Tòrr’s jaw clenched hard. He wasn’t furious at them, not truly. He was furious at the noose tightening around him. He’d given Liliane his word. A few days of distance. A sliver of trust. And now these old men were demanding the one thing he’d promised not to take.
"The lass has been through an ordeal,” Tòrr said, forcing his voice to remain level. “Dragged tae an auction, sold tae a stranger, wedded within days. The least I can dae is give her time tae breathe."
"Time?" Gregor turned. "Time is precisely what we dinnae have. Every day that passes without consummation is another day Munro can use against us."
"She's exhausted," Michael finally spoke up, his voice cutting through the tension. "Terrified, if I'm being honest."
Malcolm’s eyebrows rose. “Me laird, with respect, this isnae about kindness. It’s about protectin’ the clan.”
“Protectin’ the clan daesnae require me tae force meself on an unwillin’ woman,” Tòrr said flatly.
“Nay one’s sayin’ force,” Gregor countered. “But the law’s clear. Without proof, Munro can challenge the union.”
“Aye, I ken how the law works,” Tòrr snapped, the steel in his voice silencing them. “I dinnae need a lesson in Highland customs.”
Malcolm shifted uneasily. “A fortnight at most. After that, the other lairds will start whisperin’.”
“They already are,” Gregor added. “Munro’s spreadin’ word that the marriage is a sham. That ye’ve taken his daughter but nae claimed her.”
Tòrr’s jaw flexed. He’d expected Munro to move quickly—but not that fast. Still, he wouldn’t let these old men smell blood in the water.
“He can spread whatever lies he wants,” Tòrr said coolly. “I’ll provide the proof soon enough.”
“Ye mean the sheet,” Gregor said. “Witnessed, properly.”
Tòrr gave a thin smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Aye. The sheet. Ye’ll have it.”
Malcolm studied him carefully. “Ye’re certain, then?”
“I said I’ve got it under control,” Tòrr cut in, his tone leaving no room for argument. “Worry about the clan. I’ll handle me wife.”
A beat of silence followed. No more protests. No more questions. He’d drawn the line.
“Very well, me laird,” Malcolm said at last.
Tòrr turned away, his appetite long gone. Outwardly, he projected calm authority. Inwardly, the clock was already ticking, and the promise he’d made to Liliane sat like a blade against his ribs. The elders exchanged glances and strode from the hall leaving Michael sitting beside him.
"That went well," his brother observed dryly.
"Shut up."
"A fortnight isnae much time."
"I ken."
"The lass already fears ye. Pushin’ her willnae help."
"I said I ken." Tòrr stopped at the base of the tower stairs, running a hand through his hair. "Christ, Michael. What have I done?"
"Ye did what ye thought was necessary."
"Aye. And now I've trapped us both in a marriage neither of us wants, with a deadline I cannae meet without becomin’ the monster she already thinks I am."
"Ye're nae a monster."
"Arenae I? I bought her at auction, dragged her here, married her against her will, and now I'm plannin’ tae seduce her afore she's ready. What would ye call that?"
"Politics," Michael said quietly. "Survival. The price of power."
