Page 26 of Married to the Scarred Highlander (Unwanted Highland Wives #4)

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C iaran’s jaw tightened. “Step aside, Ersie. This is nay concern of yers.”

She scoffed, unfazed. “When ye make decisions that define this clan, it becomes me concern. The men fought for the wrong cause, aye, but will ye make them pay with their lives?”

Ciaran’s fists clenched, and he pushed past her without answering.

His shadow stretched across the dew-covered ground as he stepped into the courtyard, the weight of his sword a familiar comfort. He could feel the eyes of his people on him. Many had gathered to see what his decision would be.

Months ago, they wouldnae have even seen the morning…

His lips curled with disgust as he counted the vast number of them who had not been defeated. They had raised their swords against their own kin. They had sided with the man who had almost killed his… his…

Realization struck him then.

The men standing in front of him had plotted to tear apart everything he had thought he would never have in this life, everything he had thought he did not deserve to keep. A loving family. A beautiful, caring, supportive wife. A son and heir.

Ciaran’s jaw tightened. The monster inside of him begged to be set loose. His demons tugged on the restraints. He wanted blood. Retribution.

And yet, as his eyes swept over the traitors, they landed on the empty spot just beyond, the spot where he’d kissed her for the first time. His eyes closed, and the memory of her gaze seared the back of his eyelids.

She wouldnae want this.

“Henry Winson, the traitor, is dead. Who speaks for ye, then?” his voice boomed through the crowd, and many flinched away from the sound.

One of the men stepped forward, his face bruised and bloodied, his stance tense but defensive. “Me Laird,” he said, his voice hoarse, cracked from pain. “We fought for Winson, aye, but we didnae fight for treachery.”

“Continue.”

“He ordered us to follow him into the attack. Said there were traitors among us and that ye let them in.”

“How did ye ken who were the traitors and who were nae?”

“It was all of ye.”

“And ye were just convinced?”

“He said the outsider’s son was takin’ over the clan, and that all of the outsider’s relatives were here to see it happen.”

“And what about the men who stood against me out here in this very courtyard?”

The bound men all dipped their heads, almost in unison.

The man speaking for them hesitated. “We were wrong, Me Laird. All of us ken that ye are the laird and that MacAitken is strong. Let us earn back yer trust.”

Ciaran’s grip tightened on the hilt of his sword as murmurs of agreement rippled through the men, expressions of shame and resignation on their faces.

“Killin’ ye would be easy,” he said.

Too easy.

He looked up at the battlements, checking on the rifles aimed down at the crowd. His trusted guard waited, his hands ready, expecting the order to be given at any moment.

“Dinnae be the monster they all think ye are. Change yer destiny.”

The dreamlike message rang in his ear, and he resisted the urge to look for her.

She isnae here—she left.

He took a slow, measured breath.

“Ye have made yer choice,” he said, his voice cold, unyielding. “Now, ye will make another.”

The men stiffened, and the chatter in the crowd died down. Eyes darted to one another, uncertain.

“Ye will serve in me guard.” His tone left no room for argument. “Train under me command. Earn back what ye threw away. Or I will personally see to it that yer blood stains this ground, right here, right now.”

Silence.

Then, one by one, the men stood up and approached him, each swearing fealty to him, a blood oath. The impromptu ceremony was witnessed by every clansman in the crowd.

These men had chosen honor over execution, and it was clear that they would prove their loyalty in time.

It was after midday by the time the last traitor swore allegiance to him. His thoughts drifted constantly to Laura. He imagined her safe at MacNiall Castle, surrounded by the people who should have protected her but had failed when it had mattered most. And yet he had let her walk away.

The thought burned like a fresh wound.

Not a single man was left on the lawn. Each had kneeled before him and then was ushered to the barracks by Ersie. As the last man disappeared around the wall of the keep, Ersie joined him. The people were waiting for him to say something.

“Our sister has returned to Clan MacAitken!”

The crowd erupted in uproarious applause and excitement, and Ersie broke her stoic facade to smile and wave at her people before stepping back behind her brother.

“What happened last night was pure evil, and I ken that well enough. Last night, though, good conquered evil, and as ye all bore witness, the clan is stronger for it. I challenge each of ye who are silently seekin’ vengeance to come find me. It’s best to settle these things over ale.”

Laughter rippled through the crowd, and many eyes darted around and landed on a few furrowed brows. But Ciaran observed each head nodding in agreement, which was all he needed.

“I have decided that in two weeks, we will hold a week-long festival. There will be games, and we will invite our allies. We will persevere as one. And Clan MacAitken will be revered and respected once more!”

The loaded silence cracked with cheers and whistles approving the message.

He turned and sauntered back into the keep, leaving the people to mingle as they wished.

Ersie was hot on his heels. “A week-long festival?”

“Sometimes it behooves a leader to give the people what they want.”

“How did ye ken they want a week-long festival?”

“I didnae. I guessed?—”

“Talk about walkin’ a fine line, Braither. What if that had failed?” Ersie’s arm flailed behind him.

“I would have just killed them and started over,” he said, a grin playing at the corners of his mouth.

His sister stopped dead in her tracks. “Ye’re a liar!” she called out to his back.

“Perhaps, but now we’ll never ken for certain,” he called back over his shoulder as he continued up the stairs.

It was already midday, and he still had important matters to attend to.

The memory of Laura’s voice kissed the wounds on his neck.

Ye spared them?

Aye, love. I spared them .

Are ye comin’ for me, then?

“In time,” he whispered, bounding up the remaining steps and striding toward his study. “There’s still work to be done, lass, and ye asked for time.”

I did, he heard her say before she disappeared back into the recesses of his mind.

Neil leaned forward, bracing his forearms against the wooden table they all sat around. They had been going at this for hours, and the sun had already started to dip below the horizon, painting the evening sky with brilliant reds, oranges, and purples.

“So, ye wish to bring MacAitken back among the most powerful clans?”

Ciaran gave a curt not. “Aye. For too long, we’ve been the wild clan on the borderlands. Prosperous, sure, but wild. Good enough for battle, but nae enough to be considered for diplomacy.”

Adam studied the maps, a muscle ticking in his jaw. “Trade agreements will matter more than alliances by marriage now. Ye need control over key resources, or to provide something nay other clan can offer.”

Neil tapped on a specific point on the map, his expression thoughtful. “MacAitken’s iron mines up north have untapped potential. If ye were to increase production, ye could dominate the Highland trade routes. The only issue is…”

“MacLeod controls the nearest shippin’ lanes,” Adam finished grimly.

“And MacLeod and MacAitken have never been on friendly terms.”

Adam smirked. “That can change—ye just need leverage.”

Ciaran folded his arms, leaning back in his chair. This conversation had been long but far more fruitful than any council meeting he’d had.

“I intend to take control of me own exports. If MacLeod willnae trade with me, then I’ll build me own trade route.” His voice was sharp and unyielding.

Neil grinned. “That starts with yer hold on the clan.”

Adam gave a slow nod, his respect evident. And as if moved by forces outside of himself, he said, “Ye have me support. And Doughall’s.”

“Aye, and mine,” Neil added.

Ciaran rolled back his shoulders. “And mine, for ye all.”

“Good,” Adam said, his confidence in the agreement set in stone.

“So, let’s talk strategy. We need to understand why ye closed the mines,” Neil said.

All of the men leaned in to hear Ciaran’s response.

Apparently, this has been the talk of the Highlands for years.

He exhaled sharply, running a hand over his jaw. “After the uprising and me faither’s death, we didnae have the men to power it. The mines bled us dry, and at that time, we had nay way to refine the iron ourselves—nae properly anyway. We were over-minin’, with little to show for it but bodies and wasted ore. I couldnae justify the cost.”

“If ye had the craftsmen and miners, ye could run it again.” Neil frowned, studying the map.

“Aye,” Ciaran agreed. “Most of the miners have passed. I’ll need trained men. Startin’ from scratch.”

“That’ll take months—” Adam began.

“Years,” Neil interrupted and then stroked his beard. “I ken a few smithies who’d relocate. That’d give a foundation.”

“How many?”

“Five, maybe six. They’ll cost ye, though.”

Ciaran grinned for the first time that night. He enjoyed this part of being a laird, and he felt the weight of Laura’s gaze on him at that moment, as if he was doing exactly what she would approve of.

“Let them name their price,” he said, his voice warm and steady.

I hope this makes ye proud of me, lass.

Adam leaned forward, tapping his finger on the map of the trade routes. “MacLeod or Cameron. If ye wish for yer iron to be worth anything, ye need access to those routes.”

Ciaran’s jaw tensed as his eyes landed on the script that read MacNiall , just beyond the MacLeod lands. On the map, she looked so close. If they rode all day, they would be arriving soon. Though, with two women and a bairn in a carriage, they would probably stop in Caerbraoch tonight.

I could reach them before daylight if I left now…

His eyes flashed back to the window, the colors fading into deep indigo now, and he sighed.

Nae yet.

“If I make a deal with Cameron first, I can make MacLeod sweat. Force his hand,” he said finally, rejoining the conversation.

“I like the way ye think, man,” Neil said, leaning back in his chair.

“I’ll find out what Cameron wants. I’ll make the move after the festival.”

“Aye, the festival.” Adam said.

“Ye will come, right?”

The two men nodded.

“And we’ll bring our best warriors to defeat yers in the games!” Adam added.

The table erupted in laughter and harmless insults as the men collectively stood up and walked down to the dining hall. Ersie and Ceana joined them, and after too long, Neil stood up.

“We best be gettin’ on, Ciaran. Dinnae fash, we’ll be back for the festival.”

The table fell into hums of agreement and huffs of amusement.

“Aye, good—are ye sure? Ye can stay another night and leave in the morning.”

“Are ye sure?”

“Of course, man. Ye are always welcome here,” Ciaran heard himself say for the first time in his life, and he wished badly that his wife was there to hear it as well.

He had a dreamless sleep that night, his mind exhausted from the events of the day. A soft knock on the servants’ door in his bedchambers told him that Neil and Ceana were almost ready to leave.

“Dùbhshìth is saddled and ready for ye, Me Laird,” the lad told him before sprinting out of the room.

Ciaran dressed quickly and met them in the courtyard moments later. He rode with them, seeing them off at the southern borders of his lands. Before turning away from him, Neil clapped him on the shoulder.

“Take care, man. We’ll return in a fortnight,” he said. Ceana offered a small smile.

Ciaran grunted. “Aye, a fortnight.”

He watched them disappear into the early morning fog that hugged the trees around them.

Dùbhshìth whinnied, and Ciaran tugged lightly on the reins, directing them back toward the keep.

Thoughts of Laura flooded his mind.

Her eyes, not judging—a warm, welcoming blue. The corners tightening, but not in frustration this time. He was on the right track. He couldn’t bring her home and be the same man he had been when she left. He knew he had work to do, and the work was almost done.