Page 92 of The Icy Highlander's Virgin
"What have we learned?" Erica asked without preamble, moving to stand across the table from Lachlan. Her eyes immediately went to the marked map, reading the tactical situation with the quick intelligence he'd come to expect from her.
"Look at the pattern.," Lachlan replied, pointing to the marked attacks. "He's systematically cuttin’ off communication between the villages."
Erica leaned over the map, her dark hair catching the lamplight as she studied the markings. "If he controls these routes, he can prevent word from spreading about his attacks. Keep people isolated and afraid, make them think they're the only ones sufferin’."
"Exactly. And worse—" Lachlan traced a line connecting the attacked farms "—he's movin’ steadily toward Thornfield village. The largest settlement outside the castle itself."
"How many people live there?" Frederick asked, though his expression suggested he already knew the answer would be troubling.
"Nearly two hundred," Erica replied, her voice tight with growing concern. "Families who've supported McLaren for generations. Craftsmen, farmers, merchants—people with nowhere to flee if Boyd's men reach them."
"He willnae reach them," Lachlan said with cold certainty. "Nae if we move fast enough."
The messenger cleared his throat nervously. "Beggin' yer pardon, m'lady, but there's more. Ewan sent specific word about Boyd's men—they're nae just raiders or angry farmers with pitchforks."
"What do ye mean?" Erica asked sharply.
"They're organized, m'lady. Disciplined. They move in formation, use hand signals, coordinate their attacks like proper soldiers. Someone's been trainin’ them, and trainin’ them well."
Lachlan felt his blood run cold. Highland farmers, even angry ones, didn't fight in formation. They charged with passion and fury, not tactical precision. "How organized are we talkin’ about?"
"Professional, m'laird. They hit their targets with military efficiency and withdraw before anyone can mount a properresponse. Ewan said he's never seen anythin’ like it from irregular forces."
"Mercenaries," Frederick said grimly. "Has to be. Boyd's hired professional fighters, men who ken how to wage real war."
"With what coin?" Erica demanded, her voice rising with disbelief. "The man was a councilman, nae a wealthy laird. He had comfortable circumstances, but nothin’ like the resources needed to hire mercenaries."
Lachlan met her eyes across the table, and she saw the same dark suspicion reflected there that was growing in her own mind. "Unless someone else is fundin’ this rebellion."
The implications hung heavy in the room like smoke from a dying fire. If Boyd had backing from another clan, this wasn't just about McLaren succession—it was about Highland politics on a much larger scale. Someone wanted to see McLaren fall, and they were willing to fund a war to make it happen.
"How many men can we field immediately?" Erica asked, her voice steady despite the growing scope of the threat they faced.
"Fifty mounted fighters," Lachlan replied, his mind already running through their available forces. "All experienced, well-armed, and provisioned for extended campaign. But if Boyd has mercenaries backing him..."
"We'll need every advantage we can get," she finished. "What about approachin’ from the north? Could we flank his main force instead of meetin’ them head-on?"
Lachlan studied the map more carefully, impressed by her tactical thinking. "Possible, but extremely risky. We'd be ridin’ blind through territory he kens better than we do. If he has scouts positioned properly..."
"Nae necessarily." Erica leaned closer to the map, her finger tracing a thin line that wound through the hills above McLaren territory. "There's an old huntin’ trail here, runs along the ridge above Thornfield. Me father used to take me that way when I was young, said it was the best route for watching the village approaches without being seen."
"How old is this trail?" Frederick asked practically. "If it hasnae been maintained..."
"It's overgrown now, certainly, but it was carved deep into the hillside by generations of hunters. We'd have to go single file in places, and it would be slow going, but it's definitely passable for mounted men who know what they're doing."
Lachlan could see the tactical possibilities opening up. "If we could coordinate with Ewan from below..."
"A pincer movement," Erica said, her eyes lighting up with the same strategic fire he'd seen when she dealt with clan politics. "Hit them from two directions simultaneously, force theminto the open where our mounted advantage would count for something."
"Aye, but the timin’ would have to be absolutely perfect," Frederick warned. "If one force arrives too early or too late, Boyd's men could defeat us piecemeal."
"Then we signal," Lachlan said, his finger finding a high point on the map. "Beacon fires on this ridge here. Ewan can watch for them from the village, coordinate his attack with ours."
The plan was taking shape, but Lachlan could see the risks multiplying with every detail they added. If Boyd really had professional backing, if his force was larger than they estimated, if the coordination failed at the crucial moment...
"There's another option," he said quietly.
"What?"
