The clearing goes silent, and I can hear Bjorn groan behind me. We’ve previously decided to hold back until later to tell anyone about that particular detail, but I know it needs saying, and I don’t wish I could take it back. I want them to know the she’s mine. Not just a conquest, or a girl I’ve stolen and bedded. I want them to know she’s my entire world.
“Your…” Malcolm stares at me in disbelief. “You’re joking.”
“Do I look like a man who makes jokes, Lord McAuley?”
The four of them glance at each other, the tension rising for a minute before Callum turns back to me, eyeing me.
“You mentioned two reasons. Speak your second.”
I smile. This is the fun part. Because if the other offer didn’t entice them, I know full well they’ll never be able to ignore this one.
“Because Lord Chauntleroy is plotting to raise a mercenary army and take over your lands.”
The men stare at me.
“That’s preposterous,” Lachlan mutters. “Lord Chauntleroy’s family goes back generations in the highlands. He would never dream to—”
“I have proof.”
I turn, nodding at Erik, who grins and pulls a few folded letters out of his furs. He hands them out, and it’s Lachlan himself who strides forward to pluck them away. His eyes sweep over them, and I watch as his jaw tightens.
“These are real?”
I nod. “They appear to be, yes. We took them out of a chest from a boat we commandeered a couple of months ago.”
Hamish frowns. “What is it?”
“Proof,” Lachlan mutters, handing the papers over to Hamish. “A correspondence detailing the hiring of the private army and who’s lands he’s going after first.”
Hamish swears. “Callum first, by the looks of it.”
Callum yanks the pages out of Hamish’s hands and mutters viciously when he reads it over.
“That’s Chauntleroy’s crest,” he growls. “The backstabbing little fuck.”
The four of them eye me, brows furrowed like they’re thinking it through.
“And what stops us from taking this information and dealing with Chauntleroy ourselves, without helping you?” Malcolm finally speaks.
I smile. “Aside from telling your wives that you refused to help their friend after she was kidnapped by that little weasel?” I spread my hands wide. “Other than that, because I can promise to stop the attacks. Because if you help me, no Norseman will attack these lands again.”
“That sounds like blackmail,” Lachlan mutters.
“It sounds like a good deal, for all of us,” I growl. “My lord.”
“And yet, you’re still a man who’s taken a girl from her lawfully promised lord and husband.”
I smirk at Lachlan before swiveling my eyes to land on Malcolm.
“If the rumors are to be believed, it doesn’t sound like I’m the only man present who’s guilty of that.”
They’re silent again, contemplating it. Hamish shakes his head, glaring at me.
“You tried to sack my castle; you devil.”
I grin, shrugging. “You’ve got a nice castle. Take is as compliment.”
Hamish’s brow darkens.
“How about I take your head instead?”
My smile thins as I reach for my sword. “How about you try to?”
“Easy,” Callum growls, scowling at both me and his friend, his hands raised.
Hamish spits at the ground between us.
“Well, it was a fruitless attempt. Dungow has never been taken.”
“It was worth a shot.”
“Except you failed, Norseman.”
I grin. “Did I?”
I may not have walked away with riches or glory that day, but ultimately, the real treasure was Rhona. The real prize was the auburn-haired goddess I walked in on alone and wide-eyed. The girl who captivated me and stole my heart.
“When your fleet attacked the men trying to attack my castle that night of my wedding,” Malcolm says lowly. “I couldn’t make sense of a Viking marauder fleet coming to our rescue, not trying to burn my castle to the ground.”
He eyes Tor.
“It was to protect Rhona, wasn’t it?”
My jaw tightens as I nod.
“Aye, it was.”
Malcolm nods slowly before he sighs and shakes his head.
“Fuck it, I’m in.”
“Aye, and me,” Callum nods. “My men will be mine to command, but we’ll join you in attacking Chauntleroy’s castle.
Lachlan pauses, mulling it over before he glances at his son-in-law and takes a deep breath. “You’ll have my aid as well, Norseman. But know that we’ll need to speak further of these lands you plan on settling your horde on.”
I can hear my friends snort behind me at the thin insult, but they thankfully keep their mouths shut.
Finally, it’s Hamish who takes a deep breath, eyeing me through a furrowed brow as he taps his fingers against the pommel of his sword.
“You killed some of my men that day, you know.”
“Would recitations to their widows and families help?”
“It would,” he spits back.
“Then it’s done. They were soldiers though, Lord Hamish. And they died doing their duty, protecting your castle. There’s no better death than that.”
Hamish glares at me.
“You also killed some of mine, for what it’s worth.”
“Don’t even think of asking me for restitutions, Norseman,” he growls, a warning in his voice.