Together they descended toward the Great Hall, where the captains of Clan Campbell were already gathering to discuss the war that had just begun.
The Great Hall smelled faintly of smoke and damp wool. Margaret noticed it the moment she stepped through the wide archway behind Domhnall. The scent lingered stubbornly in the air, clinging to the stone walls and heavy timber beamsoverhead, a reminder that only hours earlier the castle had been under attack.
The long central table had been cleared of its usual banners and platters. In their place lay maps, dozens of them. Parchment sheets stretched across the dark wood, their edges weighted with knives, cups, and iron candlesticks to keep them from curling. Lines of ink marked the western Highlands and its rivers, passes, villages, and the winding coastline where the lochs cut deep into the land.
Margaret slowed slightly as she approached. She could see trade routes, supply roads, and coastal watch points. Someone had marked several locations with charcoal circles.
Domhnall moved to the head of the table as the captains rose in quiet acknowledgment of his arrival.
“Me laird.”
Margaret felt their eyes shift toward her. Some were curious, while others were uncertain. It was certainly not common for a woman to sit at such a council.
Domhnall seemed not to notice their hesitation. He pulled out the chair beside his own and glanced briefly at her.
“Sit.”
Margaret did. The wood beneath her hands was cool and smooth from years of use. From this vantage she could see the entire spread of maps clearly, the routes stretching across the western hills and the small coastal villages sketched along the loch.
Men gathered around the table quickly. Cameron stood to Domhnall’s right, his one hand resting on the edge of the map as he leaned forward. Others joined them, older captains with weathered faces as well as younger men with ink-stained fingers from marking patrol routes during the night. The low murmur of voices faded when Domhnall spoke.
“Report.”
Cameron was the first to answer. “The patrols found nay MacGregor riders within three miles of the castle this morning. They retreated fast once the alarm spread.”
Domhnall nodded once. “That means they came prepared tae move quickly.”
“Aye.”
Another captain tapped the edge of the map. “The damage tae the storehouse will slow shipments from the lower road.”
Margaret followed the direction of his finger. The road curved along the loch’s eastern edge before disappearing into the hills.
“Two wagons burned,” the man continued. “Supplies meant fer the western garrisons.”
Cameron shifted one of the iron weights aside and unrolled another parchment.
“This is the coastal route,” he said.
Margaret leaned slightly closer. Small ports dotted the edge of the loch, each marked with careful ink.
“Three shipments from the south have nae arrived,” Cameron went on. “Salt, grain, and iron.”
Domhnall’s gaze sharpened. “When were they expected?”
“Two days ago.”
Another captain spoke. “We assumed that the weather had delayed them.”
Cameron shook his head. “Now I’m nae so certain.”
He tapped the map again, this time farther north.
“This road crosses near MacGregor territory.”
The implication settled heavily over the table. Margaret listened without speaking. The men spoke quickly now, their voices lowbut urgent as they reviewed the movement of goods, patrol routes through the passes, and the vulnerable stretches of coastline where supply boats could be intercepted. Every route seemed to circle the same dark center.
MacGregor land.
