For a heartbeat, Lachlan MacKenzie said nothing.
Then he smiled. It was a thin, terrible thing, devoid of warmth or humor, and it transformed his face into something far more dangerous than rage ever could. The scar along his cheek pulled taut as his mouth curved, his ice-blue eyes sharpening with sudden, keen satisfaction.
“Grant,” he murmured, rubbing his chin. “Of course it was.”
Fraser frowned. “This… pleases ye?”
“Immensely,” Lachlan replied.
He turned away, pacing slowly across the hall, which made his limp pronounced but unheeded. Each step seemed to steady him and to channel his fury into purpose.
“The Grants have been a thorn in me side fer far too long,” he divulged something everyone already knew. “They cost me men.They cost me land.” His fingers brushed his scar again, almost fondly. “They cost methis.”
Fraser watched him warily. “Duncan Grant is nae a foolish man.”
“Nay,” MacKenzie agreed. “Which makes this all the sweeter.”
He stopped and faced Fraser once more. “He has given me exactly what I needed: a reason, a weakness he believes himself noble tae protect.”
Fraser’s mouth tightened. “Ye mean the girl.”
“I mean the end,” MacKenzie corrected smoothly. For a moment, even he was surprised that the man spoke so detachedly of his own flesh and blood. But that wasn’t his concern. Something else was. “She is merely the path tae it.”
He leaned closer, his voice lowering. “I will finish what I started years ago…properly, this time.”
The promise in his tone left no room for doubt.
Fraser swallowed and nodded quickly. “Ye can count on our help, of course. Clan Fraser will stand with ye.”
MacKenzie first eyed him as if he were speaking a whole different language and he didn’t understand a single thing the man had said. Then he laughed.
It was not a sound of amusement, but of something that was deep, harsh, and utterly devoid of warmth. The echo of it rang through the Great Hall, scraping against stone and nerve alike. Even Fraser flinched, revealing his unease plainly, while his confidence faltered as the laughter went on a moment too long.
When it stopped, MacKenzie turned to him slowly.
“Incompetence,” he said in a voice that was ice cold, “is what cost ye our alliance.”
Fraser stiffened. “I?—”
“Ye failed tae keep what was promised,” MacKenzie continued, his ice-blue eyes fixing Fraser in place. “And ye failed tae hold her when it mattered. Ye should consider yerself fortunate.”
“Fortunate?” Fraser echoed weakly.
“That it was Duncan Grant who took her,” Lachlan clarified. “Had she slipped frommereach entirely, Clan Fraser would already be sharing the Grants’ fate.”
The implication settled heavily between them.
MacKenzie did not wait for a reply. He turned on his heel, which always made his limp evident, yet still, his satisfaction was barely contained. His guards fell into step behind him at once, armored and silent.
As he strode from the hall, MacKenzie’s purpose sharpened to a blade. At last, he had a reason. And this time, he would not stop until Laird Duncan Grant lay broken, with his lands torn from him and every debt between them paid in full.
CHAPTER TEN
“Ye’re straining yer right shoulder too much,” Ian spoke through the blows.
Duncan parried the strike with a sharp clang of steel, twisting his wrist and driving Iain back two steps across the training floor.
“I was luring ye in,” Duncan replied in a steady breath despite the force behind his blow.
