Page 20 of The Highlander’s Defiant Bride

At the doorway, he leaned close and identified a few of the men in the chamber. “My mother’s brother, Alastair,” Cameron said, shifting his gaze to a broad and grizzled man who leaned heavily on the table. “Young Fergus,” he said, pointing to his right. Cameron continued, identifying several of the warriors who had fought beside him for years. Then he nodded to both his brothers, Gavan and Kenzie. Both men nodded back.

The conversation in the room was brisk with arguments, but the moment she crossed the threshold, silence rippled through the chamber. Men turned, their gazes lingering on her, curious, doubtful, some even faintly mocking. Destiny paused, her breath caught somewhere between dread and resolve. She reminded herself of Sorcha’s words, Show them that your heart is steady, your resolution unwavering.

The room quieted as she and Cameron strode inside. “Come,” he said. “You belong here.”

The simple certainty of it steadied her more than any reassurance could have. She followed him to a chair at the head of the table, acutely aware of every gaze tracking her movement. Destiny straightened her spine and folded her hands in her lap.

“My wife will hear what passes in this chamber,” Cameron said once she was seated.

A murmur rippled around the table. “This is not how your father ruled,” Jamison, one of the warriors Cameron had fought with over the years said.

“I am not my father.” His gaze challenged anyone to argue. When they did not, he continued, “One of the Mackenzies remains in our custody. The laird’s third son. He survived his attempt on my bride’s life.”

The room ignited.

“Hang him,” Alastair growled. “Send his head back.”

“We must strike back at the Mackenzies, prisoner or not. They took Father’s life,” Kenzie said, his voice heavy with grief. “That deserves revenge.”

“Nay. We should ransom him,” Gavan argued. “Make his father pay some toll for murdering our father.”

“A hostage invites rescue,” Fergus snapped. “And a corpse invites vengeance. Either way, we’ll have war.”

The arguments surged, familiar and fierce. Destiny listened, her heart pounding, not with fear, but with clarity. Every answer led to the same end. Blood. Retaliation. Another generation taught to hate.

Cameron said nothing.

He let them speak themselves hoarse.

When the noise finally dulled to grumbling, he leaned forward, forearms braced on the table. “You have all named the paths we know.”

Several men stiffened.

“My father walked them,” Cameron continued quietly. “Steel answered with steel. And where did it leave us?”

Silence fell, heavy and unavoidable.

“The king calls for peace,” Cameron said. “Not as courtesy. As warning. England watches us tear at one another. If we do not begin to govern our feuds, they will govern us. And when that day comes, the Highlands will not recognise themselves.”

Destiny felt a chill trace her spine. This was not fear of the Mackenzies. This was fear of what waited beyond them.

“I will not lead Munro into another war born of pride,” Cameron said. “There is another way.”

A low murmur of unease rolled around the table.

“The Mackenzie will be returned to his father,” Cameron continued, his voice steady.

“Alive?” Alastair snapped. “He’ll bleed out before he clears our gates.”

“He will not be moved until he can survive the journey,” Cameron replied without hesitation. “And when he is returned, it will be under a banner of truce.” He paused, his gaze sweeping the table. “My father would have answered this with fire. I will answer it with terms.”

Several men shifted uneasily.

“In exchange,” Cameron went on, “we will demand safe passage across Mackenzie land for any Munro travelling between our holdings and those newly joined to us through my marriage.” His eyes flicked briefly to Destiny, then back to the men. “No tolls. No interference. No drawn steel.”

Gavan scowled. “And if the Mackenzies refuse?”

“Then they declare themselves enemies of peace,” Cameron said calmly. “Not just of Munro, but of the king’s order.”