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“Is that understood?”

Murmurs of reluctant agreement swept the hall.

Alisdair turned back to Isla. Her shoulders had eased, her face had softened, and she breathed easier. She gave him a small nod of gratitude.

Only now did the full weight of his decision settle over him too, sudden as thunder in a clear sky.

Isla was to be his wife.

CHAPTER FIVE

PLACE AT THE TABLE

The next morning, Isla stood outside the hall, her stomach in knots. From inside came the rise and fall of male voices in conversation. The smell of fresh bread and roasted meat filled the air.

She was not particularly hungry, but she was not going to hide in her room all day. The first part of her plan was done—Alisdair had agreed to marry her. Now she had to face his clan.

She stepped into the Great Hall, and every conversation died at once. The silence spread through the hall like ripples on a pond, and she stood at its center. She felt every eye on her, judging and dismissing her in the same breath.

She glanced toward the high table and found Alisdair absent. Good. She could not hide behind him forever. Though, for once, she wouldn’t have minded ducking behind his massive back.

But she knew better than to dwell on that. Alisdair had agreed to this marriage to gain an edge in his war against her uncle. She was still a tool in the end, just one that was not being hammered relentlessly.

So she lifted her chin and walked forward, refusing to show them how much their glares affected her. Only then did she realize that she had no idea where to sit. The chair beside the Laird’s stood empty—hers, once she was married, but not yet. Still, she refused to fold herself down to a lower table. She was a lady, and she was betrothed to the Laird. Her place was here.

Then she noticed the one woman already seated at the high table. It was the same woman she had seen standing close to Alisdair yesterday. Her face was kind, bearing a resemblance to the MacLeod brothers that suggested a keen. She looked at Isla with open curiosity, which was already an improvement on resentment.

Isla made her way over and took the empty seat beside her, bracing herself for the rejection.

“Good mornin’, Isla,” the woman greeted. “I am Moira, Alisdair and Ewan’s aunt.”

Isla nearly started. She turned to find the woman looking at her with a small, encouraging smile. The rest of the hall watched the exchange unfold.

“Good mornin’, me Lady.”

“Have some bread, child,” Lady Moira said. “Ye look pale. No one starves in MacLeod Castle.”

She had pitched her voice to carry through the hall. The message was clear: the Lady was welcoming the stranger.

Isla nodded in gratitude and reached for the bread with a slight tremor in her hand. She was not going to give anyone in this castle the satisfaction of watching her crumble.

“What a farce,” Ewan scoffed.

Isla froze. Alisdair’s brother didn’t even pretend to hide his hatred of her. She glanced over to find him leaning back in the chair beside the Laird’s, smirking cruelly.

“A Sinclair breakin’ bread at a MacLeod table,” he added.

Low murmurs of agreement rose in the hall.

“Yer braither invited me,” Isla shot back, refusing to cower.

“Ye invaded the castle!”

She did not lower her gaze, though her heart was racing. “I thought MacLeod Castle was too fortified to be invaded by a lone woman.”

Ewan glared at her. “Ye’re a spy! Ye bring nothin’ but trouble.”

“I barely brought the clothes on me back,” she reminded him.