Page 118 of Under the Laird’s Promise

The door opened behind him. Keir didn't turn.

"Leave me," he said.

"It's important, me laird."

Keir spun, fury flashing across his face. His captain stood in the doorway, expression carefully neutral.

"What?"

"Confirmation just arrived. The wedding is set fer two days hence. Midday ceremony at MacEwan Castle."

"I already ken."

"There's more. Angus MacEwan is dying. Rapidly. The healers give him weeks at most."

Keir went still. "How certain?"

"Very. Our source is reliable."

Information clicked into place. The rushed wedding. The sudden formality. Angus was securing Maighread's position before his death, binding her to MacBain protection before the Council could interfere.

Clever. Desperate, but clever.

"Anything else?" Keir asked.

"MacBain brought sixty men. They're positioned throughout the castle and grounds. Security is tight."

"Of course it is." Keir turned back to the window. "Thank ye. That will be all."

The captain hesitated. "Me laird, what are yer orders?"

"I said that will be all."

The door closed quietly. Keir stared out at the darkening landscape, his mind racing through options and discarding them just as quickly.

He could challenge the betrothal publicly, but that ship had sailed weeks ago, when Maighread had first claimed Tavish. He could appeal to the MacEwan Council, but they'd already shown themselves willing to accept MacBain as her husband. He could wait and hope the marriage failed, but that was the coward's path.

No. Waiting was over.

Maighread belonged to him. Not by affection, but by right. He was the stronger laird, the better match, the obvious choice for her clan's future. She simply refused to see it.

Someone needed to make her see it.

Keir crossed to his desk and pulled out fresh parchment. His hand was steady as he wrote, the letters sharp and precise.

When he finished, he rang the bell. A servant appeared within moments.

"Summon me captains. All of them. Immediately."

"Aye, me laird."

The servant scurried away. Keir read over his orders once more, checking for flaws, finding none. This would work. It had to work.

Within twenty minutes, four men stood before him in the hall. Battle-hardened warriors who'd served his father and now served him. Men who understood that victory came through force, not negotiation.

"The MacEwan wedding takes place in two days," Keir said without preamble. "That cannae be allowed tae happen."

The men exchanged glances. The oldest, a scarred veteran named Malcolm, spoke carefully. "Forgive me, me laird, but MacBain has brought considerable forces. A direct assault on the castle would be costly."