CHAPTER SEVEN
“The bastard’s gettin’ bolder.”
Freyr’s voice cut through the low murmur of conversation in the solar, drawing every eye to the map spread across the table. His finger stabbed at a point along the western coast, then traced a line north toward Uist.
“Three raids in the past week,” he continued, his expression grim. “Small groups. They’re testin’ our defenses, Ragnar, seein’ where we’re weakest.”
Ragnar leaned forward, studying the marked locations. Each one represented a village burned, livestock stolen, families terrorized. Every one calculated, strategic, designed to spread fear without committing to open battle.
At least fer now.
“How many men?” Olaf, one of the island elders asked from his seat near the fire. The old warrior’s weathered face was creased with concern. “And are we certain they’re Graham’s?”
“Eight tae twelve per raid.” Freyr replied. “And aye, we’ve confirmed it. One of the wounded raiders talked before he bled out. Douglas is payin’ them well—he promises gold and land once he’s secured his position.”
“Once he’s secured what position?” Bjorn interjected, his steward’s mind already working through the implications. “The man’s a minor laird with nae real claim tae?—”
“He daesnae view the Pact as legitimate,” Ragnar interrupted quietly, his gaze still fixed firmly on the map. “He’s of mind that the king has nay right tae force Norse-Highland marriages, and that any laird who complies, who gives his daughter tae a jarl, is betrayin’ his kin.”
Silence fell across the solar, heavy and uncomfortable.
“‘Tis treason.” Olaf said finally.
“Aye.” Ragnar straightened, folding his arms across his chest. “Which is exactly why he cannae be allowed tae succeed. If Douglas can disrupt even one of these unions, it undermines the entire Pact. Other lairds will see weakness, and we’ll be back tae open warfare before we can wipe the shite from our eyes.”
Freyr moved to the next marked location, his jaw tight. “The attack on Lady Isolda wasnae random. It was coordinated, well-planned. The bastard kent exactly where she’d be and when. Which means?—”
“Someone’s feedin’ him information.” Ragnar finished.
The implications hung in the air like smoke. If Douglas had spies among the king’s men, or among the servants at the mainland inn, or worse, within Ragnar’s own keep, then Isolda’s safety was even more precarious than he’d thought.
“I want patrols doubled,” Ragnar said, his voice carrying the weight of command. “Every approach tae the island watched, every ship that lands accounted fer. Freyr, ye’ll organize rotations and make sure the men ken—anyone who daesnae belong here gets detained and questioned. Nay exceptions.”
“Aye. And what about the villages? They’re vulnerable if Douglas decides tae escalate.”
“Bring the outer families intae the keep’s protection.” Ragnar decided. “Anyone who cannae fit here can shelter in the village closest tae the castle walls. I’ll nae have our people exposed because I’m too proud tae admit we’re under threat.”
Olaf nodded. “That’s the right call, lad. Yer faither would’ve done the same.”
The words settled warm in Ragnar’s chest, even as the weight of responsibility pressed heavier.
Would he? Or would he have handled this differently—better?
Before he could pursue that thought, the solar door burst open without preamble. Three men strutted in, all wearing the king’s colors, and Ragnar felt his teeth clench automatically.
Lord Huntingdon led the way, his sharp features arranged in an expression that managed to convey both authority and displeasure. The two younger envoys flanked him, their hands resting on their sword hilts in a show of casual threat that fooled absolutely no one in the room.
“Jarl Ketilsson,” Huntingdon said, inclining his head in a greeting. “Fergive the interruption, but we have matters that require immediate attention.”
Ragnar exchanged a glance with Freyr, whose expression had gone carefully neutral. “We’re in the midst of a council meetin’, me laird. Unless the king himself has shown up tae me doorstep?—”
“The king has sent us with his full authority tae ensure that the Pact proceeds without interference,” Huntingdon interrupted smoothly. “Which is precisely why we must discuss the current… situation.”
Olaf’s bushy eyebrows drew together. “Och, is that so? And what situation might that be?”
Huntingdon’s gaze swept the room, taking in the assembled men, the map, the marked raid locations. “The attack on Lady MacGregor, of course. Such an incident raises serious questions about security. About whether it is safe tae proceed with the marriage as planned, or whether… alternative arrangements might be more prudent.”
Something cold slid down Ragnar’s spine. “Whatotherarrangements?”