“Most men are, Captain. The only choice ye’ve ever had is who kills ye, and how much time ye can buy yerself before they strike.”
He climbed the stairs without looking back.
Niall was waiting in the solar, leaned against the wall with his arms crossed, the same position Douglas had left him in, as though the man had simply stopped moving the moment the door closed.
“Well?”
“He’ll see tae it.” Douglas returned to the window. The sound had darkened toward evening, the water running black where it broke against Mingary’s rocks far below. From that headland, on a clear day, a man could see the shipping lanes that fed the western isles—every vessel that passed between the mainland and the Hebrides moved through waters Douglas could watch, if not yet control. But he would, very soon. “He hasnae got the spine fer much else.”
“And if the Norseman’s guard is heavier than ye expect?”
“It willnae be.” Douglas pressed his hand against the cold stone of the embrasure. “I’ve given Ragnar Ketilsson exactly what he wants—a month of silence, a retreat he can measure and count and explain tae his men. I’m certain he’s already easin’ the watch. already lettin’ his people believe the worst is past.”
He turned from the window and met Niall’s flat gaze. “That will be his downfall. The trade comes in three days. Isolda Ketilsson walks herself ontae me ship, and the Stag and the entire wretched Pact discovers what every man discovers when he lets a woman past his defenses.”
“What’s that, me laird?”
Douglas smiled. It was a thin and all teeth but there was no triumph in it, not yet. It was the expression of a man who had watched every piece on the board drift to exactly where he needed them and now had only to reach out and close his hand.
“That love is the widest gap in any wall ever built.”
He turned back to the sound and waited.
Soon, he would have Isolda in his grasp. And then, he would use her in whatever way necessary to shatter the sham of the Pact.
