Read Chapter 24: The Glamour of Lies

Angus didn’t flinch when Iona cornered him in the tack room of the old stables. He just kept polishing a bridle, the leather creaking in slow, deliberate strokes, as if she were a stray cat that had wandered in and he was waiting for it to lose interest.

“You’ve been watching me,” she said. “Since the day I arrived. Don’t deny it.”

He set the bridle down and turned, his weathered face unreadable. “And if I have? A new face in the village draws eyes. That’s not betrayal, lass. That’s curiosity.”

“Curiosity doesn’t report to the Ross pack.”

The word hung between them like a blade. Angus’s hands went still. For a long moment, the only sound was the wind pushing against the stable walls, and the distant low of cattle. Then he laughed—a dry, rattling sound that held no warmth.

“You think you know everything, don’t you?” He shook his head, stepping closer until the smell of hay and old tobacco filled the space between them. “You think you’ve walked into this valley with your Glasgow degree and your pretty locket and you’ve figured it all out. But you haven’t figured out the one thing that matters.”

“And what’s that?”

He tilted his head, studying her the way he might study a sick animal. “Your mother wasn’t a victim, Iona. She was a spy.”

The words landed like a blow to the chest. Iona felt the locket warm against her collarbone, almost as if it were reacting to the accusation. “That’s a lie.”

“Is it?” Angus folded his arms. “She was Ross-born, like my own mother. Sent to the Blackwoods to be a bride, to steal their secrets and the locket that carries their power. She was meant to deliver it to the Ross alpha and vanish. But she made the mistake women have made for centuries—she fell in love.”

Iona’s throat tightened. “She loved my father.”

“Aye. She did.” Angus’s voice softened, almost pitying. “And that love cost her everything. She ran from the Rosses, kept the locket, married a human, built a new life far from both packs. But they never stopped hunting her, and they never stopped hunting the locket.” He paused. “You think her death was an accident, don’t you? The crash on that icy road?”

The world tilted. Iona’s hand went to the locket, fingers curling around the warm silver. “My mother died in a car accident. There was an investigation.”

“There was a cover-up,” Angus said flatly. “The Rosses don’t leave loose ends. She betrayed them. You carry her betrayal around your neck like a trinket, and you have no idea what that makes you.”

Before Iona could respond, the stable door crashed open. Lachlan stood silhouetted against the grey afternoon light, Duncan at his side, both of them breathing hard. Their eyes were locked on Angus, and there was nothing kind in them.

“Step away from her,” Lachlan said. His voice was low and dangerous, the kind of quiet that preceded violence.

Angus raised his hands, a smirk playing at the corner of his mouth. “We were just having a conversation, weren’t we, lass?”

Iona didn’t move. She didn’t trust her voice.

Duncan moved first, crossing the space in three quick strides and seizing Angus by the collar. The groundskeeper was older, leaner, but he didn’t struggle—he just laughed again as Duncan slammed him against the wooden post.

“You’ve been feeding information to the Rosses,” Duncan snarled. “How long? Since my brother died?”

Angus’s smile faded. He looked at Duncan, then at Lachlan, and something in his eyes shifted—a flicker of calculation, then resignation. “You’re going to kill me for it anyway. What does it matter what I say?”

“It matters,” Lachlan said, stepping closer, “because I want to hear you say it. I want to hear you admit that you murdered my brother.”

The stable went silent. Even the wind seemed to hold its breath.

Angus’s eyes met Lachlan’s, and for a moment, Iona saw something like regret pass through them. Then it was gone, replaced by a hard, brittle defiance.

“Ellis was a good lad,” Angus said quietly. “But he was going to make peace with the Rosses. He was going to end the feud, give them the land rights they wanted—share the moors, share the hunting grounds. He didn’t understand that some debts can’t be settled with a handshake.”

“So you killed him.” Lachlan’s voice cracked on the words. “On the orders of the Ross alpha.”

Angus didn’t look away. “I did what I was told. The Rosses don’t forgive betrayal, Lachlan. You know that better than anyone. Ellis was going to give away what we’d held for centuries. He was a traitor to his own bloodline.”

“He was my brother.”

“And I’m sorry for it.” Angus’s voice was flat, empty of any real apology. “But I’d do it again if I had to.”

Lachlan’s fist connected with Angus’s jaw before Iona could blink. The older man crumpled, and Duncan caught him before he could hit the ground, hauling him upright with brutal efficiency.

“You’ll get a trial,” Lachlan said, his chest heaving. “You’ll get a proper hearing before the council, and you’ll answer for what you’ve done. But first, you’re going to tell us everything you’ve told the Rosses about Iona and the locket.”

Angus spat blood onto the straw. “You think you’ve won, boy? I sent word last night. The Ross alpha knows about the girl. She knows about the locket. And she knows you’ve been sheltering the daughter of a traitor and a thief.”

Iona felt the locket burn against her skin. A thief. Her mother, a thief and a spy. She wanted to argue, to defend the woman who had raised her with such love and care, but the pieces were falling into place too fast—the hidden photograph, the secret compartment, the way her mother had always been so careful about where she kept the locket, the way she’d flinched at the mention of the Blackwood name.

“It wasn’t meant for her,” Iona said, half to herself. “The locket. It was meant for the Rosses.”

Angus nodded slowly. “It was a treaty token once, before the bloodshed. Your mother was the last ambassador. She was supposed to deliver it and broker peace. Instead, she stole it and ran away with a human man who never knew what she really was. She built a lie, lass. She built an entire life on a lie, and you’ve inherited it.”

Lachlan turned to Iona, his face unreadable. She could see the war in his eyes—the fear that they might be siblings, the deeper fear that she might be something else entirely. An enemy. A pawn.

“I’m not my mother,” she said, the words small and fragile in the cold air.

“I know,” Lachlan said. But there was hesitation in his voice, and it cut deeper than any accusation.

Duncan hauled Angus toward the door. “We’ll secure him in the cellar until the council convenes. And Lachlan—” He paused at the threshold. “We need to deal with the Rosses now. If they know about Iona, they’ll come for her sooner or later.”

Lachlan stared at the ground for a long moment. When he looked up, Iona saw something shift in his eyes—a hardening, a decision made.

“Then we won’t wait for them to come.” He stepped toward Iona, not touching her, but close enough that she could feel the heat radiating from his body. “We’ll send word to the Ross alpha. Neutral ground. A chapel in the eastern moors, half in ruins, no one’s territory. Two days from now.”

“You’d meet with them?” Iona asked. “Alone?”

“Not alone.” Lachlan’s jaw tightened. “I’ll take Duncan, and a few others. But I need the locket.”

Iona’s fingers closed around it protectively. “You want me to hand it over.”

“I want you to come with me and hold it. Whatever your mother was meant to do with it, whatever the Rosses want with it—they’ll have to deal with us first.” He paused, and his voice dropped. “I promised you no more secrets. But I can’t promise you safety. If we go to that meeting, we may not come back.”

Iona looked at the locket in her hand. It had been her mother’s. It had been a lie. It had been a treaty, a weapon, a curse.

Now it was the only thing standing between her and the truth.

“Then we go together,” she said.