“Let’s get to it then, shall we?” Hawkins gave everyone in the room a saccharine smile, clasping his hands together like a child anticipating a new toy.

“Aye,” growled Duncan. He fixed Hawkins with a menacing glare. “Why did ye call for intercession and parlay?” Duncan stressed the last word, his eyes never leaving Hawkins’ scarred face.

“I think you know why I did,” Hawkins replied. He thrummed his fingers mindlessly on the large stone table, the deadened sound lost in the vastness of the room. “Where’s the witch?” Hawkins hissed, as he leaned in close to Duncan so that only he could hear their exchange.

“Someplace where ye willna touch her,” Duncan snarled, his voice low and menacing.

Hawkins chuckled as he shook his head. “Are you sure about that, Commander?”

Duncan pushed back his chair. He wanted to choke the life from Hawkins, but his father’s hand on his arm reminded him that he needed to abide by the rules of intercession and parlay. He eased back into his seat.

“At any rate. We will settle that matter later,” Hawkins said, dismissing him. He raised his voice so that all present could hear his next statement. “There is a small matter to discuss regarding your…treasonous actions.” He swept the room with his gaze.

Duncan ignored the accusation and instead stood, a move that would ensure he garnered the full attention of every member assembled. “In the name of the universal declaration of rights, I order ye tae surrender, tae disarm yer armies, and renounce yer titles,” Duncan said. There was silence as the 13 men gathered around the large oak table waited for Hawkins’ response.

“Your witch is already marked for death, MacKinnon. You and I both know that. Burn her and be done with it. I could then forgive your…earlier transgressions, although there is the matter of your treason that you must answer for.”

“Freedom belongs tae all men and women, not just those ye’ve engineered.”

“Don’t force me to storm your castle and your lands, MacKinnon. We won’t stop there. Thousands of your men will die...perhaps even your witch.”

“Aye, thousands of mine…perhaps. But I can guarantee, tens of thousands of yours. If ye can breach the walls.”

“We’ll breach them alright, and my men will kill every one of you. But if you surrender, I will spare the lives of your men…on my honor.”

“Yer honor?” Duncan scoffed at Hawkins. “Yer honor is meaningless.” Duncan reclaimed his seat, the tick in his jaw the only evidence of the rage boiling inside him.

Both men continued to glare at each other, the hostility rolling off them in waves. As the uncomfortable silence stretched on, Hawkins broke first, squirming beneath the scrutiny of the imposing warrior.

“MacKinnon, surrender. This war is over. Why sacrifice your men to a lost cause?”

“So long as I am standing, this war is not over,” Duncan replied. “Freedom belongs tae every man and I willna lay down my sword until that essential right is granted tae us all. A right, that I remind ye, is guaranteed through the Universal Declaration of Human Rights…a document ye’ve bastardized fer yer own political agenda.”

Hawkins’ gaze swept the room, indicating the men who stood with him. “We are mincing words, Commander. I could just as easily argue that when the Universal Declaration of Human Rights was created, it was done with a vision for humanity—a vision that clearly points to a master race. Need I remind you of the Georgia Guidestones?”

“Ye clearly have nae intention of ending this war. I’m goin’ tae ask again, why did ye request intercession and parlay?” Duncan deliberately didn’t acknowledge Hawkins’ mention of the Georgia Guidestones. The stones were erected in 1980 and provided an outline for how the world should live in peace with nature. The first edict stated the Earth’s population should be reduced to five million. It was the grounding principle for the Order’s heinous assault on humanity.

Hawkins leaned back in his chair and folded his arms across his chest. “These sieges are becoming dull. Plus, I was hoping you would bring your witch to these discussions.” He pushed back his chair and abruptly stood, leaning in close to Duncan. “I must say, I’m rather disappointed. I would have thought you would have had her under stronger watch. You really should be more careful with such a rare…prize.”

Duncan stood, his arm reflexively reaching for his sword only to come up short. As per the rules of intercession and parlay, no weapons were permitted in the negotiation chambers. He glared at Hawkins, who chuckled as he moved toward the door, effectively calling their time together finished.

“Stay away from her, Hawkins. She has nothing tae do with this.”

Hawkins was surprisingly agile as he stomped over to Duncan, his men flanking his side.

“She has everything to do with this, traitor,” he hissed. “She is an abomination of what this Order stands for and I will not rest until I see her burned…after I’ve had my sport with her, of course,” he chuckled.

Duncan lunged at Hawkins, easily taking the man to the ground. He pulled back his fist and was somewhat satisfied when he heard the crack of Hawkins’ bones connect with his fist. He watched as a stream of blood oozed out of Hawkins’ now-mangled nose. Duncan drew back his fist intent on delivering another blow, but was stopped short by his father.

“Duncan, stop!” his father commanded, taking a firm grip on his son’s arm. Nicolas reached and grabbed Duncan’s other arm, effectively helping to haul him off Hawkins. Hawkins’ men flanked the men on either side and several Templars moved in as well.

A low growl erupted from Duncan as he fought against the hold Nicolas and Gawain had on him. Hawkins stumbled to his feet, assisted by two of his officers. Shrugging off the help of his men, he faced Duncan, swiping the back of his hand across his bloody face.

Duncan lunged again, but Gawain’s hold was firm. “Duncan, stand down,” his father implored. “Do not break the laws of intercession and parlay. You know the punishment should you be found guilty.”

Duncan shrugged out of his father’s hold, bringing his temper in check. His father was right. Straightening his sporran and kilt, he ran a hand through his hair, the strands falling in wild disarray over his shoulders. He could barely contain his anger as the nefarious leader grinned at him. Duncan watched as Hawkins found his glasses and pushed them back on his face, the thin frames sitting askew on Hawkins’ broken nose.

“Your father’s right, MacKinnon,” Hawkins hissed. “You wouldn’t want to do anything that would land you in a cell and leave Caitriona unguarded.” His thin lips pressed into a jeer, making his small features even uglier in Duncan’s book. Duncan balled his hands into fists, the effort to control himself all but making him shake.

“You will never touch her,” Nicolas’ voice was low, even and controlled. “Come near her again and you will not be able to hide behind intercession and parlay.” Nicolas’ voice was cold and deadly. For not the first time since the empath had been bonded with Caitriona did Duncan wonder how far their bond extended. Were they mated? His mind screamed the question while his heart pushed the thought away. Instead, he stared resolutely at Nicolas, wondering how far the younger man would go to protect his charge. Duncan knew the answer.

“Very well, gentlemen,” Hawkins stressed the last word. “I trust the events of today will be…forgiven…in the name of peace, of course.” He swept them all with a glance. “I look forward to seeing you all at the parlay this evening where we can continue these discussions in a more…festive setting.”

Hawkins paused briefly and locked his gaze with Duncan. “I wonder what the delicious Caitriona Sinclair will be wearing tonight? Something cut low and naughty, I hope,” he said in a loud whisper to one of his men. Duncan knew the man was goading him and it almost worked, but Nicolas’ arm restrained him.

Hawkins chuckled and left the room, his men flanking him as they escorted their leader from the deliberations.

Gawain and the others released an audible sigh as the doors swung closed.

“Damnu!” Duncan’s voice thundered across the room. He began pacing, wanting nothing more than to go after the insidious, insipid little man and murder him where he stood. But he knew that to do so would violate the laws and customs of their world. “I think we can all agree this pretense of intercession and parlay is just that,” Duncan glowered at Gawain. He knew the older man had hoped to bring peace to their people.

“Agreed, son. But we had to honor the request.”

“The bigger question now,” Nicolas interjected “is how do we handle this evening’s event? Hawkins is expecting Caitriona to attend.”

“Aye,” Duncan responded, his genetically engineered intelligence already assessing various outcomes and the probabilities associated with each. “I want Caitriona guarded at all times. And she is not to attend any of the events.” The men in the room all nodded their heads.

“What if that’s exactly what Hawkins is expecting?” Gawain interjected. All eyes turned to him as he set the stage like a gifted playwright. “Hawkins is certainly up to something,” Gawain pressed on. “But what if he isn’t after Caitriona but something else?”

“That doesn’t make sense,” Nicolas pressed. “To what end? He has wanted Caitriona back in his clutches since he discovered she had powers.”

“Perhaps,” Gawain continued. “But what if Caitriona is merely a diversion? What if she is not his endgame?”

“I’m not following,” Nicolas said. “He has been clear in his intent to take her from us.”

“Yes, but only because he knows that’s what we are expecting.”

“Go on,” Duncan encouraged. He could already see where his father was heading. It was dangerous at best, and left Caitriona vulnerable to a man who was nothing less than a monster. But it was also their best bet for flushing Hawkins’ true intent into the open.

Gawain gestured to the now-vacated table. “Sit down, gentlemen. We may have just found a way to win this war.”