"I dinnae think I can."
"Please." He waited until she opened her eyes and looked at him. "Let people see that ye're nae ashamed tae be here. That ye're nae hidin’ from what yer faither said. Let them see that ye belong here, with us. With me."
She searched his face for something—reassurance, maybe, or permission. "Ye really want me there?"
"More than anything."
"All right." The words came out barely above a whisper. "I'll come."
"Thank ye."
She left without another word, and Alpin stood alone in his solar, staring at the ashes of Angus Munro's letter in the fireplace.
The man had just shown exactly what kind of father he was—the kind who valued coin and contracts over his own daughter's life. The kind who called his child "property" and demanded her return to a man who'd bought her like cattle.
And he'd shown Alpin that there would be no help, no alliance, no rescue coming from Clan Munro.
Which meant Mhairi truly had no one except for him anymore.
Evening arrived with the smell of roasted meat and fresh bread wafting through the castle.
The great hall had been transformed for the monthly gathering—tables pushed to the walls, candles and torches lit until the space glowed warm and welcoming, musicians tuning their instruments in the corner.
Alpin stood near the high table, dressed in his finest plaid and cleanest shirt. Around him, clan members were already gathering—warriors and farmers, craftsmen and servants, all coming together for the tradition that bound them as one people.
Callum appeared at his elbow, similarly dressed for the occasion. "Quite the turnout taenight."
"Aye. Word must have spread about our guest."
"Everyone's curious about the lass ye brought back from the south." Fergus joined them, accepting a cup of ale from a passing servant. "Half the clan's never seen her yet. They want tae get a proper look."
"Then they'll treat her with respect when they dae." Alpin's voice carried an edge of warning.
"Of course, me laird." Fergus grinned. "Though I doubt ye'll need tae worry. The lasses might be a tad jealous, but the lads are all impressed ye managed tae steal someone from under an English duke's nose."
"I didnae steal her. I freed her."
"Semantics." Callum took a long drink of his ale. "So, what's yer plan with Munro and Ashcombe? I imagine that letter this mornin’ wasnae exactly friendly."
Alpin's jaw tightened. "Me plan is tae nae dae what Munro ordered. I'm nae sendin’ Mhairi back tae Ashcombe, I dinnae care what contracts they claim exist." He went on to explain the contents of the letter.
"But what will ye dae?" Fergus pressed. "If Ashcombe escalates? If he moves from campin’ at the border tae actual action?"
"Then I'll give him what he wants, within reason." Alpin kept his voice low, aware of the crowd growing around them. "If it's money he's after, if payin’ him off would make him leave and forget about Mhairi, then aye, I'll pay. Our coffers can handle the loss."
"And if it's nae about money?" Callum asked quietly. "If he wants the lass herself, claims his legal right tae her?"
"Then he'd better be prepared fer a fight." Alpin's voice went hard as steel. "Because I'll nae hand her over. Nae tae him, nae tae Graham, nae tae anyone. She stays here, under me protection, fer as long as she wants. And if Ashcombe wants tae challenge that..." He let the threat hang unfinished.
Fergus whistled low. "Ye're riskin’ war with an English duke over a lass."
"She's nae just 'one lass,'" Alpin started, his hands clenching at his sides. "She's?—"
The hall went quiet.
Alpin's words died as every head turned toward the entrance. Even the musicians stopped mid-tune, their instruments falling silent.
And there, framed in the doorway, stood Mhairi.
