Page 14 of The Highlander’s Savage Vow

CHAPTER SIX

"—and I say we should hand the lass back tae MacNab and be done with it!"

Ruaridh gripped the arms of his chair until his knuckles turned white. The council chamber reeked of sweat and stale ale after six hours of this pointless arguing about border security, land raids, and farm lands.

Now, the topic had turned to Iona and Ruaridh was doing all her could not to slam Hamish's face on the old wooden table. Around the long oak table, twelve weathered faces glared at each other like cocks in a fighting pit.

"That's enough, Hamish," Alistair said from the head of the table, but his voice lacked its usual authority. The man who once commanded armies now looked every one of his sixty years.

"Is it?" Hamish MacBride slammed his fist down. "We've got MacNab warriors prowling our borders, threatening our people, and fer what? We lost six good men just getting her here safely!"

Ruaridh's jaw had been clenched for so long, it felt like his teeth would bite right through his cheeks. The entire situation exhausted him—hours of the same arguments, the same fears, the same bitter complaints. He'd held his tongue, letting them exhaust themselves, but his patience had long worn thin.

"We all agreed tae this marriage," Duncan MacGregor muttered. "Cannae change that now."

"Aye, but we hoped it wouldnae come tae open war!" Fergus leaned forward, his rheumy eyes blazing. "We thought MacNab would accept the loss and move on. Instead, her marriage has brought him right tae our doorstep!"

"And wasnae it ye, Hamish, who insisted me son needed a wife before taking full leadership?" Alistair's voice carried a note of weariness. "Said the clan needed stability, needed tae see their future laird settled before me retirement?"

"I meant it would secure the clan's future!" Hamish shot back. "Nae bring us tae the brink of war with some scandal-ridden MacNeill lass!"

"Enough." Ruaridh's voice cut through the chamber like a blade.

Every head turned toward him. He rose slowly, his green eyes hard as winter stone.

"Lady MacDuff," he said, his voice deadly quiet, "is soon tae be the lady of this clan. She is me wife, chosen with the full agreement of this Council tae save an innocent woman from a dangerous and unfortunate situation. Any man who speaks of her with disrespect answers tae me."

The silence stretched taut as a bowstring.

"But Ruaridh—" Fergus began.

"Any man," Ruaridh repeated, his hand moving to rest on his sword hilt. "Am I understood?"

Nods came reluctantly around the table. Hamish's face had gone red as his beard, but he held his tongue.

Duncan MacGregor shifted uncomfortably. "The lad has a point. We gave our word to the MacNeills. A MacDuff's word means something."

"Aye, it daes," Alistair said, his voice carrying the weight of final authority. "And that settles the matter." He looked around the table, meeting each man's eyes in turn. "We stand by our decision. We protect the lass. This Council is adjourned."

The council chamber emptied slowly, the men filing out with muttered conversations and dark looks cast in Ruaridh's direction. He remained standing by his chair, hands still clenched into fists, watching them go.

"That could have gone better," Alistair said quietly once the last councilor had departed.

Ruaridh turned toward his father, his jaw still tight with suppressed anger. "They needed tae hear it."

"Aye, perhaps they did." Alistair rose from his chair with the careful movements of a man feeling his years. "But ye'll catch more flies with honey than vinegar, son. Outbursts and harshness arenae the way tae lead a Council."

"And letting them speak of me wife like a tavern wench is?" Ruaridh's voice carried that dangerous edge again. "I'll nae accept any disrespect of Iona, Faither. If that makes me harsh, then so be it. The Council must learn their place."

Alistair moved to the window, gazing out at the courtyard below. "Ye sound like yer grandfaither sometimes. All fire and pride."

"Maybe that's what this clan needs." Ruaridh joined him at the window. "Fer too long these men have thought they have the right tae dae what they will against the wishes of the laird. They overruled ye when Sorcha wanted to choose her own husband, tried tae force her into a marriage that would have destroyed her happiness. And behind yer back, they were orchestrating raids against the Comyns—stirring up a war ye kenned naething about."

The reference to Sorcha's struggles and the Council's betrayal hung heavy between them. Alistair's face tightened at the memory.

"Aye, ye are right son. If Sorcha hadnae found the courage tae marry Willelm Comyn and expose the truth..." Alistair's voice was heavy with old pain. "We'd have been fighting a war based on lies and manipulation. A war that would have cost us everything, all because certain council members thought they kent better than their laird."

"They nearly destroyed our family with their meddling," Ruaridh continued, his voice hard. "Secret raids, false intelligence, pushing Sorcha toward a man who would have made her miserable—all while pretending loyalty tae yer face. And now they want tae question me marriage? Nay. I'll nae have it."