Another nodded grimly. “Men grow ambitious when a laird has nay clear successor.”
Ian turned back toward them slowly.
George continued in a steady tone. “Usurpers look for weakness. A clan that cannot secure its bloodline appears vulnerable.”
“We will have an heir in time,” he said firmly.
Several of the elders exchanged skeptical glances.
“Time may not be a luxury we possess,” another councilman argued. “The clan needs certainty.”
Ian’s patience thinned further. “The clan needs strong borders and disciplined warriors,” he replied. “Not meddling in me marriage.”
A murmur of disagreement rippled across the table. Then one of the younger councilmen leaned forward with an expression that made Ian’s blood run cold.
“Well… there is another way to look at the clause,” the man said carefully.
Ian’s eyes narrowed. “And what way would that be?”
The councilman hesitated briefly before continuing. “If the year passes without an heir, Clan McGuire could legally claim McDonald lands and be more powerful than it has ever been.”
Ian’s fingers slowly curled into fists.
“That land would greatly strengthen our territory,” the man added. “It may be wiser not to rush the matter of an heir.”
The chamber fell very still. Ian moved closer. The movement alone caused several of the elders to stiffen. He walked around the table until he stood directly behind the man who had spoken. His shadow fell long across the wood as he placed both hands on the table’s edge. The councilman swallowed nervously as Ian leaned closer.
“Repeat that,” Ian said quietly.
The man shifted uneasily in his seat. “Me Laird, I only meant…”
“Never,” he said in a low, dangerous growl next to the man's ear.
The councilman flinched violently.
“Never suggest such a thing to me again.”
His gaze burned with fury as he continued.
“I will not delay an heir so this clan can steal the lands of me wife’s family.”
The councilman shrank visibly under the glare. “I meant nay insult…” he stammered quickly.
Ian leaned closer still. “Ye dishonor both clans with that kind of thinking,” he growled.
The man bowed his head rapidly. “Forgive me, me Laird.”
Silence returned to the chamber as the rest of the council watched nervously. Ian straightened slowly.
His anger still burned hot beneath his skin, though he forced himself to speak more evenly.
“This clause may exist,” he said, gesturing toward the parchment. “But it changes nothing.”
Arianna strode down the long stone corridor with determined steps. Her anger had not cooled since overhearing the servants whispering about the council and the contract. When the heavyoak doors of the council chamber came into view, she slowed slightly, gathering her resolve. She raised her hand to knock.
Then voices drifted from within the room.
She recognized Ian’s voice at once, deep and tense, along with the careful tone of the clan’s steward. Arianna hesitated, her hand hovering inches from the door. Just as she meant to announce herself, she heard one of them speak her name.
