Page 20 of Claimed By a Ruthless Scot
Duncan leaned back against the desk. “I’ve made an art of it.”
“Aye,” Iain agreed. “Ye always manage tae look entirely reasonable while doing something nay one else would dare.”
“That,” Duncan said dryly, “is the privilege of being right.”
Iain scoffed. “Or stubborn.”
“Those two are often mistaken fer one another,” Duncan replied with a smile.
They shared a brief, easy silence, the kind that only came from years of shared ground and shared battles.
Iain nodded once. “Ye ken I trust yer judgment. I always have.”
Duncan met his eyes. “And I trust ye tae tell me when I’m being a fool.”
Iain’s grin returned. “Oh, I will.Enthusiastically.”
His comment made Duncan laugh. Then, he exhaled and straightened, allowing the humor to ease into something more serious.
“Well,” he announced, “that’s enough talk of pretty women and potential mistakes.”
Iain’s expression shifted at once, the levity draining from his face as understanding settled in. “Aye.” He moved closer to the table, resting his hands on its edge. “Then ye’ll want the latest reports.”
Duncan nodded just once.
“There’s been increased movement along the western road,” Iain began. “Nothing overt, just small groups, poorly marked, avoiding the main crossings. Could be traders, could be scouts.”
Duncan’s gaze sharpened. “Go on.”
“A pair of our patrols found disturbed ground near the river two nights past,” Iain added. “Boot prints, hastily covered. Too careful fer bandits and too sloppy fer our own men.”
“And the villages?” Duncan asked.
“Minor trouble,” Iain replied. “A missing sheep here, tools taken there. Annoyances more than threats, but it’s the pattern I dinnae like.”
Duncan nodded slowly. “Testing the edges.”
“Aye. And there are rumors,” Iain added. “Men asking questions in town, mostly about Grant patrol routes and about ye.”
Duncan’s mouth thinned. “Let them ask. Double the night watches. Rotate patrols. And if anyone presses too hard, I want tae ken.”
“It will be done,” Iain said at once.
He did not move away immediately. Instead, he leaned more fully against the table, the last trace of humor fading from his face.
“There is something ye should consider,” he said carefully. “Lachlan MacKenzie.”
The name settled heavily in the room, as if it carried weight of its own.
Duncan’s fingers tightened almost imperceptibly against the wood. “I never stopped considering him.”
“Aye,” Iain replied. “Nor have the Council. There have been whispers, naething that can be acted upon yet. But men like MacKenzie dinnae vanish quietly. When things grow too still, it usually means he’s thinking.”
Duncan turned from the table and faced him fully. “But he also kens better than tae strike openly.”
“Fer now,” Iain agreed. “But that is precisely why the Council is pressing harder than ever. Tae them, MacKenzie is a blade hanging by a thread. An alliance, especially through marriage, looks like certainty.”
Duncan scoffed softly, though without bitterness. “I willnae choose a wife as one chooses armor.”
