Page 76 of The Laird’s Sinful Secret

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

The war room at Keith MacKenzie’s stronghold reeked of ambition and stale wine.

Maps covered the oak table, pinned beneath daggers and empty cups. Keith traced the Skye coastline with his finger, calculating. His dozen most trusted men stood silent around him, candlelight flickering across their waiting faces and the stone walls beyond.

“How many ships can we secure?” Keith’s voice cut through the quiet, sharp and demanding.

Cillian stepped forward from the shadows, his weathered face impassive as always. Keith’s right hand moved with the economy of a man who’d learned long ago that unnecessary motion was wasted effort. “Ten vessels, me laird. The shipwrights have confirmed they can deliver eight longships and two cargo barges. Enough to carry six hundred warriors, plus supplies fer a sustained assault.”

“And the crews?”

“Loyal. Or paid well enough that loyalty daesnae matter.” Cillian’s pale eyes tracked the maps with professional assessment. “They’ll sail when ye give the word.”

Keith’s mouth curved in satisfaction. Six hundred men. Ten ships. A force large enough to overwhelm Dunvegan’s defenses before the Covenant brothers could fully mobilize their support. Enough to ensure his daughter would be among the casualties when the smoke cleared.

“The shipwrights say they can have the fleet ready within a fortnight,” Cillian continued. “Maybe less if ye’re willing tae pay extra fer night work.”

“Pay it.” Keith moved to the window, staring out at his lands—insufficient, always insufficient compared to what waited across the water. “I want those ships ready tae sail the moment conditions are right. Weather, tides, moon phase—everything needs tae align perfectly.”

Behind him, he heard the rustle of parchment as one of his captains studied the maps. “Me laird, what’s our official justification? The other clans will want tae ken why we’re mounting such a large assault on MacLeod territory.”

“Rescue.” The word tasted like honey on Keith’s tongue. “We’re going tae rescue me beloved daughter from her captors. A faither’s desperate attempt tae save his child from MacLeod cruelty.”

Silence fell, broken only by the crackle of the fire and the distant sound of the castle settling into sleep.

“Will anyone believe that?” The captain’s voice held careful neutrality. “After the letters ye’ve sent? After making it clear she means naething⁠—”

“They’ll believe what serves their interests.” Keith turned from the window, his gaze sweeping across his assembled men. “The other lairds—they’ve all lost children, all felt the pain of separation. They’ll see a faither driven tae desperate measures. And if Euan MacLeod tries tae produce me letters as proof of abandonment?” He shrugged. “Then he’ll look like a monster trying tae justify his crimes by slandering a grieving faither.”

“Clever,” Cillian acknowledged. “But there’s a risk. If the MacLeods have prepared defenses, if they’ve called in support from the Covenant⁠—”

“Then we’ll deal with that when it comes.” Keith moved back to the table, his fingers finding the point on the map where Dunvegan Castle stood. “But I’m counting on timing. We strike before their allies can fully mobilize. MacLeod’s sent word tae them, aye, but gathering forces, coordinating strategy, moving men across the Highlands—that takes time. Time we won’t give them.”

He pulled a dagger from the map’s edge, testing its balance with practiced ease. The blade caught candlelight, throwing patterns across the ancient parchment. “Besides, we have advantages they dinnae ken about. The village raids have already stretched their forces thin. They’ll be focused on protecting settlements rather than the castle itself.”

“About those raids.” Another captain spoke up, this one younger, eager. “The men are ready fer another strike. We could hit the eastern villages, draw even more of their forces away from⁠—”

“Nae yet.” Keith held up a hand. “We’ve made our point. Any more attacks now would make us look like raiders rather than a clan defending its interests. We need tae maintain the appearance of responding tae MacLeod aggression, nae instigating it.”

Cillian’s scarred knuckles tapped the table in what might have been approval. “Smart. Let them wonder when the next strike will come. Keep them off balance.”

“Exactly.” Keith sheathed the dagger at his belt. “Now, let’s discuss the actual assault strategy. When we reach Skye, we’ll need tae move quickly. Hit them before they can fully mobilize.”

He gestured, and his captains pressed in. “Here, here, and here.” His finger jabbed at three points along the coast. “We hit them from multiple sides afore they ken we’ve landed.” He traced arrows toward Dunvegan. “Overwhelming force—they willnae have time tae organize.” His hand stopped at the castle. “Dawn. Their night watch will be half-asleep, reactions sluggish. We’ll be through the gates before they’re awake.”

“Six hundred men is a substantial force,” one captain observed. “But if the Covenant braithers dae arrive in time⁠—”

“Then we adapt.” Keith’s finger traced potential defensive positions on the map. “But even if they come, they’ll be arriving piecemeal. MacKinnon from the north. MacDonald from the east. MacRae from wherever his wandering takes him. We’ll have the advantage of concentrated force against scattered reinforcements.”

“What about the Covenant braithers themselves?” Cillian asked quietly. “If they’re at Dunvegan when we strike⁠—”

“Then we’ll deal with them too.” Keith’s voice hardened. “Euan MacLeod is our main target. He’s the heart of their defense. Cut him down and the rest will falter. They’re dangerous, but they’re also predictable. They’ll try tae protect MacLeod above all else.”

He paused, letting the weight of his next words sink in. “And, when the opportunity presents itself, me daughter will be made tae look like she died in the crossfire.”

The room went very still. Several of the captains shifted uncomfortably, though none dared voice objection. They’d all signed on for this plan, all accepted the gold that bought their loyalty. Sentiment had no place in that war room.

“Yer certain about that, me laird?” Cillian’s voice held no judgment, just professional curiosity. “Once she’s dead, there’s nay going back. Nay using her as leverage later if plans change.”