Morgans and the Gunns.”
“Problems?” Gregor growled, his gaze flicking to the Laird again. “I have been trying to end the feud. That would only be a problem if…”
“If I wished it to continue.”
Thankfully, the man stepped close enough to Birdie that Gregor could keep them both in his sights.
“Who the hell are ye?” Gregor demanded.
“Laird Ragnall MacWray.”
“MacWray.” Gregor narrowed his eyes on the Laird as the cogs in his mind shifted into place.
Of course. The feud, the Gunns’ erratic behavior, their lack of cause and no apparent goal in their random attacks…
“It was ye. Ye stoked the feud. Ye played both sides.”
MacWray’s eyes glittered with steely confirmation. “Aye.”
Birdie sucked in a breath, her head whipping to MacWray. “What?”
“Ye acted the part of the Gunns, harassing innocent crofters along the border to rile the Morgans,” Gregor continued slowly. His mind shot back to the moment of Laird Morgan and Laird Gunn’s first meeting, when both accused the other of fomenting the feud. “And mayhap ye acted as Morgans from time to time as well, just to keep the Gunns vexed and engaged.”
“Ye are clever for a big brute,” MacWray said, eyeing Gregor. “Ye’ve seen through my scheme at last. It is a wonder what a few scraps of well-placed plaid, a stolen sheep or two, and a wee bit of burnt thatch can do.”
“But…why?” Birdie breathed. “All our efforts to end the feud, and it was ye and yer underhanded trickery all along. What was it for?”
“To keep ye occupied,” MacWray shot back. “To distract ye while we went after our true aim.”
“And that is?” Gregor asked.
MacWray spread his hands wide to take in the vast, open moorlands stretching before him. “The bog. Or rather, its iron.”
Birdie’s hands clenched at her sides. “This is Morgan land, and everything in the bog, including the iron ore, is ours—by right of yer clan’s own treaty.”
“That was my uncle’s treaty, no’ mine,” MacWray replied icily. “He drove the clan into the ground for a generation. Thank God he had no direct heir to follow his example, so that I could claim the Lairdship and lead the clan out of ruin. Times have changed, and so must our arrangement.”
“So ye’ve just been stealing?” Birdie demanded.
The Laird’s mouth tightened behind his ginger beard. “This used to be MacWray land.”
“But it isnae now,” Gregor interjected. “Otherwise ye wouldnae need to stoke an imaginary clan feud to cover yer tracks.”
Just then, the memory of the muddy boot prints on the rocks at the edge of the bog came back to him. “Let me guess,” he continued. “Ye’ve been slinking around under cover of night, sending a few lads to the Morgan-Gunn border to cause havoc while the rest of yer men troll the bog, harvesting iron.”
MacWray lifted his chin defiantly. “Och, verra clever indeed. Aye, ye’ve pieced it together, MacLeod. Mayhap since ye ken so much, ye can solve the problem of what to do with the bloody stuff.”
“Ye dinnae ken how to smelt it,” Birdie murmured. She huffed a mirthless breath. “Ye dinnae have a bloomery, nor apparently a skilled blacksmith. Ye might as well have been stealing rocks for all the good ye’ve done.”
“Birdie.” Gregor spoke her name as a warning, for MacWray was going red in the cheeks again. He may not have her directly under a knife, but the situation was drawn taut as a drum head—and liable to break open at any moment.
MacWray’s gaze flicked to Gregor before settling on Birdie once more. “Ye are right, lass,” he said, his voice surprisingly even. “We have ore now, but no way of extracting it. But that will change soon enough.”
Haggen shifted again behind Birdie. “Laird, mayhap it isnae wise to tell them every—”
“It doesnae matter anymore,” MacWray snapped. “The scheme was spoiled from the moment the Gunns went to Castle Bharraich to talk peace. We may as well act in the open now.”
“Of course,” Gregor surmised. “The marriage alliance forced yer hand. Once there is peace between the Gunns and the Morgans, ye cannae continue yer ruse any longer.”
“Rumor has it I have ye to thank for that as well, MacLeod,” MacWray practically growled. “For a man who doesnae have a stake in any of this, ye have managed to be a thorn in my side at every turn.”
Gregor tipped his head in mock humility, never removing his gaze from the man.
“It is for the best,” MacWray said, his frown resolute. “Now we dinnae need to sneak about, splitting our energies between the bog