She hesitated. These were soldiers and captains, men who had fought along those roads for years. Margaret had no place among them. And yet, the pattern was clear.
“Me laird…” The words slipped out before she could stop herself.
The room stilled almost immediately. Margaret felt the weight of a dozen eyes shift toward her. She even considered retreating back into silence. But Domhnall turned slightly beside her.
“Aye?” His tone was calm and welcoming.
Margaret drew a quiet breath and stepped closer to the map.
“I was only thinking…” she said carefully, her voice softer than the captains’ had been. “If the MacGregors are watching these roads, then they are expecting cargo tae travel the usual routes.”
A few of the men exchanged skeptical glances.
Margaret continued anyway. “What if we changed the pattern?”
Cameron’s brow lifted faintly. “Explain.”
Margaret pointed gently to the coastline sketched along the parchment.
“Send the real shipments by sea, but nae along the regular ports.” Her finger moved farther south along the map. “Use the smaller coves instead.”
One of the older captains frowned. “That would slow delivery.”
“Perhaps,” Margaret admitted. “But the cargo would arrive.”
Her gaze moved to the road routes crossing MacGregor territory.
“And if the MacGregors are expecting wagons here,” she tapped one of the marked passes, “send them.”
Several captains blinked.
“Send them?” one repeated.
“Empty,” Margaret clarified.
The realization spread slowly across the table.
“Decoys,” Cameron murmured.
Margaret nodded, happy that apart from Domhnall, there was at least one other man who was willing to hear her out.
“Let them believe the cargo still travels these roads. If they attack the wagons, they gain naething. Meanwhile the real shipments move safely along the coast.”
The silence that followed felt heavier than before.
One of the captains cleared his throat. “Me lady,” he said cautiously, “with all due respect, these routes are nae a game of strategy.”
Another added more bluntly. “The Council of War is nae a good place fer speculation.”
Margaret felt heat rise faintly in her cheeks. She had overstepped. Of course.
Her fingers withdrew slightly from the map, as if the paper had somehow burnt her.
“I did nae mean tae—” she started, but she was not allowed to continue.
“That will dae.” Domhnall’s voice cut cleanly through the room.
The captains fell silent immediately. Margaret turned toward him. He had not moved from the head of the table. But his gaze had sharpened.
