Domhnall folded his hands before him. “I didnae claim her wrongly or quietly.”
A murmur moved around the table.
“The Masquerade is a shield,” Cameron said carefully. “But it is also a spark.”
“It was the King’s hand that struck the flint,” Domhnall replied. “I was named. I was compelled. I made me claim within the law.”
“And the Crown?” a steward asked. “Will it stand when the noise begins?”
Domhnall met his gaze without hesitation. “The union is blessed by royal writ, gentlemen. Sir Laurence Kerr sealed it himself.”
That meant something. Several men exchanged looks.
“So it is lawful,” the captain said. “But lawful daesnae mean wise.”
Domhnall’s voice was calm. “Wisdom rarely survives the Masquerade. Stability daes. We all kenned what the outcome might have been the second I received the invitation. The Masquerade is created fer unions. It was expected I would be forced tae choose a wife sooner or later.”
“And the bride?” another asked. “Is she… prepared?”
Domhnall did not answer at once. His mind remembered Margaret’s composure in the chamber, and her silence beside him as men tried to break her.
“She is capable,” he said finally. “More than ye expect.”
Cameron inclined his head. “She rode hard. The river took her and she lived.”
A few brows lifted at that. Domhnall had no intention of clarifying this.
“The risks remain,” the elder captain pressed. “Ye all ken that MacGregor will see this as provocation. And he will act…again.Ye could have gone with another bride, me laird.”
The last sentence fell heavily into the chamber. Domhnall did not respond at once. He kept his gaze on the map, on the familiarlines of coast and pass and waterway that had cost him blood to hold.
When he finally spoke, his voice was level. “I am counting on him acting.”
A murmur moved around the table. It was uneasy, but showed no surprise.
“He willnae challenge the Crown openly,” Cameron said, “but he will look fer softer ground.”
“Aye,” another captain agreed. “And there is precedent.”
Silence tightened.
One of the men cleared his throat. “The last time MacGregor struck from the shadows, it wasnae banners he sent.”
Domhnall’s jaw set, the muscle jumping once. He did not forbid them from speaking it. He never had.
“He came at night,” the elder captain said carefully. “It wasnae fer the walls, but fer… the household.”
The room held its breath. No one named her. They did not need to.
Domhnall’s hands curled slowly against the table’s edge, then stilled. “That willnae happen again. That is also why we must assume retaliation. Extra patrols along the inner grounds. Rotating watches. Nay gaps.”
“And the lady?” another asked. “She will be the most obvious target.”
Domhnall lifted his gaze then, his stone-grey eyes traversing the distance between every face present. “She willnae be left unguarded.”
“Still,” the elder captain said, choosing his words with care, “the household must see her. They mustkenher. We, too, must see her and ken her. If she is tae be the laird’s wife, she cannae remain unseen.”
Domhnall considered the request. Margaret was exhausted. She had nearly drowned. He should have delayed it. But delay could look like doubt.
