1
“The terms are clear,” Connor said, his voice coming out just a little deeper than he had intended.
The dim study smelled of beeswax and smoke, thanks to the low fireplace at the very end of where he stood with the people before him.
The marriage contract lay between him and Laird MacAdair, its neat black lines already dry and its empty spaces waiting for names that would matter less than the peace they purchased.
Connor kept one hand near the parchment and the other flat against the table. He did not reach for the quill yet.
Across from him, Laird MacAdair watched with a face made for suspicion. Next to MacAdair, Thalia Hudson sat straight-backed in a dark green gown, her hands folded in her lap so tightly that her knuckles had paled.
Connor noticed.
He noticedeverything.
“The border grazing rights remain unchanged,” he continued. “Trade passage stays open through winter. Any insult between our men comes to me or to ye before swords are drawn.”
MacAdair’s jaw tightened. “And me sister?”
Connor looked at Thalia and watched as she lifted her chin, as if she had been preparing herself for it.
Brave enough,then.
Her mouth was set, but her fingers betrayed her.
“She will beLady Moore,” Connor said, his voice even. “She will have the protection of me name, me walls, and me clan.”
Thalia lowered her eyes. “That is most generous, me Laird.”
“It isnae generosity. It is the agreement.”
Her lashes flickered, and he noticed MacAdair’s fingers curl against the arm of his chair.
Connor did not soften the answer. Softness was a poor thing to build a treaty upon. A man like him could dress marriage inpretty words, but at the root, it remained an exchange. Land, peace, bloodlines, protection.
The woman seated before him understood that well enough. She had dressed carefully for a future she feared and arrived because her brother required it.
That deserved respect, even if it did not require tenderness.
MacAdair pushed the contract forward with two fingers. “Then let us be done.”
Connor reached for the quill, and just as he put his palm on the piece of parchment, the study door opened.
Every man in the room turned.
Connor’s best friend and man-at-arms, Alex, stood at the threshold with one hand still on the door, his broad shoulders filling half the frame. His tousled dark hair fell over his face in impatient, rough curls. He knew better than to interrupt the signing of a treaty. He also looked as if he would rather be standing before a blade than at the door.
“Me Laird.”
Connor did not drop the quill. “This had better be about a fire or the English army.”
Alex’s gaze flicked to MacAdair, then to Thalia, then back to Connor. “It concerns something at the gate.”
Connor sighed. It wasn’t an unknown fact that his brother had the worst timing in the world. Still, it never failed to irritate Connor to no end.
“Can it wait a few minutes?”
Alex shook his head. “I’m afraid nae.”
