The solar was warm and familiar, lined with books and weapons in equal measure. Daemon poured whisky from a crystal decanter while Michael paced before the hearth.
"Explain," Michael said without preamble.
Tòrr settled into his chair, grateful to take weight off his injured foot. "Campbell orchestrated a bride auction as ye ken. Invitation only, all the clans he wants tae bind closer tae his precious Pact."
"And ye went tae observe. What changed exactly?" Daemon handed him a glass of amber liquid.
"Because Intelligence gatherin’ daesnae typically result in acquirin’ a wife," Michael pointed out dryly.
Tòrr took a long swallow of whisky, feeling it burn down his throat. “Munro was there tae sell his daughter tae the highest bidder.”
Both brothers went still.
“I saw Ross speakin’ with Munro and Campbell before the masks went on. Couldnae hear what was said, but I ken Campbell’s face well enough tae recognize when he’s pullin’ strings. Whatever that talk was, it reeked of schemin’, and I wasnae about tae stand by and let him tighten his grip on the west.”
Daemon’s brows knit. “Christ. And Campbell was behind it.”
“Aye. I saw the lass on that platform, and I kent exactly what he was daein’,” Tòrr said, voice low and controlled. “She was meant tae be a pawn, tae hand Campbell the advantage he’s been pushin’ fer.”
Michael leaned forward. “So ye bid.”
Tòrr nodded once. “Aye. Before he could tighten the noose. It was the only way to take the piece off his board without startin’ a bloodbath.”
"Ross," Daemon said slowly. "That would give Campbell control of…"
"The western sea routes. Aye." Tòrr set down his glass with deliberate care. "Our trade dominance would be strangled within two years."
"So ye bid fer the lass tae prevent the alliance." Michael nodded slowly. "It's nae the worst strategy."
"It's also nae without risk," Daemon pointed out. "Munro willnae take this insult lyin’ down."
"Nay, he willnae. Which is why we need tae move quickly." Tòrr met both their gazes. "The marriage has tae happen tomorrow. Before he can mount any kind of challenge."
Michael resumed his pacing. "This is madness, Tòrr. Ye've made an enemy of every clan in the Pact and stole another man's daughter."
"I bought her fair and square, followin’ all their rules."
“And now ye want tae force her intae marriage before the ink’s dry on the bid,” Daemon said, his voice low, not accusing—just weighing.
“I want tae protect what’s ours before Campbell can rip it out from under us,” Tòrr shot back.
“By marryin’ a lass who had nay say in it?”
The words struck hard, but not because they were wrong. He dragged a hand through his hair, jaw tight. “Aye. Because there was nay other way. If I hadnae stepped in, she’d be in the hands of someone far worse right now. And Campbell would have the sea routes by spring.”
Cameron exhaled slowly. “Ye’re nae the kind of man who’d ruin a woman, Tòrr. We ken that.”
“I dinnae intend tae,” he said roughly. “I mean tae protect her, as me wife. She’s safer with me than with any of the bastards who bid there.”
Daemon’s gaze softened, but his voice stayed steady. “We just want tae make sure ye’re nae losin’ yerself in all this.”
Tòrr met his brother’s eyes. “I’m nae. I’m fightin’ tae keep what’s ours. And if marryin’ her is the price, I’ll pay it.”
The brothers exchanged a look of understanding, not judgment. They’d known him his whole life. He might be ruthless when he had to be, but never cruel.
"The lass," Michael said finally. "How is she takin’ this?"
Tòrr laughed bitterly. "About as well as ye'd expect. She hates me, fears me, and would probably slit me throat given half a chance."
