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He held out a thick, folded piece of heavy parchment.

“A rider just arrived at the outer gates,” Duncan reported, his gruff voice heavily laced with disgust. “He carried a flag of parley. I stripped him of his weapons and held him at the gatehouse as ye ordered.”

Caelan stared at the parchment in Duncan’s hand. He did not immediately take it. “Who sent him?”

“He rides for Clan Comyn,” Duncan answered bluntly.

Caelan’s entire body went still. The temperature in the solar seemed to drop by ten degrees.

He reached out slowly, taking the heavy parchment from his captain’s hand. He flipped it over.

Pressed firmly into the center of the dark wax was the unmistakable crest of Clan Comyn.

“Fergus Comyn,” Caelan growled, the name tasting like poison on his tongue.

“Aye,” Duncan confirmed, crossing his thick arms over his chest. “The rider said the message is urgent and intended only for the Laird of Clan MacCarron.”

Caelan did not bother using a knife. He shoved his thumb brutally under the wax seal, snapping it in half. He unfolded the heavy parchment, his gray eyes scanning the elegant, perfectly polished handwriting of the most manipulative, ambitious laird in the Highlands.

As Caelan read the words, an incredibly dark, lethal stillness settled over him.

To Caelan MacCarron, Laird of Clan MacCarron,

Word of William Crawford.’s tragic fall has reached my hall. I mourn the loss of a fellow laird, and I commend your honorable action in offering sanctuary to his grieving daughter.

However, the Highlands are unstable, and Clan MacAllister requires immediate leadership to ensure the survival of its people. As a laird possessing the wealth and the standing army necessary to secure the western valley, I write to formally request your permission to court Miss Mabel MacAllister with the explicit intention of marriage.

I trust you will see the political necessity of this alliance and that you will not let personal pride stand in the way of the lady’s secure future.

Fergus Comyn, Laird of Clan Comyn.

Caelan stopped breathing.

The parchment crinkled loudly as Caelan’s hand violently crushed it into a tight fist.

It was not just anger that hit him. It was a raw, blinding, feral possessiveness that bypassed every single logical, strategic wall he had built in his mind. The thought of Fergus Comyn—a manipulative, opportunistic coward who built his power on the blood of others—touching Mabel. The thought of Comyn smiling at her, claiming her, putting his hands on her golden hair.

A low, guttural snarl tore its way out of Caelan’s throat.

It was a terrifying, animalistic sound.

Duncan did not back away. He folded his arms and waited, the way he always did when Caelan’s temper started to smoke.

“He wants to court her,” Caelan said. His voice was incredibly quiet, but it vibrated with a sheer lethality that shook the very stones of the floor.

“Fergus Comyn wants to marry Miss Mabel?” Duncan asked, his eyes widening slightly. “Caelan, that is a direct political challenge. He kens ye rejected MacNab. He is forcing yer hand. If ye refuse Comyn without a legitimate reason, he will use it to convince the other clans that ye are holding her hostage for yer own gain.”

Caelan did not care about the political implications. He did not care about the other clans.

Every single protective instinct he possessed was currently screaming at him to mount his warhorse, ride directly to Comyn Castle, and sever Fergus Comyn’s head from his neck.

“She is mine to protect,” Caelan growled, his jaw locking so tightly it looked like the bone might shatter. He threw the violently crushed ball of parchment directly into the roaring flames of the hearth, watching it catch fire. “He will never have her. I will burn his entire clan to the ground first.”

Duncan stared at the burning letter then looked back at his enraged Laird. The captain let out a long, slow exhale.

“Caelan,” Duncan said quietly, dropping the formality, “ye cannae keep pushing every man away while refusing to claim her yerself. Eventually, a man like Comyn is just going to take her.”

Caelan turned his head, his gray eyes locking onto his captain with a look of terrifying promise.