“The Council has been speaking again.”
Duncan’s jaw tightened faintly. He already knew where this was going.
“They are always speaking,” he said. “About what this time?”
Iain crossed his arms. “The same thing they have been speaking about fer months.”
Duncan finally turned. “Dinnae say it.”
“Ye should reconsider.”
“Absolutely nae.” Duncan exhaled sharply through his nose.
Iain did not look surprised by the response. “Me laird?—”
“Nay.”
“Ye havenae even heard the argument.”
“I have heard it many times,” Duncan retorted flatly. “Usually from men who believe the solution tae every political concern is a wedding.”
Iain stepped closer to the writing table. “This isnae just the Council talking.”
Duncan’s gaze sharpened, but he didn’t say anything.
“The strangers in town,” Iain continued. “The rumors of money changing hands. Men asking questions about the castle, about the patrols.”
This was where Duncan’s expression darkened. “Ye think MacKenzie is behind it.”
“I think,” Iain answered cautiously, “that Lachlan MacKenzie has always preferred subtlety when force would be noticed too quickly.”
Duncan walked back toward the writing table. “He would nae dare move openly against us.”
“Nay,” Iain agreed. “Nae openly.”
Silence stretched between them. Then Iain said the thing Duncan had been expecting from the beginning.
“That is why the Council believes an alliance might discourage him.”
Duncan laughed once, but it was a short, sharp sound. “By marrying?”
“Aye,” Iain nodded.
Duncan planted both hands on the writing table, leaning forward slightly.
“We will nae tie this clan tae another so hastily, simply because Lachlan MacKenzie is stirring trouble.”
“It would strengthen our position.”
“We are already strong.”
Iain’s gaze remained steady. “Strong enough tae discourage him, perhaps. But alliances discourage ambition.”
Duncan shook his head. “I will nae marry fer strategy, ye ken that.”
“Many lairds dae.”
“I am nae many lairds, Iain. Enough with this subject.”
