Margaret felt the word settle over her like a weight.
Advantageous. Not just, not merciful, but also useful.
“This cannae stand,” her father said hoarsely. “She has been raised fer… other considerations. This marriage endangers me house.”
“The Crown has considered that,” Kerr replied. “And found the risk acceptable.”
A parchment was slid across the table.
“Sign,” Kerr said.
Her father stared at it as though it were a death warrant. “Ye would bind me daughter tae a man like this?” He gestured sharply at Domhnall. “A coastal warlord? A butcher with ships?”
Domhnall did not flinch. “Choose yer words carefully.”
Margaret spoke before her father could. “Faither, I choose this.”
The words rang louder than she expected. Her father turned on her, disbelief and rage warring in his eyes.
“Ye ken naething of choice,” he scoffed. “Ye are throwing yerself intae ruin.”
“Then it is me own ruin,” she answered softly. “Nae yers.”
Her words stunned him into speechlessness. Margaret felt something inside her still. There would be no undoing this, no clever turn of words and no retreat.
Domhnall had not expected this.
He had expected resistance, certainly. Also anger, negotiation, and the familiar grind of men attempting to claw back what law had already taken from them. He had expected inconvenience, perhaps even threat. But not this particular snare of blood and kin and wounded pride, coiled so tightly around a woman who stood far straighter than the men who sought to command her.
Yet, expectation no longer mattered.
Once the claim had been spoken, once his name had landed in the chamber and set every fault line groaning, there was no retreat to be had. He stood with his hands loosely clasped behind his back, listening as the mess settled around him like smoke after a blast.
“Very well,” Laird Drummond said coldly, addressing Domnhall now, turning away from his daughter. “If the Crown insists on this travesty, then let it choke on it. I willnae pretend approval.”
“Nay one has asked fer it,” Kerr replied, dipping the quill into ink. “Now, the Crown prefers clarity where tempers are involved.”
Drummond let out a sharp breath through his nose. “By all means. Strip it bare.”
Kerr glanced between the two lairds. “Titles are retained. Lady Margaret’s marriage daesnae alter succession within House Drummond.”
“As if I would allow it tae,” Drummond muttered.
Domhnall did not look at him. “Argyll makes nae claim upon Perthshire lands.”
“Good,” Drummond snapped. “Then at least one theft is avoided.”
Sir Laurence continued, unruffled. “Likewise, Clan Campbell’s holdings remain wholly unaffected. Nay redistribution of ports, tolls, or levies.”
Drummond’s mouth tightened. “Ye see? Nay alliance worth the name.”
Domhnall’s voice was even. “Ye mistake balance fer weakness.”
Drummond turned on him. “I mistake this fer a trap, Laird of Argyll. One laid without me knowledge.”
“And yet,” Domhnall replied calmly, “ye walked intae it all the same.”
Kerr cleared his throat pointedly. “Dowry,” he pointed out. “Deferred.”
