Page 96 of The Laird’s Sinful Obsession

"The coins were unmarked, me laird. And the note said nothing tae point tae ye."

"It daesnae matter." Torquil turned from the window, his expression hard. "MacNeil's nay a fool. He kens who wants the girl. Who has the resources tae bribe his guards and coordinate an extraction." His hands curled into fists. "The only question is what he'll dae with that knowledge."

The messenger shifted uncomfortably. "Should we prepare fer retaliation, me lord?"

"Oh, we're well past preparation." Torquil moved back to his desk, pulling out a fresh sheet of parchment. "We're movin' tae the next phase."

"Me laird?"

"Leave me and send fer Captain Ross. I'll need him within the hour."

The messenger bowed and fled, clearly grateful to escape Torquil's presence.

Alone, Torquil sat back down and stared at the blank parchment before him. His mind raced through possibilities, strategies, contingencies. The kidnapping had been meant to be quiet—grab the girl, spirit her away, present MacNeil with a fait accompli before he could respond.

But it had failed.

Which meant subtlety was no longer an option.

Torquil dipped his quill in ink and began to write, the scratch of pen on parchment the only sound in the quiet hall.

Tae His Majesty, James V, King of Scotland,

I write tae ye concerning a matter of grave injustice that demands yer immediate attention. Lady Alba MacKinnon, daughter of the late Laird MacKinnon, was formally betrothed tae me by private agreement between meself and her braither, Calum MacKinnon, prior tae his departure fer England.

Torquil paused, reading back what he'd written. A complete lie, of course. But delivered with enough conviction, backed by the right evidence—or the appearance of evidence—it might be enough to force the king's hand.

He continued writing.

This betrothal was made in good faith, with the understanding that Lady Alba would be delivered tae me protection following the completion of certain political arrangements. However, Lachlann MacNeil, Laird of Clan MacNeil, has unlawfully seized Lady Alba and holds her against her will on the Isle of Barra.

I have attempted tae resolve this matter peacefully, sending envoys tae negotiate her return. MacNeil has refused all reasonable requests and has gone so far as tae imprison me men when they attempted tae rescue Lady Alba from her captivity.

I therefore petition Yoer Majesty tae intervene in this matter. Lady Alba is being held in violation of her lawful betrothal contract. MacNeil's actions constitute not only a personal insult tae me honor but a threat tae the stability of clan relations throughout the Western Isles.

Torquil sat back, studying his words. Good. Formal enough to be taken seriously. Outraged enough to seem genuine. And vague enough on specifics that it would be difficult to immediately disprove.

He added a final paragraph:

If Yer Majesty daes nae act tae restore order and see Lady Alba returned tae her rightful betrothed, I fear I will have nay choice but tae take whatever measures necessary tae reclaim what is mine by right. I pray it daesnae come tae that, but I will nae stand idle while MacNeil flouts both law and honor.

Yer loyal subject,

Torquil MacLean, Laird of Clan MacLean

Perfect.

The king would receive this letter within a week and would be forced to at least acknowledge the complaint. And even if he didn't immediately side with Torquil—he probably wouldn't, not without more evidence—it would put MacNeil on notice.

Would make him defensive.

Would force him to explain why he was harboring another laird's betrothed.

Torquil sealed the letter with his signet ring and set it aside for the messenger who would depart at first light.

A knock at the door interrupted his thoughts.

"Enter."