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Calder turned immediately back towards the bench, seizing upon the hesitation. “There. The man condemns himself with every answer. Pride. Poor judgement. Resentment. That is the root of this entire matter.”

“Perhaps,” Gavan said quietly. The courtroom stilled again. “But poor judgement alone does not explain why witnesses are attacked before testimony.”

Calder’s composure flickered. Only briefly. But enough.

Gavan saw it.

So did Sorcha.

The provost leaned slightly forward. “Nor does it explain why hired men carrying merchant-forged steel arrive at midnight, claiming to bear messages from Clan Calder.”

Near the rear benches, Andrew MacLeish visibly paled.

Calder’s gaze sharpened like drawn steel. “You accuse me of attempted murder?”

“I accuse no man without proof,” Gavan replied evenly. “But I observe patterns where they exist.”

For the first time since taking the stand, Calder appeared less offended than cautious. Not fear of William himself, Sorcha realised. Fear of uncertainty.

MacLeish rose abruptly then, composure straining badly at the edges. “This is absurd,” he snapped. “Merchants are not responsible because clans cannot govern themselves without violence.”

The insult landed hard. Several clansmen surged half to their feet.

Gavan’s voice cracked through the chamber before fury could ignite fully. “Enough.”

“How can this court claim impartiality while the provost shelters the accused’s sister beneath his own roof?” MacLeish continued in the sudden silence.

The words struck through the chamber like thrown steel.

The room quieted again when Gavan rose slowly from the provost’s chair. For one suspended moment, Sorcha saw not merely the wounded warrior he had once been, nor only the laird burdened beneath divided loyalties, but the man he had become, steady enough to hold a room together when anger threatened to tear it apart.

Gavan descended the steps from the bench, not towards MacLeish or Calder, but towards her. He stopped beside her openly, publicly, where every eye in the chamber could see.

Sorcha felt every eye shift towards her, waiting to see whether Gavan would distance himself from her now to preserve authority.

He did neither as he stood beside her with deliberate calm. “My judgement does not weaken because a woman stands within this room,” he said quietly. “Nor does justice bend because fear makes men eager for convenient targets.”

His gaze swept the courtroom. “William Sutherland confessed to forgery. That fact stands. But confession does not erase the possibility that others exploited those falsehoods for ambition and profit.” His voice sharpened slightly. “Nor will this court ignore attempted violence simply because it proves inconvenient to influential men.”

No one moved. No one interrupted.

Then Gavan looked towards Sorcha, not shielding her, but acknowledging her openly before the entire court. “Sorcha Sutherland stands here because she has faced accusation with more dignity than many men in this chamber.”

A low murmur moved through the benches. Different now. Not outrage. Respect.

MacLeish paled further. Calder’s expression hardened into silence.

Gavan returned at last to the bench. “This court will continue investigation into the forged correspondence, the trade interests connected to it, and the attack upon William Sutherland last night.” His gaze moved between Calder and MacLeish. “Until then, no man here will mistake influence for innocence.”

He struck the bench once. “Adjourned.”

The chamber erupted instantly into whispers and movement, but something fundamental had shifted beneath the noise.

Not merely suspicion. Lines had been drawn publicly and irrevocably. And Gavan Munro had made his choice about where he would stand.

Once the chamber had emptied, Gavan summoned the bailies and Colin to the bench. “Calder knows we are closing in on him,” he said, lowering his voice. “If there is evidence inside MacLeish’s warehouse, he or Calder will have it moved or destroyed before morning.”

The bailies exchanged a glance before each gave a grim nod.