Chapter 13

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

“ W e have received word from our accomplice that Cillian MacDonald’s betrothed has reached Jura.”

Laird Malcolm MacNeil continued to stare out of the window in his study, hardly acknowledging his advisor’s presence. He stared out at the lands that stretched under the hill where his castle stood—a sprawling landscape covered by frost and snow from the last storm that had ravaged the area.

Though he couldn’t see it, he was staring right in the direction of the Isle of Jura. Laird MacDonald was somewhere there, undoubtedly unaware of this report and of the fact that someone out there, so far from where he was, was discussing him and his betrothed.

Thora MacLeod… so, the king’s orders are bein’ fulfilled.

Of course they were, Malcolm thought. No one was foolish enough to go against the king and if the rumors were true, Thora MacLeod was a lovely young woman. With any luck, Laird MacDonald would fall madly in love with her. Though it wasn’t necessary for his plans, it would only make the loss that much more painful for him.

The more Laird MacDonald ached, the more he mourned his lost bride, the easier it would be for Malcolm to get what he wanted—or rather, what was rightfully his.

Finally dragging his gaze away from the window, Malcolm turned to face Angus, the man who had acted as his right hand ever since he had taken over the lairdship all those years ago. Back then, Angus had been indispensable. Now, he was little more than a glorified clerk, but Malcolm could not simply dismiss him.

Besides, even clerks had their use.

Walking over to his desk, Malcolm sat in his chair. He leaned back and watched Angus, who still stood by the door as if he was waiting for permission to come farther inside, a permission Malcolm never gave.

“Is that all he had tae say?” he asked. “We could have found that out ourselves if we so wished.”

“He hasnae given any more information so far, at least naething that is relevant tae this,” said Angus as he finally stepped forward, but only to place a letter on the desk. “This is what he has sent us. He does say he will be in contact again soon.”

Malcolm picked up the letter and perused it for a few moments, only to find out it was as Angus had said. There was nothing relevant in it save for Thora MacLeod’s arrival and even that was hardly worth writing for. Crumpling it in his fist, Malcolm tossed the letter in the fire that burned near his desk, taking a moment to watch the flames as they swallowed the paper.

Finding an informant within Laird MacDonald’s ranks hadn’t been too difficult. Malcolm had known who to target from the start, thus even if everyone seemed loyal to the laird, he had always known there would be a way into the clan. What he had failed to account for was that said informant was not always so helpful.

“I see,” Malcolm said, a hand coming up to scratch at his short beard thoughtfully. “An’ what dae ye think, Angus?”

“About what, me laird?”

“About Lady MacLeod,” said Malcolm, fingers drumming impatiently against the surface of his desk. His other hand reached for the cup of wine that awaited him on a silver tray, taking a sip. “About what we will dae with her.”

“I think…” Angus began in a timid, hesitant voice, “that it would be best if me lady was left out o’ this conflict. I have expressed me concerns afore. I dinnae think we should involve the MacLeod Clan in this at all. Surely, there must be another way tae target Laird MacDonald that willnae force a reaction from the MacLeods.”

It was true enough that Angus had put up resistance against this idea before, but Malcolm and the rest of the council were more than happy with their plan. Ever since he had first heard of Laird MacDonald’s planned betrothal to the MacLeod girl, Malcolm had known precisely what he had to do to get him into a vulnerable position and everyone but Angus had already agreed. There was nothing else to be done, nothing else to be discussed. The plan would continue as intended.

“I dinnae fear Clan MacLeod,” Malcolm said harshly as he slammed his cup down onto the desk, a few drops of the dark red wine spilling over the rim to soak the papers strewn before him. Why should he fear them, after all? His own clan was strong, more so than ever, and the MacLeods were known for their preference of dealing with conflict through diplomacy rather than war.

“Perhaps, but I would still caution against this,” Angus insisted. “We dinnae have the means tae fight against the MacDonalds and the MacLeods at the same time. Surely, ye must understand that.”

Malcolm slammed his hand on the desk, but Angus didn’t even flinch at his outburst. “The plan will proceed as discussed,” he said. “An’ I dinnae wish tae hear anythin’ more on the matter.”

Though it seemed to Malcolm that Angus had much more to say, the man remained silent, his lips pursing into a thin line in that way they always did when he wanted to express his disapproval but held himself back. A part of Malcolm wished he would simply say what was on his mind, even if he didn’t want to hear any of it; at least then, it would mean that Angus had grown the backbone he had lacked all his life.

“In that case, I will take me leave,” Angus said, but as he turned around to exit the room, Malcolm stopped him.

“Write tae our friend,” he said. “Tell him I wish tae meet with him soon. It has been a long time since he last visited us.”

“He claims in his letter that he cannae visit,” Angus said, staring pointedly at the fireplace where Malcolm had tossed the letter after hardly reading it. “It is too suspicious, he says, an’ I believe he is correct. If ye wish tae meet with him, ye should dae so in neutral ground an’ with secrecy.”

Malcolm sighed and rubbed a veiny hand over his thin face, considering it. For a moment, he thought about simply sending Angus in his stead, giving him a chance to be useful for once, but he wanted to meet with the traitor himself. He couldn’t trust anyone else to get everything right.

“Fine,” Malcolm said through gritted teeth, clenching his jaw so hard that he could have sworn he felt his molars creak in his jaw. “Arrange it, then. He must prove tae me that he is willin’ tae take some risk, at least.”

“Very well, me laird,” Angus said. He hovered by the door for a few moments longer to see if Malcolm had anything else to say to him, but when Malcolm remained silent, he simply bowed and left, and the room was plunged into a blessed quiet.

Once again, Malcolm’s gaze was drawn to the window, as it often was those days when he was lost in deep thought. After all those years, he was finally close to getting his revenge, along with what rightfully belonged to him—all the valuable land the MacDonalds had stolen from him right from his hands, strengthening their clan while weakening his.

He had toiled endlessly since. He had worked so hard on this plan, on infiltrating Laird MacDonald’s clan and poisoning one of his closest advisors against him. He had taken risks and had spent endless nights thinking of the perfect plan to get his revenge. When Laird MacDonald had won the legal dispute that had granted him a large part of the MacNeil territories, Malcom had orchestrated a raid against the clan unbeknownst to Cillian, during which Eleanor MacDonald had been killed. Now, he was using the laird’s trauma over his sister’s death as a further opportunity to strike. His plans would finally come to fruition and it would all be worth it in the end, once those lands were back under his control. The MacNeil legacy would not be forgotten. He wouldn’t allow Laird MacDonald to erase him from history.

And once the traitor of Clan MacDonald had played his role, Malcolm would make sure it would be his last. There was no need in the world for weak men like him.