Page 28 of Tempted by a Highland Beast (Tales of Love and Lust in the Murray Castle #9)
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
The MacKenzie library had always been Alpin’s sanctuary since his brother-in-law had passed away. A place where he could weave his schemes behind walls lined with leather-bound tomes that bore witness to generations of clan history.
Tonight, however, the familiar comfort of the room felt stifling as he paced before the massive stone hearth, his polished boots clicking against the worn flagstones with methodical precision.
The fire crackled, casting dancing shadows across his sharp features as he turned the troubling reports over in his mind. Three separate pieces of intelligence had reached him within the span of four days, each more damning than the last.
He paused before the carved mantelpiece, his cold blue eyes reflecting the flames as he calculated the implications.
The first report had come from his most trusted scout, who moved through the Highland villages like smoke. Alpin had positioned him strategically near the outer settlements, knowing that information flowed through these small communities like water through cupped hands.
What he had discovered sent ice through Alpin’s veins. MacLean warriors had been asking questions about Rowena. Not casual inquiries from traveling clansmen, but pointed, purposeful questions about her and the MacKenzie clan.
Alpin’s jaw tightened as he recalled his man’s exact words.
The MacLean men had been thorough, systematic even, speaking to merchants, farmers, and anyone who might have seen a lone woman fleeing through their lands.
Alpin was sure they knew something specific, something that suggested Rowena had not simply vanished into the wilderness, hopefully getting killed by brigands or bears, as Alpin had hoped.
The second report had been far worse. His fingers drummed against the stone mantel as he remembered the messenger’s pale face, the way the young man had stammered through his account.
The two experienced warriors Alpin had dispatched to chase Rowena, men he had chosen for their skill and discretion, had been found dead near a loch several miles into MacLean territory.
Dead. Left to die with surgical precision that spoke of a warrior far more dangerous than any common brigand. The wounds, according to the messenger, had been clean and efficient.
The third and most damning piece of intelligence had come through whispered rumors that traveled the Highland gossip networks faster than any official messenger could ride.
Multiple sources now claimed that Rowena had been seen riding with a dark-haired man.
The sightings were consistent enough to be credible, detailed enough to be damning.
Could he be…
Alpin’s mouth curved into something that might have been mistaken for a smile by someone who didn’t know him well. But there was no warmth in the expression, only the cold satisfaction of a puzzle piece falling into place.
He knew of only one man in MacLean territory capable of such precise lethality and who had recently returned to his keep.
Constantine MacLean, Niall’s bastard son.
“Murdoch,” Alpin called one of his trusted men, his voice carrying the authority of a man accustomed to immediate obedience.
The scout emerged from the shadows near the library’s entrance, his weathered face impassive. “Aye, Laird Alpin?”
“Are ye sure this MacLean warrior took Rowena tae Duart?”
“Aye, me laird. The path that ‘tis rumored they took leads nowhere else.”
Alpin nodded slowly, dismissing the scout with a subtle gesture.
Alone again, he allowed his carefully controlled facade to crack just enough to reveal the calculating fury beneath.
If Rowena was indeed at Duart Castle, everything had changed. She was no longer a fleeing girl he could hunt down at his leisure. She was now under the protection of one of the most dangerous men in the Highlands, within the walls of one of Scotland’s most formidable strongholds.
The implications were staggering. Constantine MacLean was not some chivalrous knight who would shelter a maiden out of noble sentiment.
The man was a former mercenary, renowned for his tactical brilliance and utter ruthlessness. If he had taken Rowena in, there was a reason—a calculated, strategic reason that likely involved her value as the MacKenzie heir.
Alpin’s mind raced through the possibilities. Perhaps Constantine saw an opportunity to forge an alliance between the MacLean and MacKenzie clans through marriage.
Perhaps Niall MacLean, that cunning old wolf, had orchestrated the entire encounter to secure his bastard son’s legitimacy through noble blood.
Or perhaps, and this thought made Alpin’s blood run cold, Rowena had revealed the truth about his intentions, painting herself as a victim and himself as a villain.
He moved to the large oak desk that dominated one corner of the library, its surface covered with maps, correspondence, and the various instruments of clan leadership he had claimed for himself.
His fingers traced the borders of MacLean territory on the detailed map spread before him, calculating distances, considering approaches, and weighing risks.
A direct assault on Duart Castle was impossible. The fortress had never fallen to siege, and Alpin lacked both the men and the resources for such an undertaking.
More importantly, any overt attack would require him to explain to his own warriors why he was willing to wage war against a neighboring clan.
The MacKenzie men who followed him believed Rowena was not fit to lead.
They would not understand why their laird would risk their lives to assault an impregnable castle for a deadweight.
But Alpin had not secured his position through brute force alone. He had climbed to power with the hope to secure his place through a marriage with Rowena. Hunting her down alone was one thing, but fighting off possible matches she was out to find?
Alpin had no choice but to draw his occupants out.
He opened the leather-bound ledger where he kept his most sensitive correspondence and began composing a carefully worded message.
As he wrote, Alpin allowed himself to imagine the moment when his plan would come to fruition.
Constantine MacLean would discover too late that sheltering Rowena MacKenzie came with a price higher than even his legendary skills could pay.
The bastard warrior might be formidable within the walls of his castle, but every man had weaknesses, every fortress had blind spots, and every protector eventually had to venture beyond his stronghold’s safety.
The door to the library opened with a soft creak, admitting Malcolm MacKenzie, one of Alpin’s most trusted lieutenants. The older warrior’s scarred face was grim as he approached the desk, his heavy footsteps muffled by the thick carpet.
“Me laird,” Malcolm said, his voice low and respectful. “The scouts have returned from the northern borders. There’s been movement in MacLean territory—riders moving in formation, like they’re preparin’ fer somethin’.”
Alpin set down his quill and looked up, his expression betraying nothing of the satisfaction he felt. “How many riders?"
“Hard tae say fer certain, but more than a hunting party. Could be they’re strengthenin’ their patrols.”
“Or they’re preparin’ fer visitors they dinnae want,” Alpin mused, his tone conversational despite the deadly implications. “Tell me, Malcolm, what dae ye ken about the hiring of Highland raiders?”
The lieutenant’s eyes sharpened, recognizing the dangerous territory their conversation was entering. “I ken they’re men without honor or clan ties, me laird. Men who’ll dae any task fer the right price.”
“And if such men were tae encounter travelers on isolated roads? Perhaps a small party leaving Duart Castle fer business elsewhere?”
“Such encounters rarely end well fer the travelers, me laird. Especially if they’re carryin’ somethin’ valuable.”
“Indeed.” Alpin returned his attention to the correspondence before him, his pen moving with renewed purpose. “See that our northern scouts maintain their watch. And Malcolm?”
“Aye, me laird?”
“Begin making inquiries about reliable men who might be available fer temporary employment. Men with particular skills in the encounters we discussed.”
Malcolm nodded and withdrew, leaving Alpin alone with his schemes and the flickering shadows cast by the dying fire. The game had changed, but he had not achieved his current position by accepting defeat when circumstances shifted.
Rowena might believe herself safe within the walls of Duart Castle, but safety was an illusion that could be shattered by the right application of force and cunning.
Soon enough, she would learn that there was no distance great enough, no protector strong enough, and no fortress secure enough to keep her from the destiny he had chosen for her.
Some might call it ruthless, but Alpin preferred to think of it as pragmatic. After all, the survival of the MacKenzie clan was at stake, and what was one bastard warrior’s life compared to the preservation of a bloodline that stretched back centuries?