Page 50 of Promised to the Forbidden Laird

Outside, evening gathered over Dun Ard. The sea struck the cliffs beneath the window, and wind pressed softly against the shutters. Lachlan’s solar no longer felt quite so preserved in grief.

Roy turned another map toward her.

“What of the northern watch posts?” he asked. “Three are marked here, but only two appear in the supply accounts.”

Donaldina opened the next ledger.

“The third was abandoned after the western tower cracked. I argued that it should be rebuilt farther inland.”

“Cormac disagreed?”

“Naturally.”

Roy settled closer to study the page. “And what dae ye think now?”

Donaldina looked at him. He was waiting for her answer.

So she gave it.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Cormac reached the watchtower after nightfall.

Rain had passed shortly before, leaving the heather dark and heavy beneath his boots. Water gathered in the broken seams of the old stones and dropped steadily into the hollow chamber below. The sea lay beyond the ridge, invisible beneath the darkness but loud enough to make the ground seem restless.

This tower once protected the southern entrance to Dun Ard. Cormac’s grandfather was its commander before the Gunn lands were absorbed into MacNicol territory, shifting their role from rulers to servants. The upper floor fell years ago, with ivy twisting through the cracks, and half of the eastern wall lies in ruins across the slope.

The MacNicols called it a ruin. Cormac called it evidence.

Two horses waited beside the fallen outer wall. Their riders stood beneath what remained of the tower roof, keeping close to a small fire concealed within an iron basin.

Alasdair MacSorley was the older of the two, a narrow-faced man with silver beginning at his temples. His family once held three glens north of the inlet before MacNicol expansion reduced them to tenant lands and an ornamental place at council feasts.

Beside him stood Tormod MacAulay, younger, broad through the shoulders and less practiced at hiding resentment. The MacAulays had lost their coastal grazing rights to Clan MacIver after a dispute settled by royal decree.

Both men possessed old names and little authority. Such men were useful.

Cormac entered the broken chamber and removed his wet gloves.

“Ye came alone?” Alasdair asked.

Cormac looked toward the two armed men waiting in the shadows beyond the firelight.

“As alone as either of ye.”

Tormod gave a humorless smile. “A man recently driven from Dun Ard ought tae value caution.”

“I wasnae driven from Dun Ard,” Cormac snarled.

“Ye fled through its gates.”

Cormac turned his gaze upon him. The younger chief’s smile faded.

“I withdrew,” Cormac spoke, “because MacIver filled the courtyard with armed men and MacNicol cowards had forgotten which blood they carried.”

He did not mention Roy’s sword beneath his jaw, but he still felt the cold tip in his mind whenever he closed his eyes. Even worse, he remembered Donaldina standing in the doorway, blood on her sleeve, watching Roy decide whether to kill him.

She called MacIver’s name… not his.