Page 23 of The Highlander’s Illicit Bride (Wicked Highland Lairds #1)

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

T he guards closed the doors behind him as Struan strode into the council chambers.

He took his seat at the head of the table with Ewan to his right, while the rest of the council men, nine of them in all, peered back at him.

Some of them seemed relieved to see him, others curious, and a couple looked downright disappointed that he had returned from captivity.

“Thank ye fer comin’ so quickly,” Struan said.

“We’re all very glad ye’ve returned, me laird. Very relieved tae see that ye are safe,” said Owen, who sounded anything but glad or relieved.

Owen had been one of his father’s councilors and out of respect for the man, and tradition, Struan had let him keep his seat at the table.

But the man had long been a thorn in his side, believing his age and experience lent him a wisdom he didn’t think Struan had.

Owen had long coveted Struan’s seat and from time to time made rumblings about a new vision being needed for the clan.

For the most part, Struan ignored him. He gave good advice from now and then—his age and experience did in fact, lend him a certain wisdom—but he too often let his own ambitions and disdain for Struan overshadow the needs of the clan.

Struan never had such an ambition. In everything he did and everything he thought as a laird, and as a person, he always put the needs of his people first, as he had been taught by his father.

Struan gave Owen a polite nod. “I thank ye. I am glad tae be back among ye. Back among our people,” he said. “But I’m afraid I come with dark tidings.”

A low murmur rippled around the long table and Struan cast a glance at Ewan whose face was tight and his expression dark.

He knew his best friend and closest advisor did not necessarily like Struan’s plan, but Ewan was always pragmatic.

He knew their options were limited and would not contradict him in front of the council.

“I’ve learned that Laird Dougal MacPherson is holdin’ Finlay at Cluny House,” he intoned.

His words sent another ripped of murmurs around the table and Struan could see the faces of the older men growing tight. They knew all too well how dangerous MacPherson was, how ruthless. And his unexpected presence in this whole drama sent a wave of fear through the room.

“’Twas bad enough when ‘twas just Laird Mackintosh we had tae suffer,” called one of the men at the table. “But tae have tae suffer Laird MacPherson too?”

“We should negotiate Finlay’s release,” said another. “’Tis the only way through this mess that I can see. We should offer terms.”

Struan thought briefly of telling them of Mackintosh’s offer to exchange Finlay for the southern lands. But he knew half the councilors would jump at it. They would demand he make the deal to avoid conflict.

Struan was not stupid. He knew Mackintosh, with MacPherson, was leading him into a trap. They would not be satisfied with the strip of land in the south. They would not be happy until Clan Cameron ceased to be.

At any cost. First and foremost, that of me life.

This was something the men gathered around the table would not or could not, understand. There was no end with those two men. Not until they had everything they desired. And he knew that agreeing to their exchange was folly, so he did not mention it.

“We cannae negotiate with MacPherson. Nae that he’s now an ally of Laird Mackintosh.

” Struan’s voice boomed around the chamber, instantly silencing all the men at the table.

They turned wary, fearful eyes to him. Owen’s gaze was neither wary nor fearful though, it was curious.

As if a question had just occurred to him.

“Ye say Laird MacPherson is holdin’ Finlay then, eh?” he asked.

“Aye.”

“And how’d ye come by this information?”

Struan ground his teeth knowing exactly the response his answer would provoke. But as his councilors turned to him, he knew he had no choice but to answer them.

“’Twas Isolde Mackintosh who told me,” he said.

As expected, the table erupted with raised voices and shouts of outrage. Struan sat back in his chair and took a sip from his cup of wine, letting them get it all out of their systems. One it had died down, it was Owen who unsurprisingly, spoke up first.

“Isolde Mackintosh. The daughter of Murdoch Mackintosh, eh?” he asked.

“Aye. She is his daughter.”

“Then how dae ye ken ye can trust her bleedin’ word?” Owen shouted, which seemed to be the prevailing question of the whole council. “Mackintoshes are liars. Ye ken this, boy. Ye ken they’re nae tae be trusted.”

Struan’s eyes narrowed. “First, ye’ll address me as Laird. Nae boy,” he said, his voice hard and tight. “Second, Lady Isolde is nae her faither.”

“Are ye certain she’s nae daein’ her faither’s biddin’?” asked another man.

Struan turned to him. “I trust her. She’s nae lied tae me.”

“How dae ye ken?” came another voice.

If they were this upset about the suggestion that Isolde could be trusted, they really weren’t going to like what else he had in mind.

But he would take it one thing at a time.

Rather than dignify their questions with an answer, he instead told them how he came to meet Isolde, telling them it would have taken a tremendous series of coincidences for her to be put in his path simply to feed him bad information or lure them into a trap.

Murdoch would have had to know where he was and which direction he was traveling after his escape, to put his daughter in front of him.

And while Murdoch was clever and crafty, he was not clairvoyant.

“’Tis why I ken that she can bet trusted,” he said.

The councilors all turned and exchanged glances. He saw a few nods and expressions of grudging acceptance of his explanation.

“So, what are ye plannin’ tae dae then?” Owen asked.

“We’re goin’ tae strike Cluny House,” Struan announced. “We’re goin’ tae get Finlay back.”

Worried murmurs and expressions of concern rolled around the table like waves against the shoreline.

Having just fought and lost a battle against Mackintosh, a fight that had seen both he and Finlay captured, Struan could not blame them for not wanting to jump into another conflict.

But he had to persuade them that this was what needed to be done.

“Laird Cameron,” Owen said. “I dinnae think we can afford tae send men tae Cluny House now. Not when Laird Mackintosh will be on our doorstep before we ken it. He’ll come fer his daughter the same as ye want us tae go after yer braither?—”

“He aoesnae ken she’s with me, Owen,” Struan said. “The time tae strike is now. While both Mackintosh and MacPherson are distracted. While they’re both searchin’ fer Isolde. And before they figure out she’s here.”

“How can ye be sure Mackintosh daesnae ken she’s here?” one man asked.

Struan sighed heavily. If he was going to get them on his side, he had to be transparent with them. Which meant he was going to have to tell them about the offer Mackintosh made after all. He ground his teeth and frowned.

“Well?” Owen asked. “How can ye be sure?”

“Because Laird Mackintosh sent a letter askin’ tae trade Finlay for the lands tae the south—the lands we’ve fought with Laird MacPherson fer since… well… forever. If he kent, he wouldnae ask for land, but tae get his daughter back.”

A hush fell over the table as the men exchanged glances. He could see in their faces that some of them thought this was a way out.

“’Tis a trap,” Ewan said, breaking the sudden silence. “’Tis nae a real offer. Mackintosh is tryin’ tae lure Laird Cameron out tae either capture or kill him.”

“And how can ye possibly ken that?” one man shouted.

“Because I’ve been fightin’ these men fer a long time,” Ewan replied. “I ken their tricks because I’ve seen them before. Many times. If Struan was tae show up there, he’d find a host of Mackintosh and MacPherson soldiers waitin’ tae kill him.”

Struan looked around the table and saw that some of men who’d been fighting Mackintosh for longer than even he had were nodding. They knew Ewan spoke the truth.

“What of the Mackintosh lass?” a man asked. “What dae ye plan tae dae with her?”

Struan licked his lips and cut a glance at Ewan. He could tell the man still didn’t like his idea, but Struan was sure of his plan. He cleared his throat and sat taller in his seat.

“I’m goin’ tae marry her,” he announced.

A strained silence settled over the table as every man seated around it stared at him in stunned disbelief. But that lasted only a moment before the dam broke, and shouts of outrage and protest echoed around the chamber.

“Why would ye dae somethin’ so bleedin’ foolish?” somebody called.

“’Tis the only way tae keep her from havin’ tae go back tae her faither,” he said.

“’Tis folly!”

“She risked her life tae escape from him. Then she risked it again tae help me,” Struan argued. “And let’s nae forget, if nae for her, we’d never ken where Finlay is bein’ held.”

“’Tis reckless,” Owen called. “Laird Mackintosh willnae stand fer it. He’ll turn his wrath from his daughter ontae us. Ye’ll bring ruin down upon our clan.”

Men banged on the table, nodding in agreement with Owen’s assessment, making Struan’s stomach churn.

He felt his control slipping away and needed to reassert his grip.

Struan slammed his open palm down on the table hard enough to shake everybody’s cup, even tipping a couple of them over.

But it had the desired effect. The chamber fell silent, and all eyes turned to him.

“Mackintosh plans tae marry Isolde tae MacPherson,” he said, his tone hard. “Allowin’ those two clans tae unite would dae more harm tae our people than marryin’ Isolde meself.”

The chamber remained silent for a long moment. Struan could see the men around the table pondering his words. He could also see not all of them were convinced. Still, some seemed to be leaning his way. It wasn’t the unanimous support he wanted, but it was a start.

“I dinnae ken if we can risk everythin’ fer this lass,” said one of older members of the Council. “I dinnae ken if we should. The risk tae our people is great if ye pursue this. Too great.”

“I think the lass should stay until she tells us everythin’ she kens—about her faither and about MacPherson and then leave,” said another.

“Let us convene again soon tae hear from the lass herself,” Owen said.

The last thing he wanted was to force Isolde to stand up in front of the Council and speak.

To be subjected to their doubts and their blind hatred for her father.

Could they separate Isolde from Murdoch and see through to what she really had to say?

He was not sure they could make the turn so easily.

But Struan also knew that letting Isolde show them who she really was and how she really helped him, might be the only way to get through to them. Surely, these men would be able to hear all of that when she spoke. If anybody could get through to these men, he thought it would be Isolde herself.

“Aye. Let us convene again soon,” he finally relented.

Struan sighed. There was nothing more that could be done tonight now that the Council had made up their mind. They wanted to talk. He clenched his jaw so tight he could have cracked stone. But he had no choice, so he nodded.

The members of the Council stood and shuffled out of the chamber, leaving Struan slumped back in his chair stewing. When the door finally closed with a resounding thud, Ewan turned to him.

“Under the circumstances, I suppose it could have gone worse,” he said. “At least none of them wanted tae jump on Mackintosh’s offer.”

“Thanks tae ye,” Struan grumbled. “What the hell dae they think we can accomplish by sittin’ around talkin’ like Finlay mayhap is counting his days alive?”

“They’re cautious. ‘Tis all. Ye ken that,” he replied. “And ye cannae blame them for that. They’re right, there’s much at risk.”

Struan ran a hand across his face. “Aye. I ken.”

Ewan studied him closely and Struan could see the question bubbling behind his eyes. He didn’t know what was on the man’s mind, but it was obvious that it was serious and was weighing heavily upon him.

“What is it? Ask yer question,” Struan said.

“This girl… yer insistence on marryin’ her?—”

“What about it?”

“Is it really about protectin’ her? Keepin’ her safe?”

“What else would it be about?” Struan asked.

Ewan shrugged. “Ye tell me.”

Struan felt his belly churning as his mouth grew dry. He picked up his cup and took a long swallow of wine to cover his face and give him a moment to gather himself. He tried to find an answer to Ewan’s question but came up empty.

“I dinnae ken what ye’re talkin’ about,” he said and winced, hearing how weak his voice was.

“Struan—”

“What, Ewan?”

“Is this about keepin’ her safe? Or is it because ye feel somethin’ for her?”

Grinding his teeth again, Struan got to his feet. “This is bollocks.”

“Is it?”

He waved Ewan off then turned and stormed out of the council chamber, his heart racing, white hot frustration flowing through his veins. As he made his way back to his chamber, Ewan’s question continued echoing around inside of him.

I need tae calm meself.

Struan stepped into his chamber and closed the door behind him. Pressing his back against it, he blew out a long, deep breath. But the breath didn’t bring relief—only clarity.

It wasn’t the Council that had truly angered him. Yes, their constant talking when action was needed grated on him, but that wasn’t what had set him off. It had been something else entirely.

I want tae marry Isolde.

The realization hit him clean and hard. He ran a hand through his hair and crossed the room, pacing once before stopping short.

I want tae marry her. Nae because I have tae. Nae just tae keep her safe. God help me, I want her here… beside me, nae just under me name or roof, but in me life.