Page 67 of The Laird's Masked Passion

“Possibly all three,” Murdoch nodded.

Colin looked down at the map spread before him, at the village marked in charcoal, the ridge, the burned storehouse and the path Lachlan had taken.

“Keep him hungry,” Colin ordered. “Water only. Nae beating yet.”

Murdoch’s brow lifted. “Yet?”

“I want him afraid enough tae speak, nae senseless enough tae invent.”

Breac nodded. “And the stores?”

“Enough for every household that lost provisions. We send men east tomorrow tae buy grain, salted fish, meal, whatever can be had. Pay above price if speed requires it.”

“And the feast?” Breac asked.

Colin looked up. “What of it?”

Murdoch’s mouth twitched. “So thereisa feast.”

“There will be,” Colin confirmed.

Breac looked toward the table as if searching among the maps. “I wonder where the strategy came from.”

Murdoch, traitor that he was, answered solemnly. “Perhaps from the same source as music, dancing, games for bairns, and competitions for men too foolish tae enjoy sitting still.”

Colin’s eyes narrowed.

Breac’s face remained composed, which meant he was enjoying himself beyond forgiveness. “A clever source.”

“A surprisingly charming one,” Murdoch added.

Colin pointed one finger between them. “Finish that thought and I’ll send ye both tae question Lachlan with instructions tae bore him intae confession.”

Breac smiled. “We only observe that ye are listening tae Lady Elspeth.”

“I listen tae many people.”

“Nae,” Murdoch corrected. “Yehearmany people. Listening is rarer.”

Colin wished, briefly and sincerely, that one of them committed a punishable offense.

“She had a useful idea,” he retorted.

“Aye,” Breac agreed. “That is all.”

His tone suggested it was very much not all.

Colin turned back to the map. “The village needs tae be steadied. Fear spreads faster than fire if it is left with naething else tae feed on. A feast gives them a gathering under guard, food enough tae prove they arenae abandoned, games enough tae make the bairns laugh, and noise enough tae remind Munro that one burned storehouse daesnae make me people cower.”

Breac nodded slowly. “Very sound.”

Murdoch crossed his arms. “Practical.”

“Necessary,” Colin said.

“Romantic,” Breac added.

Colin looked at him. Breac looked back with the grave courage of a man who had accepted death.