"Me laird."
"Aye?"
"I ken ye think I'm bein' overly cautious," the older man said quietly. "But I remember what happened tae yer faither. How his desire tae dae the right thing, tae protect people, eventually broke him. I dinnae want tae see the same thing happen tae ye."
Alpin felt his chest tighten. "I'm nae me faither."
"Nay, ye're nae. Ye're stronger, smarter, more strategic. But ye have his heart, lad. And that heart is what worries me." Dougal's eyes were sad. "Because men with hearts like that—men who feel every loss, every failure—they're the ones who burn brightest and die youngest."
"I'm nae dyin' anytime soon," Alpin said lightly, trying to ease the tension.
"See that ye dinnae." Dougal gripped his shoulder briefly. "The clan needs ye. And from what I can see, that lass needs ye too. Dinnae let either down."
Then he was gone, leaving Alpin alone in the council chamber.
Alpin sank back into his chair, suddenly exhausted. The meeting had gone about as well as he'd expected—which was to say, not great but not terribly either. His councilors would support him, even if some of them thought he was taking unnecessary risks.
But Dougal's words echoed in his mind.
That heart is what worries me.
Was he taking on too much? Risking too much for someone he barely know.
The image of Mhairi on that auction platform flashed through his mind. The terror in her grey eyes. The way she'd fought despite knowing it was hopeless. The broken sound of her voice when she had talked about how Graham had told her the truth about her father.
No.
He wasn’t taking on too much. He was doing exactly what needed to be done.
And if that meant standing against Graham, against Ashcombe, against anyone who thought they could buy and sell human lives, then so be it.
Alpin rose from his chair and moved to the window, looking out over the courtyard. Somewhere in this castle, Mhairi was settling into her chamber. Hopefully resting. Hopefully beginning to feel safe.
He'd make sure it stayed that way.
No matter what it cost him.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Mhairi stared at the door.
It was a perfectly ordinary door—heavy oak, well-fitted, with iron hinges that looked like they'd been there for decades. There was a latch on the inside that would keep it closed against drafts.
But there was no lock.
She'd checked twice, running her fingers along the wood where a keyhole should be, searching for something she'd somehow missed. But there was nothing. Just smooth wood and a simple latch that anyone could open from the outside.
Mhairi wrapped her arms around herself, suddenly cold despite the fire crackling in the hearth.
That was supposed to be her sanctuary. Her safe place. Alpin had promised her that. He'd said she'd have her own room, her own key, that she could leave whenever she wanted.
But how was she supposed to feel safe when anyone could walk in while she slept?
The rational part of her mind—the part that wasn’t still half-paralyzed with terror from the past few days—pointed out that Alpin had also promised no one would hurt her, that she was under his protection. That that castle was different from... before.
But the irrational part, the part that could still feel Ashcombe's hands on her, that could still hear the shouted bids at the auction, that part was screaming at her to run. To barricade the door. To find somewhere—anywhere—that she could truly lock herself away.
She needed that key.
