Page 78 of The Laird’s Sinful Secret

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

The wine cup shattered against the stone wall, red liquid spraying across ancient maps like fresh blood.

“Send her back?” Euan’s voice could have frozen the summer air. He stood at the head of the war table, his scarred hands braced against the oak surface, every line of his body radiating barely controlled fury. “Ye want me tae send Moyra MacKenzie back tae the faither who abandoned her in an English dungeon?”

Around the table, the Covenant brothers exchanged glances. The Fire Fair had ground to a halt hours ago when villagers had entered the castle with the news of a fire. Now they stood in Euan’s war room, maps scattered between them, while displaced villagers filled the castle’s lower halls with their grief.

“I’m saying she’s a liability.” Archibald MacRae’s blunt assessment cut through the tension like a blade. The massive warrior leaned forward, his scarred jaw set. “Every day she stays here is another day Keith has reason tae attack. Another village burned. Another family destroyed.”

“That’s nae her fault⁠—”

“Isnae it?” Archibald’s voice remained level, but his eyes blazed. “Keith’s men burned that granary because she’s here. They killed those people tae make a point about what happens when ye defy him. How many more need tae die before ye admit keeping her is costing lives?”

Euan’s hands clenched hard enough that wood groaned beneath his grip. The truth of it sat like poison in his gut—three more families dead, a village in ashes, all because he’d refused to let Moyra go.

“Archibald has a point,” David MacDonald said quietly. The strategist’s features were drawn with exhaustion. “Keith’s escalating. First scouts, then raids, now open attacks on settlements. He’s building toward something bigger, and Moyra’s presence here is the justification he needs.”

“So we just hand her over?” Calum MacKinnon’s usually jovial voice carried an edge. “Let Keith win because he’s willing tae murder innocents?”

“I’m saying we consider all options.” David’s fingers traced the map before them, marking each burned village, each site of violence. “Including whether keeping her is worth the cost.”

The room fell silent save for the crackle of torches and distant sounds of refugees settling into temporary quarters. Euan stared at the maps, at the scattered markers representing Keith’s attacks, and felt something twist in his chest.

He’d known. Had known from the moment he’d brought Moyra through Dunvegan’s gates that keeping her would invite trouble. But, dear god, when he thought about sending her back⁠—

“Ye got what ye wanted from Arundel,” Archibald pressed. “The documents proving his involvement in Loch Eilein. Proof that he was paid tae incite that battle, tae create chaos that nearly killed all of us.” His scarred hand tapped the sealed parchment case lying beside the maps. “Ye have yer evidence. Yer revenge is within reach. Why complicate it by keeping Keith MacKenzie’s daughter?”

“Because this isnae about Arundel anymore.” The words came out rougher than Euan intended. “It stopped being about revenge the moment I found her in that cell.”

Understanding flickered across his brothers’ faces—some sympathetic, some concerned, Archibald’s expression hardening into disapproval.

“Euan—” Calum started.

“Nay.” Euan straightened, his jaw set. “I’ll nae send her back tae a man who left her tae rot. Who quite possibly arranged her imprisonment, who’s made it clear she means nothing tae him beyond political inconvenience. Ye want me tae sacrifice her fer strategy? I’ll nae dae it.”

“Even if it costs more lives?” Archibald challenged. “Even if Keith burns every village between here and the mainland?”

“Then I’ll find another way.” Euan’s voice carried absolute certainty. “I’ll strengthen defenses. Increase patrols. Call in more support from our allied clans. But I’ll nae solve this problem by throwing a woman tae the wolves just because it’s easier than fighting.”

Silence fell heavy as stone. David’s keen eyes studied him with uncomfortable perception. Calum’s mouth curved in what might have been approval or concern. And Archibald⁠—

“Ye’re letting yer feelings cloud yer judgment,” the massive warrior said quietly. “I ken ye care fer the lass. We all see it. But caring daesnae change the fact that keeping her here is getting people killed.”

“Me feelings—” Euan bit off the denial before it could form. Because Archibald was right, wasn’t he? About the feelings, if not the solution. “Me feelings dinnae matter. What matters is that sending her back solves nothing. Keith will find another excuse tae attack. Another justification fer his land claims. At least this way, she’s safe.”

“Safe while yer people die.” Archibald’s bluntness was legendary, but this cut deeper than usual. “How many more families need tae burn before ye admit ye’re choosing her over them?”

Euan felt his control fracture, rage and guilt warring in his chest. “I’m choosing tae protect everyone. All of them. Her and me clan both.”

“Ye cannae,” David said gently. “Nae while Keith’s using her as leverage. Ye have tae choose, Euan. The woman or the clan. Which matters more?”

Moyra heard the raised voices from three corridors away.

She’d been helping Brighde tend wounds in the great hall, wrapping burns and soothing crying children, when Euan’s roar had echoed through stone walls. The healer had glanced up, concern flickering across her weathered features.

“Go,” Brighde had said quietly. “See what’s happening. I can manage here.”

Now Moyra stood outside the war room door, her heart hammering against her ribs as she caught fragments of the argument within. Archibald’s voice, blunt and unyielding. David’s quieter, but no less cutting, observations. And Euan⁠—