Page 96 of Forbidden Kilted Highlander

So it didn’t hurt the way he thought it might. Not really. The pain was sharp, but it dulled under the guilt already festering in his gut. For her, he’d take it a thousand times more. So he straightened, wiped the blood from his mouth, and said nothing.

Kerr was breathing hard, his chest rising and falling like he’d just come off the battlefield.

"Ye’re in love with me daughter?" he spat. "Is that it? Have ye touched her? Aye?"

Tav wiped the blood from his mouth. "Aye, I’m in love with her."

"And ye expect me blessing?"

"Nay," Tav said. "I’m expectin’ ye tae stop wastin’ time hittin’ me and tae start thinkin’ how we get her back."

Caithness stepped between them. "Enough."

Kerr’s chest rose and fell, nostrils flared. Tav looked at him, gaze unwavering.

"Ye can hate me later. Right now, she needs us."

Kerr stared at him a moment longer. Then he turned to Caithness. His face was still flushed, his jaw tight, mouth drawn in a grim line. But he nodded once, sharp and certain. "We need a plan. A good one. And fast."

Caithness moved to the map on the table and unrolled it with a flick of his wrist, the parchment cracking across the worn wood. Tav followed without a word, the tension grinding in his shoulders like stone on stone. His lip still stung from his laird’s punch. He didn’t care. If anything, the pain was a balm—a tether.

"If we go in straight," Caithness said, pointing at Armstrong’s stronghold on the map, "he’ll kill her. Or use her tae stall us. Maybe worse. We cannae charge in blind."

Tav’s mind was moving fast, like a horse spooked in a storm, racing through all the worst-case scenarios. One thought spiraled into another, and beneath it all was fear. He was scared. More scared than he’d ever been. Not for himself, but for her. His hands shook where they gripped the edge of the table, and still he couldn’t stop the plans forming, layering, twisting. She was out there, somewhere, possibly afraid or hurt or worse.

The idea gutted him. And because he loved her—because that love had torn him open—he was willing to do something reckless. "Then we give him what he wants," Tav said slowly. "We give him me."

Kerr looked up sharply, his face hardening. "Ye’re mad."

"Nay," Tav said, leaning over the map. "We make it look real. I’m surrendered. Handed over. Chains. Knees in the dirt. He’ll believe it, if it comes from ye. And it’ll get me close. Close enough tae find her."

Caithness’s eyes narrowed. He didn’t speak at first. Just watched Tav with a measured gaze, like he was weighing something heavier than strategy. "And what if he kills ye on sight?"

Tav met his eyes without hesitation. "Then at least she has a chance. And ye ken Armstrong—he willnae rush it. He’ll draw it out. Make a spectacle. He’ll want tae gloat. That buys time. Time enough tae get men in position."

Kerr’s hands curled into fists. "This isnae a game, Tav."

"Ye think I dinnae ken that?" Tav snapped. "I’m nae playin’ hero. I dinnae care what happens tae me. I care what happens tae her. That’s it. That’s all that matters."

Silence stretched between the three men. Even the fire seemed to quiet, its crackle dimmed by the weight in the room.

Finally, Caithness gave a slow nod. "He’s right. Armstrong will want tae savor it. If Tav’s in chains, he’ll think he’s already won. It’ll lower his guard. That’s when we strike."

Kerr turned away, pacing. The firelight caught the deep lines carved into his face, the shadow clinging to his brow. "We’ll have tae act fast," he muttered. "He’ll have scouts. If we move too slow, he’ll smell a trap before we’re even close."

Caithness nodded and turned back to the shelf, unrolling a second larger map, more detailed. "We’ll move the troops through the hills. Use the ravines tae mask the numbers. Split the forces. We come from two sides—north and east—once Tav’s inside. We hit hard. Nay warning."

Tav’s hand rested on the edge of the table, his fingers digging into the wood. His knuckles were white. His breath came slow and heavy, as if the plan had weight, and he was already shouldering it.

Caithness looked up again, his expression unreadable. "And if we dae this—if it works—what then?"

Tav blinked, confused. "What dae ye mean?"

"I mean," Caithness said carefully, "once Armstrong falls, his seat will be empty. His line ends with ye. If ye truly are his blood, the people may look tae ye."

Tav reeled back half a step like he’d been slapped. "Nay. I dinnae want that. I never have."

Caithness’s tone stayed calm. "That may nae matter. People remember names. They’ll follow blood."