For so long, Mhairi had thought that was lost to her forever. That she'd never again experience anything beyond fear and helplessness.
But standing there now, wrapped in borrowed clothes and surrounded by the sounds of a castle settling in for the night, she felt hope.
It was fragile. Tentative. But it was there.
And as Mhairi turned away from the window and moved toward the bed, she let herself believe that maybe, everything would be all right.
CHAPTER SIX
"Ye brought alassback with ye?"
Alpin had barely settled into his chair at the head of the council table before Dougal MacLeish, one of his oldest councilors, spoke up.
The man's bushy grey eyebrows were drawn together in consternation, his weathered face arranged in what Alpin privately thought of as his 'deeply concerned' expression.
"Aye." Alpin kept his tone neutral. "I did."
"And who is she exactly?" This from Malcolm Ross, who sat to Alpin's right. Younger than Dougal by a decade, Malcolm was sharp-minded and practical, qualities Alpin valued. But he was also cautious to a fault.
"Mhairi Munro. Daughter of Laird Angus Munro."
The room went silent.
Then everyone started talking at once.
"Munro?"
"Christ, Alpin?—"
"The Munros have been?—"
"Enough." Alpin didnae raise his voice, but the single word cut through the chaos like a blade. Silence fell immediately. "I'll explain everythin', but I need ye all tae stay calm."
Dougal sat back in his chair, arms crossed. Malcolm's expression had gone carefully blank. The other four councilors—Lachlan, Tavish, Brodie, and Iain—were watching Alpin with varying degrees of concern and curiosity.
"Three days ago," Alpin began, "I received confirmation of the location of the auction house we'd been searchin' fer. The one where our lasses have been disappearin' tae.”
"Ye found it?" Lachlan leaned forward eagerly. He was young for a councilor, barely thirty, but he'd lost a cousin to the disappearances. "Where?"
"An abandoned grain warehouse about two days' ride south. Hidden, well-guarded, and absolutely crawlin' with men who have more coin than conscience." Alpin's jaw tightened at the memory. "I went there meself, in disguise, tae gather evidence."
"Ye wentyerself?" Malcolm's voice rose slightly. "Alpin, that was?—"
"Necessary," Alpin cut him off. "We needed proof of what was happenin'. So, aye, I went. And what I saw..." He paused, forcing himself to keep his voice steady. "What I saw was worse than we feared."
"How bad?" Brodie asked quietly. He was the oldest councilor after Dougal, a man who'd served Alpin's father and grandfather before him.
"Women were bein' sold like cattle tae the highest bidder. Highland lasses, Lowland lasses, some barely old enough tae be away from their maithers. All of them terrified. All of them helpless." Alpin's hands curled into fists on the table. "And the men buyin' them... Christ. Lords, merchants, even a few lairds I recognized."
Tavish cursed under his breath. "Who's runnin' it?"
This was it. The information that would change everything.
"Laird Aodh Graham."
"So, it's confirmed then," Dougal said heavily. "Graham is runnin' the auctions, just as we suspected."
"Aye." Alpin's jaw tightened. "I saw him there meself. Announcin' the lasses, takin' the bids, countin' the coin. It's his operation, nay doubt about it."
