Chapter 2 2

The morning light crept through the narrow window of Isolde's chamber, casting long, golden streaks across the stone walls. She woke with a start, the sharp trill of a distant horn cutting through the stillness. For a moment, disorientation gripped her. Then, the events of the previous day came rushing back-her arrival, the tension-filled encounter with Lachlan, and the uneasy loneliness that had settled over her like a shroud.

The Highland air was colder than what she was accustomed to, crisp and biting. Rising from the bed, she wrapped her cloak tightly around her shoulders. Maeve arrived soon after, her quick, efficient movements filling the room with a sense of purpose.

"The laird requests your presence in the hall," Maeve said, placing a steaming cup of tea on the table. "Breakfast will be served, and the council meets after."

Isolde nodded, though unease churned in her stomach. The thought of meeting the council-a gathering of Lachlan's most trusted advisors and clan members-made her feel exposed. She knew they would see her as an outsider, perhaps even an interloper, but there was no avoiding it.

The hall was already bustling with activity when she arrived. Men sat at the long, rough-hewn tables, talking in low, serious tones. The smell of roasted meat and fresh bread mingled with the smoke curling from the hearth. Lachlan stood at the head of the room, his imposing figure commanding attention without effort.

When he saw her enter, his expression remained unreadable. "Lady Isolde," he said, motioning for her to join him. "Come. We've matters to discuss."

The room fell silent as all eyes turned to her. She straightened her spine, meeting their stares with as much poise as she could muster. Slowly, she made her way to the seat beside Lachlan, aware of the whispered conversations breaking out behind her.

"This is Lady Isolde of Ravenswood," Lachlan announced to the gathered men. "She is not only my intended but an ally to this clan. Show her the respect due to one of us."

A murmur rippled through the room, and Isolde caught a few skeptical glances. She forced herself to remain calm, though her pulse quickened.

"Thank you, Laird MacRae," she said, her voice steady. "It is my hope that this alliance will bring prosperity and peace to both our lands."

One of the older men at the table leaned forward, his grizzled face marked by years of hardship. "Peace, aye," he said, his tone gruff. "But it's trust that must be earned, milady. Words alone won't win it."

"I understand," Isolde replied, meeting his gaze directly. "Trust is not given lightly, nor should it be. I only ask for the opportunity to prove my loyalty."

The man grunted, leaning back in his chair, and Lachlan gave her a sidelong glance, his lips quirking in what might have been approval.

Breakfast was a tense affair, with little conversation beyond the occasional murmur of orders or the scraping of knives against plates. Lachlan remained quiet beside her, his focus on the meal and the occasional report brought to him by one of his men.

When the plates were cleared, Lachlan stood, his voice cutting through the hum of conversation. "The council will convene now. Lady Isolde, walk with me."

He did not wait for her reply, striding toward a smaller chamber off the main hall. She followed, her curiosity and apprehension mounting with each step. The room they entered was sparsely furnished, its centerpiece a large oak table surrounded by chairs. Maps and documents were spread across its surface, their edges weighted down by stones and small metal tokens.

Lachlan gestured for her to sit, taking the chair at the head of the table. The council members filed in, their expressions ranging from wary to openly skeptical.

"We have reports of increased movement along the southern border," Lachlan began, addressing the group. "The Campbells grow bolder, and there are rumors they've struck an alliance with an English lord."

All eyes turned to Isolde, and the weight of their suspicion was palpable. She squared her shoulders, determined not to show weakness. "If there is an English lord involved, it is not with my father's blessing," she said firmly. "Lord Godfrey values this alliance too much to jeopardize it."

One of the younger men snorted, his tone dripping with disdain. "And how would we know? Words are easy to speak but harder to trust."

"Enough," Lachlan interjected, his voice sharp. "Lady Isolde speaks the truth. Her father would not risk open conflict with the MacRae clan."

Isolde felt a flicker of gratitude for his defense, though it was quickly overshadowed by the realization that her presence here would always be questioned. She was not one of them, and every word she spoke would be weighed with suspicion.

The discussion turned to strategy, the men debating the best course of action to secure the borders. Isolde listened carefully, noting the nuances of their arguments and the alliances within the group. Lachlan's authority was absolute, but he allowed his council to speak freely, valuing their opinions even when they differed from his own.

When the meeting concluded, Lachlan rose and motioned for Isolde to stay behind. The others filed out, casting curious glances over their shoulders as they left.

"You handled yourself well," Lachlan said, his tone measured. "Many would have faltered under such scrutiny."

"I've spent my life navigating courts and councils," she replied, her voice steady. "This is no different, only the stakes are higher."

He studied her for a moment, his gaze piercing. "You're not what I expected, Lady Isolde."

"Is that a compliment, Laird MacRae?" she asked, arching an eyebrow.

A faint smile tugged at his lips, though it was gone as quickly as it appeared. "An observation," he said. "But the Highlands are no court. You'll find our ways harsher, our loyalties harder to win."

"I wouldn't expect anything less," she replied, meeting his gaze without flinching.

The corners of his mouth twitched again, and he inclined his head. "Good. You'll need that resolve here."

He left her alone in the chamber, the door closing softly behind him. Isolde released a breath she hadn't realized she was holding, her mind racing with the events of the day. Lachlan MacRae was an enigma-strong, commanding, and impossible to read. He had defended her in the council, yet there was no mistaking the distance he maintained.

The sound of voices drifting through the corridor reminded her that this was only the beginning. Winning the trust of the MacRae clan would take more than words, and Lachlan himself would be the greatest challenge of all.

Steeling herself, she stood and left the chamber. If she was to find her place in this harsh and unforgiving land, she would have to prove herself worthy of it, one step at a time.