Yer wife is alive and will remain so, provided ye comply with me terms.
Ye will surrender the territory south of the Uist straight tae me authority. Ye will publicly denounce the Laird’s Pact.
Ye have five days.
Refuse, and I will demonstrate tae the King, and the whole of Scotland exactly what becomes when our women are given tae Viking Jarls who cannot protect them.
Ye ken where tae find me.
Douglas Graham
Ragnar read it twice before setting it on the desk, the fury threatening to consume him. But he forced it down and reached for a fresh sheet of parchment. He tore it into four strips, and wrote four messages—short, identical and stripped of everything except what mattered.
Douglas has taken Isolda. Bring yer axes. Come now.
R.
He rolled them up, dripped hot wax onto the join, and pressed his signet into each one.
He would not negotiate. He would not kneel.
Douglas Graham wanted the Stag brought down by love. Wanted proof that attachment was weakness, that a man who let a woman past his defences deserved what followed. And Ragnar intended to show him exactly what happened when you took something from a man who had already lost everything once and survived it.
Ye wanted me attention, Graham. Now ye have it.
Beyond the walls, riders galloped into the night carrying sealed parchment toward Skye, Barra, Mull and Lewis.
One thing Ragnar knew for certain—Douglas Graham would soon discover the difference between catching a stag and killing one.