corridor stretched before them, torches burning in iron sconces along the walls. At the far end stood a heavy wooden door, barred from the outside.
"Christ," Tòrr muttered, seeing the bar. "He locked her in?"
