Page 4 of Promised to the Cursed Laird

It looked out over the inner courtyard, which was useful. She could see the gate from here, the two guards, the oiled hinges. She could see the well, the stables, the path between the kitchen building and the main hall. She could see a man she hadn't counted before, standing near the stable with the studied casualness of someone who had been told to look like he wasn't stationed there.

Three men she could see. And one she could hear, right outside her door.

Four, she thought. At least four.

She sat on the edge of the bed. The chamber itself was large and airy but with the door bolted, it felt stifling. The fireplace was cold and the furs on the bed were folded.

Waiting was not an option.

Whatever Fearchar believed about MacKinnon’s friendship, whatever she herself believed about his position, one thing was clear. She had walked into this stronghold willing to give Cailleach MacRath the benefit of good intentions, and he had bolted her door inside an hour.

That told her everything she needed to know about him.

She was not Cailleach's prisoner. She was not MacKinnon's bride yet, and until any of those things changed on terms she agreed to, she was her own person, and she was leaving.

She had spent her entire twenty-seven years being managed and arranged and organized by the men who claimed to love her, and she had accepted it because accepting it was the rational choice and she was, above all things, rational. She had accepted it because fighting every wall was exhausting and preserved nothing for the battles that mattered.

This was a battle that mattered.

She looked at the chamber door. At the window. At the small knife she carried everywhere since she was fourteen years old and which Fearchar had not thought to take from her because Fearchar had never quite believed she was capable of using it, which was his most consistent mistake about her.

She began to plan.

The confrontation with Cailleach happened later that evening, when she knocked insistently on her door until the guard answered.

The guard slid open the small hatch and looked at her.

"Take me tae yer laird," she said.

The guard hesitated. "Nae."

Her brows lifted. "Nae?"

"The laird is nae tae be disturbed."

A faint smile touched her lips. "I think the laird would be rather displeased to hear that one of his guards refused tae let his guest bring him valuable information."

The guard’s expression tightened. He glanced toward the hall, weighing her words.

She waited.

At last, he sighed. "Ye say ye have valuable information?"

"I dae."

Another moment of hesitation.

Then he stepped aside. "Very well. Follow me."

She smiled and walked past him. "I ken ye would see reason.”

The guard said nothing, but he led her down the corridor.

He ushered her into the laird’s chamber. She had spent the walk from her chamber deciding exactly what she was going to say, and she had landed on the truth, because the truth was the most efficient tool available.

The laird looked up from where he stood beside the hearth. His expression was unreadable, his gaze moving from her to the guard and back again.

"I hear ye have something tae tell me," he said.