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Marcas turned that over, the whole tangled shape of it finally settling into place.

"He's been using yer position against both of us the entire time," he said slowly. "Counting on yer own doubt, yer own protectiveness of her, tae do the work of keeping our clans apart, so he'd never have tae risk open war tae get it done. And when that failed⁠—"

"He's decided tae risk the war after all," Fearchar finished, grim. "Rather than watch the thing he's spent twenty years scheming against simply happen in front of him."

Marcas folded the letter, slowly and, deliberately, his mind already moving through what needed doing next. He was already thinking about the men to muster, walls to check, a council that needed to hear this before the sun set.

"This changes everything," he said. "We're nae simply watching for scattered attacks anymore. We're watching for a man preparing tae gather every sword he can call and use them against us both. We’re preparing for war."

"Aye." Fearchar held his eyes. "And I think, MacKinnon, we'd best take him seriously enough tae prepare for it properly, before he decides the wedding itself is the moment tae strike."

The council chamber was fuller than Marcas had seen it in weeks, every seat filled. He laid Cailleach's letter flat on the table before them and let the silence stretch a moment before he spoke, because some things needed no embellishment beyond simply being read aloud.

He read it. The room's temperature seemed to drop with every line.

"He means tae make good on this," Baird said, once the words had settled, his usual gruffness gone, replaced by something harder. "This isnae posturing, laird. This is a man telling ye plainly he's prepared tae bring men against ye. Simply put, we’re going tae war."

"We're already preparing for it," Marcas said. "Fearchar's scouts and my own are sharing reports as of yesterday. We ken his movements better now than we have at any point since this began."

"Then ye ken well enough that he could muster a force within days, given the letter's tone," Ionmhainn said, his voice dry but sharp as ever. "Which brings us tae the harder question, laird. The wedding is set for four days hence. Half the clan already kens of it. If we hold that ceremony while Cailleach MacRath is actively gathering men tae strike at us over it, we're nae simply celebrating a marriage. We're placing the one person he wants most directly at the center of a crowded keep, with every gate open tae guests and every guard distracted by the celebration. "

"We postpone it," Cormag said bluntly. The words landed hard in Marcas's chest even before the rest of the room's murmured agreement confirmed it. "Nae cancel it, laird. Postpone it, until we ken what's coming and can secure the walls properly against it. A wedding feast draws crowds, distraction, chaos. It's precisely the kind of moment a patient man waits for."

"Nae." Marcas heard his own voice come out harder than he intended, all the happiness he’d fought for these past days rising up in protest at the very suggestion. "I'll nae let him dictate the terms of my own marriage. I'll nae hand him that victory on top of everything else he's already cost us."

"Laird." Baird's voice, quieter now, almost gentle in a way Marcas had rarely heard from him. "Ye're nae handing him a victory. Ye're refusing tae hand him an opportunity. There's a difference, and I think ye ken it, whatever yer heart's telling ye in this moment."

Fearchar, who'd been silent through most of it, spoke now, low and steady. "I dinnae say this lightly, MacKinnon. I ken what it costs ye tae hear it, and I ken what it'll cost her. But I've fought enough wars tae recognize what a bad position is when I see one, and holding a public ceremony while an enemy force gathers against us is exactly that. We need time. Tae muster properly. Tae secure every gate and every road between here and MacRath land. Give us time tae secure the keep and prepare our men. Then ye can marry her without handing MacRath the advantage."

Marcas looked around the table and all he could see was Baird's grim certainty, Ionmhainn's careful reason, Fearchar's hard-won trust now standing squarely on the same side of the argument he'd once have fought against and felt the whole of his protest slowly, painfully give way to the plain, unwelcome truth of it.

"Aye," he said finally, his voice low. "Postpone it. But nae a day longer than necessary, and every man in this room will work toward making it unnecessary as fast as humanly possible."

"Agreed," Baird said, and the rest of the council murmured their assent. Marcas sat back in his chair with the bitter taste of a decision he understood, but hated, sitting heavy in his chest, because now came the part he dreaded considerably more than the council's argument.

He had to tell her.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

He found her in the small solar, a length of pale cloth spread across her lap. Elspeth had been helping her choose it for the ceremony. He watched her face light up the moment she saw him then fall when she saw the expression on his own, some instinct already warning her before he'd said a single word.

"What's happened?"

He told her, because she deserved nothing less. He explained the letter, the council's argument, the hard, unanimous conclusion he'd fought and lost against. He watched her go very still as he spoke, her hands motionless over the cloth in her lap, and when he finished, she was quiet for a long moment before she spoke.

"They're right," she said finally, and he heard how much it cost her to say it. "I dinnae want tae admit it, but they're right. A wedding feast is exactly the sort of chaos a man like him would wait fer."

"I fought them on it," he said. "I didnae want tae bring ye this news at all, if I'm honest. I wanted tae simply marry ye four days hence and let Cailleach do his worst afterward."

"I ken." A faint, unsteady smile touched her mouth despite the disappointment plain beneath it. "And I love ye fer wanting tae fight that battle for me. But I'd rather stand beside ye as yer wife with this threat properly answered, than spend our whole marriage looking over our shoulders because we rushed the vows tae spite a man determined to keep us apart."

He crossed the room and knelt before her, taking both her hands in his, needing her to hear the next part with nothing between them but plain truth.

"This changes naething about what I feel fer ye," he looked up at her. "Nae the danger, nae the delay, nae anything Cailleach MacRath does tae try and pry us apart. I'll marry ye the moment this threat is properly dealt with, Neilina, however long that takes, and I'll spend every day between now and then proving it tae ye in whatever way I can manage."

She looked at him a long moment, her eyes bright, and nodded, slow, some of the disappointment easing into something steadier.

"Then we'd best see this threat dealt with quickly," she said, "because I find I'm nae verra patient myself, when it comes tae waiting for something I already ken I want."