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CHAPTER EIGHT

T orrin sat at the table, looking at the men in his council who had arranged themselves in a semi-circle around him. To Torrin, they resembled a shield, or perhaps a wall—something impenetrable, as unhearing as it was unfeeling.

The main job of the council was to do what was best for the clan, even if it meant they would clash with him. And he expected them to clash now that he had brought Valora there to marry her without consulting them first, without taking into consideration how his actions would affect the clan.

He had let his emotions cloud his reason, and now he would have to answer for it.

"There has been a… development," said Torrin, and from the corner of his eye, he could see the expression of disbelief Noah made in response—nothing more than a twitch of his eyebrows, but something Torrin caught regardless, even if no one else in the room did.

He ignored his friend; this was not the time for him to be anything but firm if he wanted the council to even consider his proposal.

"With Laird Keith?" one the men, Jamison Roy, asked and his voice was filled with so much excitement that Torrin hated the fact he would have to dampen it.

Jamison was a heavyset man, with a bristling beard under which hid a strong, square jaw. He had started to turn gray a long time ago. He was well in his fifties; the fact that he was still such a fearsome warrior had more to do with his stubbornness than his physical age.

War was what kept him young.

"In a way," said Torrin, and Jamison gave him a suspicious look, already realizing that something was wrong. "As ye all ken, I visited an auction tonight in order tae gather more information about Laird Keith. As expected, he was there."

Torrin took a deep breath before he continued.

"The auction was so wealthy men could purchase eligible young heirs from other clans," Torrin continued. "Laird Keith decided tae bid on Miss Valora MacNeacail."

"Keith married tae a MacNeacail heir!" said Jamison, slapping his thighs in exasperation. "That is certainly one way tae cause problems fer us!"

Everyone in the room knew of the importance such an alliance would have.

Both Clan Gunn and Clan Keith were stronger than Clan MacNeacail in every way but one.

The latter controlled the seas and could sway the result of the war between Clan Gunn and Clan Keith depending on which side they supported.

In a way, Torrin supposed, he had done Clan Gunn a favor by bidding on Valora.

"Exactly!" said Torrin, grasping the opportunity to present his purchase of Valora’s hand as a good thing. "However, he failed tae win her hand."

"Good," said Jamison, relief evident in his features—a relief Torrin knew wouldn’t last long. "Who won it?"

"I did."

Silence fell around the room, as heavy and suffocating as the weight of a deep sea. The members of Torrin’s council looked at each other in shock and disbelief, some with their mouths hanging open, others with troubled looks on their faces.

Just as Torrin had expected, it was Jamison who spoke first once again.

"Surely, ye cannae be serious," he said, taking a faltering step forward. "Say ye’re nae serious, me laird."

"When am I nae serious, Jamison?" Torrin asked. "Laird Keith was terribly rude tae Miss MacNeacail. He disgraced her in front o’ the entire room. I had tae dae somethin’."

"An’ that somethin’ was buying her hand?" Jamison asked, throwing his hands up in exasperation. "Me laird, how much did ye pay fer her?"

Torrin pressed his lips into a thin line, reluctant to tell his council just how much gold he had paid for Valora.

It was a lot—more than he would have ever considered spending on anything without his council’s approval, but it was too late now; what was done was done, and Torrin couldn’t take it back.

He wouldn’t, even if he could.

"This is a threat tae the entire clan," Jamison said when Torrin didn’t respond to him. "Ye have brought a volatile threat intae the castle. Laird Keith could take advantage o’ this at any moment."

"But if we dinnae go through with this marriage, it will only make the clan look weak," another member of his council pointed out. "If Laird Keith gets hold o’ her, if he marries her instead, then we’ll lose a great strategic advantage."

Throughout the entire conversation, Ness MacLeod, another senior member of Torrin’s council, had remained silent, listening intently to what everyone else had to say. Now, though, he cleared his throat, making every whisper in the room quiet down as the other men gave him their undivided attention.

"Clan MacNeacail has significant sea power," he said. "With their maritime strength in the west an’ our strongholds in the north, we can rule the northern seas. We can control the trade routes. We can control the entire north."

Another chorus of mumbles echoed in the room, the council members discussing quietly amongst themselves about the best way to move forward from this.

Some agreed with Jamison that Valora’s presence in the castle was too dangerous, inviting unpredictable outcomes.

Others discussed the merit of having an alliance between Clan Gunn and Clan MacNeacail, tempted by the thought that Clan Gunn could have such influence in the northern seas.

"Smaller clans may rally tae us, as well," Ness pointed out. "With Clan MacNeacail on our side, we’d have influence from the Hebrides tae the Moray Firth. Plenty o’ small clans in these parts that would wish tae be part o’ this alliance."

"This daesnae make what our laird did any less dangerous," Jamison insisted. "We should consider ourselves at war with Clan Keith. Real war, nae skirmishes like we are used tae."

"There would be war regardless," Ness said. "Skirmishes always lead tae war, dear friend, an’ it’s better tae have another powerful clan on our side than head towards it alone."

Jamison and Ness stared at each other, like they often did whenever they disagreed.

Good friends as they were, their disagreements were confined to the council, but they could be as savage as any war.

Torrin had watched them quarrel for hours in the past, each producing argument after argument, all of them holding some merit.

Torrin preferred it when they agreed. Then he didn’t have to fear he would make the wrong choice.

"We are at war with Clan Keith," Torrin said. "I declared it when his men attacked me an’ Miss MacNeacail after the ball."

"Ach, tae hell with it!" said Jamison, his words laced with fury. "We may as well prepare the troops, then, since our laird seems tae declare war fer the slightest thing!"

"I wouldnae call bein’ attacked by Keith troops the slightest thing, Jamison," Torrin pointed out. "What was I tae dae? Lie down as a coward?"

"Ye shouldnae have gone tae that ball in the first place," said Jamison. "I told ye it was a bad idea."

"An immediate threat tae the clan against long-term gain," said another member of his council, cutting in. "I think the choice here is obvious. We have the manpower tae stop an attack by Clan Keith if an’ when it happens. We only need tae ensure the weddin’ will take place soon. The sooner ye’re wedded, me laird, the safer we will all be. "

That was precisely what Torrin had feared—that exact suggestion that he had to marry Valora as soon as possible.

If the council had it their way, they would make him marry her within the next day, tradition and decorum be damned.

They needed a swift union; they needed their alliance secured so that Laird Keith would be unable to ruin it.

And they needed the security that came with having MacNeacail men on their side.

But Torrin had made Valora a promise, and he wasn’t going to take it back.

"This cannae happen, gentlemen. Miss MacNeacail will be free tae choose as she pleases," he said, standing from his chair to look them all in the eye. "She willnae be forced intae a marriage she daesnae want. I have already promised her this."

That time, it wasn’t just the council that stared at Torrin in disbelief, but Noah as well, whose eyes had widened comically, his mouth open. The only one who seemed thoughtful instead of shocked was Ness, who stared out of the window, scratching his neat salt-and-pepper beard absentmindedly.

No one spoke, not even Jamison, though he looked as though he was desperate to give Torrin a piece of his mind.

The room was cold with silence, all of his council members surely disagreeing but not voicing their concerns.

Ness only nodded once, firmly, and that seemed to be the end of it.

There was nothing else left to be said; if anyone disagreed, they certainly wouldn’t voice it in that meeting.

"If that would be all, I would like tae retire fer the night," said Torrin as he rounded his desk to get to the door of his study. "An’ so should ye. It’s been a long day, an’ I am sorry I disturbed ye all so late."

With all the attacks that were bound to follow from then on, Torrin and his men needed all the rest they could get before the storm caught up to them. As he walked out of the room, he could hear a few whispers behind him, though he couldn’t figure out what his councilmen were discussing.

He didn’t pay them much mind. There would be more meetings, more chances for them to voice their discontent. If he was certain of one thing, that was that he would spend most of his days in meetings from then on.

He headed back to his chambers through the dimly lit, chilly corridors of the castle.

Though he had left Valora in them, he didn’t expect her to still be there, and so he opened the door without thinking—only to see her step out of the tub, covered only by a thin, long drying cloth that she had draped over herself.