Page 66 of The Highlander’s Iron Hold

"We can repair the eastern wall completely," said old MacDougall. "Add watchtowers at the vulnerable points, maybe even build that outer bailey we've been discussing fer years."

Colin nodded, making mental calculations. "What about supplies? Can we sustain a larger force through winter?"

"Aye, with the additional funds, we can stockpile grain and salt meat enough fer a siege," MacLeod confirmed. "We'll never be caught vulnerable again."

"Fraser seems particularly obsessed with yer wife," the oldest among the council added with a knowing look. "Perhaps he thought if he kidnapped her, he could still claim her. Now that the dowry's been delivered, he'll ken the union is permanent."

Permanent. The marriage might be permanent in law, but Morag looked at me now like I was a stranger. Like I was the enemy.

"What of his recent movements?" Colin forced himself to ask. "Any new intelligence?"

"He's been gathering men," Niven reported. "Our scouts estimate nearly a hundred fighters now under his command. More than we thought he could muster."

"Then we need tae move quickly," Colin said, his tactical mind taking over despite his personal turmoil. "Send word tae the MacDublins and the Campbells. Ask if they can spare men fer a joint action."

"The timing couldn't be better," MacDougall agreed. "Fraser's been testing our borders fer weeks, but now we have the means tae push back decisively. Strike first, strike hard."

They were right, of course, Colin thought as he outlined battle plans and assigned responsibilities. That was the real purpose of the marriage, to get the money. The money changes everything.

We can defend our people properly now, end this threat once and fer all. But what good is protecting our lands if I've lost the one person I truly care about?

"What about a siege?" Niven suggested. "We could starve them out rather than lose men in direct assault."

"Too long," Colin replied, shaking his head. "Fraser may have allies come tae his aid if we give them time. We need this finished quickly."

They spent another hour discussing strategy. They had to decide which approaches offered the best advantage, how to coordinate with their allies, what equipment they would need. Colin participated fully, his years of military experience evident in every decision, but part of his mind remained fixed on the image of Morag's face when she'd walked away from him.

"Me laird?" MacLeod's voice broke through his thoughts. " Should we move against Fraser now, while we have the advantage?"

Colin looked around the table at the expectant faces. These men had served his family for decades, had trusted his judgment through lean years and hard decisions. They deserved a leader who could focus on their needs, not one drowning in regret.

"Aye," he said finally, his voice carrying the authority they expected. "We'll deal with Fraser. Send word tae our allies immediately. I want commitments within the week. Hire the mercenaries we discussed, and begin moving supplies tae forward positions."

"And if Fraser strikes first?" asked Niven.

"Then we'll be ready fer him," Colin replied grimly. "Either way, this ends soon."

The council erupted in pleased murmurs and began discussing logistics in earnest. Colin assigned specific tasks to each man—MacLeod would handle negotiations with allies, MacBride would oversee mercenary recruitment, MacDougall would coordinate supply movements. For the first time in months, his council had real hope, real plans backed by real resources.

But as they continued planning, Colin found his thoughts drifting back to Morag. Was she in their chambers now, packing her belongings? Was she weeping, or had her pride already hardened into the cold politeness she'd shown him in the courtyard?

"The eastern approach offers the best tactical advantage," Colin pointed to the map spread between them.

"Aye, but we'd be crossing Fraser territory tae reach it," Duncan Macleod countered. "Too risky."

Colin forced himself to focus. "Okay, then. We'll use the northern route," he decided. "Longer, but safer. We can establish a base camp here"—he pointed to a spot on the map—"and move in coordinated strikes."

The meeting dragged on as they refined their plans, assigned responsibilities, and set timelines. When it finally ended, Colin was the first to leave, desperate for air that didn't smell of satisfaction and gold.

He was halfway across the courtyard, his mind still churning with battle plans and personal regrets, when one of the stable boys came running toward him. "Me laird! Me laird!" the boy called breathlessly.

"What is it, lad?" Colin asked, though his heart was already sinking. Something in the boy's expression spoke of disaster.

"It's Lady Morag, sir. She took Midnight and rode out nearly an hour ago. Wouldnae listen when I told her ye'd given orders about stayin’ within the castle grounds."

Colin's face went white as death, then darkened with fury. In two strides, he crossed to the boy and grabbed him by the shoulders, his fingers digging in hard enough to make the lad wince.

"An hour?" he roared, shaking the boy slightly. "An hour and ye're only telling me now? Where the hell were ye when she was saddling the horse?"