Page 21

A ilis and Moira sat at the far end of the grand table, distant from Fiona and Alisdair.

The air carried the scents of roasted meats and spiced pies, yet a twinge of unease ran through Ailis.

She’d expected to be seated with both sisters and the three McClain brothers, but it was just her and Moira at this end of the table.

When they’d arrived at the great hall for supper that evening, they’d been told where they should sit, and it seemed to Ailis she and Moira were deliberately kept away from Fiona, Alisdair, Lachlan, and Brodie.

Beside her, Moira conversed with Horas, Bearnard, and Lucas. These men wore their clan tartan and addressed Ailis and her sister courteously. Horas had a penetrating gaze, Bearnard an assured poise, and Lucas an easy smile that hinted at untold stories.

“Ye have grace in yer words, Ailis,” Lucas remarked, filling her goblet with a rich amber liquid.

“Yer hospitality honors us,” Ailis replied, her voice weaving through the feasting hall like a calming breeze.

However, she couldn’t help but glance toward Lachlan.

She had expected to be able to spend the evening with him, but here she sat with strangers instead. She was not happy with the arrangement.

*

Lachlan and Brodie were seated with twin beauties who shared a jest causing giggles.

Under different circumstances, he might have enjoyed their pleasing company.

Yet, he wanted to be near Ailis, not across the room from where she sat with three young men.

Many hosts set up seating arrangements for new groups, but typically people who arrived together were allowed to sit together for meals.

“Yer laughter is as delightful as the piper’s music.” Lachlan raised his goblet in a toast to their beauty, but merriment didn’t reach his eyes. These women were vacuous and talked of nothing important, and giggled more than they should.

His gaze occasionally found Ailis across the room. Her serene presence contrasted with the lively chatter around her. He wondered what thoughts lay hidden behind her green eyes.

He had an idea why they’d been separated as they had, but he hoped he was wrong. Certainly, no one there was trying to keep the two of them apart. At least he hoped they weren’t. But there did seem to be some plotting occurring, and he wanted no part of the plot at all.

*

As the piper’s melody waned, the great hall transformed into a lively dance floor.

At Horas’s gentle tug, Ailis accepted his invitation to dance.

Drums and flutes filled the air, guiding dancers into motion.

As much as she enjoyed dancing, she had no desire to dance with any of the men they’d been seated with.

Bearnard and Lucas ensured Moira and Ailis danced one song after another.

The room became a whirlwind of tartans, twirling skirts, and eager partners lining up for the McAfee sisters.

She wanted to tell all the men she didn’t care to dance with them, but that would be rude, and she was there to represent her clan.

Ailis moved gracefully, her dark hair catching candlelight as she spun. Despite the joy around her, she couldn’t ignore Lachlan’s striking presence across the room. His athletic form moved effortlessly amid the dancers, his dark hair contrasting with his partners’ lighter locks.

Ailis’s heart yearned for Lachlan while her feet followed a different rhythm. She wanted nothing more than to cross the room so they could dance together, but it seemed that every time she even glanced in his direction, one of the men would move between them and ask her to dance.

As the dance continued, Ailis couldn’t shake off the feeling of being held back from where she truly wanted to be. She stole glances in Lachlan’s direction whenever she could, hoping to catch his eye.

Moira noticed her sister’s distracted demeanor and whispered, “Ye seem troubled, Ailis. Is something amiss?”

Ailis forced a smile and replied softly, “I just… I had hoped to dance with someone else tonight.”

Moira followed her gaze and understood immediately. “Ah, Lachlan. Does it seem to ye as if we’re being deliberately separated from the McClain men?” she asked.

Ailis blushed and nodded, grateful for her sister’s understanding.

Just then, Horas twirled Ailis gracefully and remarked, “Ye have the grace of a swan on the loch, Ailis.”

“Thank ye, Horas,” Ailis responded politely, though her mind was elsewhere.

Bearnard then stepped in to take Ailis for the next dance. “Mayhap this dance will lift yer spirits, lass,” he offered with a charming smile.

Ailis couldn’t resist his infectious enthusiasm and found herself smiling genuinely as they danced together. Bearnard was a skilled dancer and led her with confidence around the crowded floor.

Meanwhile, Lucas approached Moira with a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Do ye believe in fate, Moira?” he inquired as they danced in rhythm to the music.

Moira raised an eyebrow in curiosity. “I’m not sure I follow, Lucas. Why do ye ask?”

Lucas gestured toward Ailis and Bearnard discreetly. “Sometimes the stars align in mysterious ways,” he mused cryptically.

Moira shot him a puzzled glance but couldn’t dwell on it for long as the music urged them to keep pace with the lively tune.

Across the room, Lachlan found himself entangled in conversation with Brodie and two other guests. He stole glances at Ailis whenever he could, yearning to be by her side on the dance floor.

Finally breaking free from the group, Lachlan made his way through the throng of dancers toward where Ailis was dancing with Bearnard.

Just as he reached out a hand to claim her as his partner, another figure intercepted him—Horas joined the dance, smoothly taking over from Bearnard without missing a beat.

A mix of frustration and longing flashed across Lachlan’s face as he watched Ailis whirl away from him once more. Their hosts seemed determined to keep them apart despite their silent desires to be together.

And so, Ailis and Lachlan found themselves dancing closer yet further away than ever before, their hearts intertwined yet physically separated by unseen forces at play.

Ailis’s gaze swept the hall, taking in the festivities that concealed her inner turmoil. Trapped in a dance, she couldn’t reach Lachlan. Her smile hid her growing frustration as her role prevented any private conversation with him.

As the night wore on, Ailis observed Lachlan engaged in lively dances, his eyes gleaming with mischief.

She yearned to draw him close, but the crowded hall hindered her.

When the music died down at the end of the celebration, Horas, Bearnard, and Lucas escorted Ailis and Moira through stone corridors to their chambers.

At their doors, Lucas challenged whether they needed their own guard—Kevin—outside their room.

“It is no slight to the Gordon Clan,” Ailis spoke diplomatically, “but with such grand assembly, we find comfort in added precautions.” She didn’t mention how she and her sister had been kidnapped in recent months. She decided that information wasn’t any of his business.

With a nod from Lucas and goodnights exchanged, Ailis entered her chamber. She was relieved when she could finally shut the door. Now it was just her and Moira.

Inside the stone chamber, Ailis turned to Moira. “Did ye feel cornered by Horas, Bearnard, and Lucas tonight?”

Moira plucked at her skirt before responding, “Aye, we had no say in our own evening. And Lucas mentioned something about ye and Bearnard, but it wasn’t clear. I truly think they were set upon us to keep us from the McClain men. But why?”

Ailis longed for a moment with Lachlan to discuss her theories about what had happened that evening, but she had a feeling it would do no good. Besides, she couldn’t get to him without being interrupted. They’d been at the games for less than a day, and she was ready to return home.

The sisters retired to bed, each pondering what the morrow might bring. Sleep evaded them on the coarse mattress while unfamiliar sounds echoed around.

The dance of alliance and courtship chafed against Ailis’s yearning for sincerity and choice. She tossed restlessly throughout the night. Moira eventually succumbed to slumber, leaving Ailis awash in longing and the reality of her predicament.

It was after dawn when Ailis finally drifted off, haunted by whispers of unspoken words and distant bagpipes’ melody.

The call of the bagpipes disrupted dawn’s silence, waking Ailis from her restless sleep. She left the bed she shared with Moira and dressed in formal attire alongside her sister.

In the great hall, Horas, Bearnard, and Lucas circled Ailis and Moira like competing eagles. The chivalrous courtship hinted at more than simple affection. Ailis met each advance gracefully, though her smile never reached her eyes.

*

As the clans all gathered together for the archery contest, anticipation filled the misty highlands.

The three suitors boasted their expertise with the bow and sought tokens from the sisters.

Ailis hid her amusement as she responded, “I’d wager our Fiona will outshoot every man present.

” And she knew her words to be true. Fiona could outshoot any man she’d ever seen.

The sisters watched the men compete—an embodiment of grace, wit, and subtle rebellion against their expected roles.

Ailis whispered to Moira that the men seemed to think they could actually win the contest, and they both dissolved into giggles, ready to see the men’s faces when a mere lass outshot them all.

Anticipation coiled in Ailis’s chest while Fiona stood among the competitors, serene amid restless energy.

It seemed the three of them were the only women to be competing, but that didn’t bother Ailis.

She knew that she was the best at knife-throwing, and Fiona could outshoot any man.

And no one could match Moira with a sword.

Even a man twice Moira’s size couldn’t defeat her.

“Begin!” called the master of games.

The men took aim and loosed their arrows, drawing cheers or sympathetic sighs. Horas, Bearnard, and Lucas struck near the heart of the targets. Still, everyone awaited Fiona’s turn.

Approaching the mark, Fiona commanded silent respect. She nocked her arrow with practiced ease, bowstring brushing her lips. The air stilled as she drew back, eyes narrowing in concentration.

Her arrow flew swift and true. Once, twice, thrice. Each shot showcased Fiona’s prowess. Ailis swelled with pride at her sister’s triumph.

“Yer aim is as keen as yer wit,” Ailis murmured to herself.

Applause erupted like a waterfall after a storm. Even competing archers commended her skill. A child presented Fiona with a heather-colored silk ribbon—the champion’s prize—and she held it up, letting it dance in the breeze.

As the contest ended and feasting began, well-meaning courtships blocked Fiona from reuniting with her sisters for a shared meal, despite their best efforts to find a quiet corner.

The sisters settled at a table on the periphery, their hearts burdened by the absence of cherished company. As they ate and drank, their eldest sibling’s silent specter lingered, a reminder of duty and decorum parting kin.

Lucas was angry during supper that night. “How did ye know yer sister would win?”

Moira smiled mischievously, her green eyes sparkling with amusement. “Well, ye see, Fiona’s skill with a bow and arrow is no secret in our clan or any of our allies. She’s been honing her craft since she could walk, and she’s never been bested in a contest yet.”

Ailis nodded. “Aye, Fiona has a natural talent that surpasses any man’s. She doesn’t just aim for the target. She becomes one with the bow, the arrow, and the wind itself. It’s a sight to behold.”

Lucas’s brows furrowed in disbelief. “Surely ye jest! A lass besting seasoned warriors with years of training?”

“I find it hard to believe that a woman could outshoot us, skilled as we are,” Bearnard chimed in skeptically.

Horas, the most reserved of the three suitors, shook his head. “She did best all three of us.”

They exchanged glances, a mixture of admiration and apprehension evident in their eyes.

Moira leaned forward, her stare challenging as she addressed the men. “Ye see, Fiona’s prowess with the bow is not merely about hitting a target. It symbolizes her spirit, her determination, and her unyielding strength. She embodies the essence of the Highlands—wild, untamed, and free.”

Ailis nodded in agreement, her voice soft but unwavering. “She fights not just for herself but for our family, for our clan. And when she draws that bowstring back, she doesn’t just release an arrow. She declares who she is and what she stands for.”

Lucas, Bearnard, and Horas observed the subtle exchange between the McAfee sisters, their initial reservations softening into an unspoken reverence.

The realization dawned on them that winning the hearts of Ailis and Moira was intricately tied to understanding and valuing the bond they shared with Fiona—a bond that transcended mere sisterhood.

Moira smiled at Ailis. “Ye see, none of us have the same mother, but instead, we were raised by only a father who was determined to raise three women who could act as one. And we can.”

Ailis nodded. “Our love for one another is more than it would be had we all shared one mother. We had to lean on one another because all our mothers passed when we were born.”

Moira grinned. “I cannae wait until the knife-throwing on the morrow. That one will be fun.”

“Will ye compete, Moira?” Horas asked.

Moira shook her head. “Nay. I’m competent at knife-throwing, but me sister is much better than me. Ailis will be the sister to beat at the knife-throwing.”

The men gawped at the woman in front of them, the one they’d danced with all the previous evening. “Ye are trying to say that Ailis can outthrow men with a knife?” Lucas cried.

“Ye’ll have to wait and see, won’t ye?” Ailis sipped the wine in front of her. The men would see. They would all see.

She shared a glance with Moira, and Moira grinned slightly. They both knew how the contest would go the following day, and they were excited for it. It was time the three lairds’ sons who had been annoying them for two days realized they weren’t the best in the world at everything.