"Can ye blame her?"
"Nay. But I cannae change it either."
Daemon moved to the window, looking out over the courtyard. "She's Munro's daughter. That means she's been raised on stories of MacDonald treachery and violence. In her mind, ye're probably the devil himself."
"Probably."
"And ye plan tae convince her tae be a willin’ bride how exactly?"
"I dinnae. I plan tae marry her whether she wills it or nae, then hope she comes tae see the advantages in time."
"Assumin’ she daesnae poison yer food first," Daemon observed.
"There is that risk."
Within the hour, the Council was gathered. The elders listened, weighed the risks, and agreed. The wedding would be held at first light, public, witnessed, unchallengeable.
“She may hate me fer it,” Tòrr said quietly as the meeting broke apart.
“She might,” Daemon replied. “But she’ll be safe. And we’ll still have a clan tae protect.”
Tòrr nodded once. The choice was already made.
CHAPTER NINE
The blue chamber was far grander than anything Liliane had expected. Tapestries depicting Highland landscapes covered the stone walls, a massive four-poster bed dominated one corner, and a copper tub sat steaming near the hearth. Agnes had left food on a small table and promised to return with proper clothing.
Liliane stood at the window, staring out at the unfamiliar landscape. Somewhere beyond those walls, Nessa was alone with their father. Safe for now, perhaps, but for how long?
"Miss Liliane?"
She spun at the sound of voices. Three young women swept into the chamber, their faces bright with curiosity. They wore fine gowns in rich colors, their hair elaborately dressed, and moved with the easy confidence of women who'd never known fear in their own home.
"Forgive the intrusion," one of them said, dropping a small curtsy. "I'm Alyson MacDonald. These are me sisters, Sofia and Catherine."
"We heard Tòrr had brought home a bride," Catherine added, her eyes sparkling with mischief. She seemed the youngest, perhaps twenty, with dark hair and her brother's green eyes. "We had tae meet ye."
Sofia, who appeared to be in her early twenties, moved to the wardrobe and began laying out gowns. "Agnes said ye needed proper clothin’. We've brought several gowns and dresses fer ye tae choose from."
"That's... very kind." Liliane's voice came out smaller than she'd intended.
"Nonsense." Alyson settled into a chair by the fire, gesturing for Liliane to sit. "We're tae be sisters soon. Of course we'll help ye."
Sisters.
The word made Liliane's chest tighten with longing for Nessa.
"Come, sit," Sofia urged, her voice gentle. "Ye must be exhausted from yer journey."
Reluctantly, Liliane took the offered seat. Catherine immediately perched on the arm of her chair while Alyson poured tea from the service Agnes had left.
"So," Catherine said eagerly, "how did ye meet our braither? He's been so secretive about everythin’."
Liliane's hands trembled as she accepted the teacup. "Well, we met at..."
"Was it romantic?" Catherine pressed. "Did he sweep ye off yer feet? Tòrr can be terribly serious, but he has his moments."
"Catherine, let the lass breathe," Alyson chided, though her own curiosity was evident in her expression. "Fergive me sister. She reads too many romances."
