Three weeks before the auction

“And any man who stands against this pact stands against the future of the Highlands itself!”

Campbell’s voice rang through the great hall like a hammer striking an anvil. Tòrr’s fingers dug into his crossed arms, nails biting into flesh through his shirt. Around him, lairds shifted in their seats, some nodding, others staring at the table like cowards.

“The Pact of Argyll isnae just an alliance,” Campbell continued, pacing behind the head of the table like a wolf circling prey. “It’s survival. Unity. Power that cannae be broken by petty feuds or outdated notions of independence.”

“Outdated?” The word tore from Tòrr’s throat before he could stop it.

Every head swiveled toward him. The hall went silent save for the crack and hiss of torches on the walls.

Campbell’s smile was slow, predatory. “Ah. Laird MacDonald. I wondered when ye’d finally speak up. Ye’ve been broodin’ in the corner like a thundercloud all evenin’. Please, share yer thoughts with the rest of us.”

Tòrr pushed off the wall, his boots striking stone with sharp cracks as he stalked forward. The gathered lairds parted like water, chairs scraping as men made room. He did not stop until he stood across the table from Campbell, hands planted on scarred wood, leaning in close enough to see the flecks of gray in the bastard’s beard.

“Me thoughts?” His voice was low, dangerous. “Ye want tae ken what I think of this grand vision of yers?”

“I believe that’s what I asked.” Campbell’s tone was silk over steel.

“I think ye’re a manipulative bastard who’s dressin’ up tyranny in pretty words.” Tòrr’s knuckles went white against the table. “Ye talk about unity, but what ye mean is control. Ye talk about strength, but what ye’re offerin’ is a noose around every clan’s neck, and ye’re holdin’ the other end.”

“That’s enough,” Munro started, half-rising from his chair.

“Sit down, Munro,” Tòrr snarled without looking at him. “I’m nae finished.”

“Ye overstep, MacDonald.” Campbell’s voice had gone cold. “Ye ferget yerself.”

“Dae I?” Tòrr laughed, sharp and bitter. “Or am I the only man in this room with eyes tae see what ye’re really daein’? Marriage alliances that just happen tae benefit Argyll. Trade agreements that put yer ports at the center of everythin’. Consequences fer breakin’ the pact, which means ye’ll destroy anyone who dares defy ye.”

“Careful, boy.” Campbell’s hands curled into fists. “Yer faither’s pride got him killed. I’d hate tae see ye follow in his footsteps.”

The words hit like a blade between the ribs. Tòrr felt rage explode through him, white-hot and blinding. His hand went to his dirk before he could think.

Michael’s hand locked around his wrist. When had his brother moved?

“Dinnae,” Michael breathed in his ear. “Nae here. Nae like this.”

Tòrr’s chest heaved. Around the table, men had frozen, some with hands on their own weapons, others pressed back in their seats, like they expected blood to spill across the wood any second.

“Take. Yer. Hand. Off. Me. Wrist.” Each word came out like gravel.

Michael hesitated, then released him. But he did not step back, staying close enough to intervene if needed.

Campbell’s smile had returned, smug and knowing. “There it is. That famous MacDonald temper. See where it got yer faither.”

“Me faither,” Tòrr bit out, “was worth ten of ye. He built alliances on trust and honor, things ye wouldnae recognize if they struck ye in the face.”

“Honor.” Campbell spat the word like a curse. “Honor daesnae feed yer people when winter comes. Honor daesnae protect yer lands when enemies mass at yer borders. Honor is a luxury fer fools who can afford tae lose.”

“Then I’m a fool.” Tòrr straightened, his hand falling away from his dirk. “Because I’ll nae compromise who I am, who me clan is, fer the sake of joinin’ yer twisted game.”

“Ye think this is a game?” Campbell’s voice dropped to something deadly quiet. The room seemed to shrink around them, every man holding his breath. “I’m offerin’ ye a chance tae be part of somethin’ greater than yerself. Tae secure yer clan’s future fer generations. And ye’re throwin’ it back in me face because of pride?”

“Nae pride. Principle.” Tòrr met his gaze without flinching. “I willnae sell me people’s freedom fer a seat at yer table. I willnae force me kin tae marry whoever serves yer interests. And I sure as hell willnae pretend this pact is anythin’ other than what it is, a power grab by a man who thinks he’s owed dominion over the rest of us.”

Munro surged to his feet, his face purple with rage. “Ye arrogant whelp! Campbell’s offerin’ us prosperity, protection…”

“He’s offerin’ ye a collar!” Tòrr rounded on him. “But ye’re too blinded by greed tae see it. What’s he promised ye, Munro? Expanded lands? A share of the profits when he controls half the Highlands? Or maybe just his approval. Is that what ye’re so desperate fer?”

“How dare ye…”

“I dare because I’m nae afraid of him!” Tòrr’s voice rose, filling the hall. “I’m nae afraid of any of ye! The MacDonalds have stood fer centuries without bowin’ tae tyrants, and we’ll stand fer centuries more after Campbell’s pact crumbles tae dust.”

“Bold words from a man whose lands border hostile territory on three sides.” Campbell’s tone was conversational now, which made it somehow more threatening. “Without allies, how long dae ye think ye’ll last? A year? Two? Less, if the right pressure is applied?”

The threat hung in the air like smoke. Around the table, men exchanged glances. Fraser looked troubled, his weathered face creased with concern. Ross was nodding slowly, eyes calculating. Grant’s fingers drummed nervously on the wood.

Not one of them spoke up. Not one of them stood.

“There it is.” Tòrr’s laugh was hollow. “The truth beneath all yer pretty words. Join the pact or be destroyed. Submit or suffer. That’s what ye’re really sayin’, isnae it, Campbell?”

“I’m sayin’ that the world is changin’, MacDonald. And those who refuse tae change with it get left behind.” Campbell spread his hands, the picture of reasonableness. “I’m givin’ ye one chance tae make the smart choice. Dinnae let stubbornness cost ye everythin’ yer faither built.”

“Me faither built a clan based on honor and integrity. I’ll nae piss on his grave by betrayin’ everythin’ he stood fer.” Tòrr stepped back from the table. “The MacDonalds want nay part in yer pact, Campbell. Nae now. Nae ever.”

“Then ye’re a fool.” Campbell’s mask slipped, just fer a moment, and beneath it was something cold and vicious. “And fools dinnae last long in the Highlands.”

“Is that a threat?”

“It’s a promise.” Campbell leaned forward, hands flat on the table, his voice dropping so only those closest could hear. “Ye’ve made an enemy today, boy. One ye cannae afford. When the consequences come, and they will come, remember that ye chose this. Ye chose pride over pragmatism. Isolation over alliance. And when yer clan suffers fer it, when yer lands burn and yer people starve, remember that I offered ye a way out and ye spat in me face.”

Tòrr’s heart slammed against his ribs. Every instinct screamed at him to reach across the table and throttle the smug bastard. But that was what Campbell wanted, an excuse to turn the other lairds against him, to paint him as violent and unstable.

So instead, he smiled. Cold and sharp as a blade.

“When yer pact falls apart, and it will, because ye’ve built it on fear and greed, dinnae come crawlin’ tae the MacDonalds fer help. We’ll remember every man in this room who stayed silent while ye made yer threats. We’ll remember who stood with honor and who sold their souls fer Campbell’s approval.”

He turned and walked toward the door, each step measured, refusing tae look like he was fleeing.

“MacDonald.” Campbell’s voice stopped him at the threshold. “Three weeks. I’m givin’ ye two weeks tae reconsider. After that… well. After that, ye’ll see what happens tae men who defy me.”

Tòrr did not turn around. “I’ve seen enough already.”

Then he was through the door and into the corridor, Michael right behind him. His hands were shaking with rage or fear or both, he could not tell. Behind them, voices erupted in the hall, men arguing over what had just happened, what it meant.

“That was either the bravest or stupidest thing ye’ve ever done,” Michael said quietly as they descended the stairs.

“Probably both.” Tòrr’s jaw ached from clenching it. “Get the men. We’re leavin’. Now.”

Tòrr’s hands curled into fists. Let him try. The MacDonalds didnae break. They didnae bend. And they sure as hell didnae bow to men like Angus Campbell.

Whatever came next, they would face it standing tall.

Even if they had to face it alone.

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