A young woman stepped into the torchlight. She was pretty, with soft brown hair and wide blue eyes that darted nervously around the hall.
Craeg searched for some spark of attraction, some flicker of interest. Something that might make this bearable.
Nothing.
She was sweet-looking and comely, certainly. But when their eyes met across the crowded hall, he felt no pull. No curiosity. Just the crushing yoke of obligation settling on his shoulders.
“A pleasure to meet ye, Isla,” he greeted her, even as his heart pounded in his ears.
“Will ye consider my offer?” the Macquarie chieftain asked.
Every gaze in the hall was on him now. Waiting and watching. The newly invested chieftain was about to make his first major decision. About to prove whether he’d lead with his head or his heart. Whether he’d choose duty or selfishness.
Whether he was a good man or his father’s son.
Behind the Macquarie chieftain, Isla stood with her hands clasped before her, head slightly bowed. She looked as trapped as Craeg felt. Another victim of duty and alliance. Meanwhile, her brother’s gaze flicked between Isla and their father, a slight groove between his dark brows.
Did any of them want this? Or were they all just pieces being moved across a board by men who’d made the same sacrifices decades ago and now expected everyone else to follow suit?
“It’s a generous one,” Craeg replied. The hall felt suffocating: too many bodies, too much heat. Too many expectations pressing down on him.His mind raced, searching for a way out that wouldn’t insult the man or damage relations between their clans. He was aware that Loch Maclean watched him shrewdly, and he didn’t want to disappoint his clan-chief. “One that deserves proper consideration. I will need a few days. Perhaps we could discuss the terms in more detail first.”
“Of course … of course.” Hamish waved a hand magnanimously. “No need to rush into anything. But know that the offer stands.” He paused then, his expression sobering. “Scotland has entered rough seas. We must band together.”
Craeg swallowed. Aye, Scotland was at war. Men were needed. Warriors. Not administrators stuck behind castle walls negotiating marriage contracts and overseeing harvests.
Word had just reached Mull that Andrew Murray had managed to ransom himself and return to Scotland. There were rumors that he was working toward forcing Edward Balliol off the Scottish throne. Warriors were rallying to his side. Both Ailean and Greig would join him.
But Craeg wouldn’t this time.
His place was here.
2: SECRETS AND LIES
CRAEG LIFTED A horn of mead to his lips and drank deeply. However, he nearly choked when Ailean appeared at his elbow, clapping him on the shoulder. “Well, that was unexpected.”
Around them, the hall rumbled with conversation. A fine supper of roast boar, fresh oaten bread, and pottage had been served. Servants had hauled heavy wheels of aged cheese to the long trestle tables, too, and now circled, ewers of wine, mead, and ale in hand. Warriors leaned toward each other, voices rising as they debated the wisdom of the proposed match. Craeg caught snatches of their words— “good alliance,” “handsome dowry”, “biddable lass”.
Craeg coughed, eyes smarting. “Was it?” His voice came out harsher than he’d intended.
Ailean had the grace to look abashed. “I suppose not. Ye are chieftain now. They’ll all be lining up to offer ye their daughters.”
Greig joined them, his expression thoughtful. “Hamish Macquarie is a powerful chieftain. An alliance with him would extend Moy’s influence in western Mull.”
“Aye,” Craeg replied flatly. It would also benefit Loch and, ultimately, Greig. His friend wouldn’t be clan-chief for years, yet he was already scheming. He’d deny it, but he was more like his father than he cared to admit.
An awkward silence fell between them. Around the hall, the revelry continued—warriors drinking and laughing. A piper had set himself up in the corner and was blasting out a rousing tune that echoed through the crowded hall. Everyone was happy. It was a day to remember.
And Craeg should be celebrating too.
He’d saved a king. Fought for Scotland. Earned the right to lead the Macleans of Moy. And yet, standing here surrounded by friends, relatives, and clansmen, all he could feel was the weight of the chains settling around his wrists.
Free as young bucks,Ailean had said once, speaking of all three of them. But Craeg was chieftain now. And chieftains were never truly free.
The fire in Craeg’s solar had burned low by the time he finally escaped the hall.
He pushed open the heavy oak door and was immediately greeted by a familiar weight slamming into his legs. Craeg staggered, caught himself, and looked down into the amber eyes of his wolfhound.
“Easy, Faolan,” he murmured, running his hand over the dog’s grey head. His coat was wiry. “I’ve only been gone a wee while.”
