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T he grand hall was filled with the sound of fiddles and pipes, as dancers swayed beneath flickering torchlight.

Ailis McAfee’s brunette locks framed her demure smile as she followed her partner’s lead—once again a man she had not chosen.

Across the room, Lachlan and Brodie exuded restrained frustration, separated from Moira and Ailis by the orchestrated dance.

Each step was measured, each turn deliberate. Her green eyes met Lachlan’s occasionally, exchanging a mutual glare and a wordless promise for honest conversation.

As the night progressed, energy dwindled, and the final notes signaled the time to retire. Ailis and Moira ascended the staircase, their laughter echoing softly off the walls.

In their chamber, they released pent-up amusement. Moira choked upon recalling the men’s expressions when Fiona had bested them earlier that day. Ailis joined in.

“Did ye see Horas?” Moira gasped. “His face was as red as me hair!”

“And Lucas’s jaw,” Ailis added. “I thought it might never return to its proper place and reside forever at his knees.”

Sitting together on Moira’s bed, their amusement subsided into contented smiles. Despite being kept away from their family and friends during the festivities, they found solace in shared triumph over expectations.

“Tomorrow,” Ailis whispered with determination, “we’ll find a way to speak with Lachlan and Brodie.”

“This game tires me,” Moira agreed. “We are no one’s pawns.”

With their vow lingering, they embraced sleep, anticipating another day where duty and desire would continue their tireless dance.

*

Lachlan observed the moonlit courtyard below, leaning against the castle’s stone wall. Brodie stood beside him, their breaths misting in the crisp air. Both sensed something was off regarding Moira and Ailis.

“Something is amiss,” Lachlan finally whispered. “We must find a way to speak with them without interference. But how?”

Brodie nodded. “Perhaps during the morning activities, we can ‘accidentally’ cross paths.”

“Accidents do happen.” Lachlan smirked.

“Aye, they do,” Brodie agreed. “If we partner in the archery contest, it may provide the opportunity.”

“On the morrow, we decide our own future.”

Unseen in the shadows, Clyde Stewart watched them before joining Horas, Lucas, and Bearnard.

“Ye are doing well,” Clyde commanded. “Keep close to the lasses. Come the morrow, steal away from the dances and kiss them. Let all see. We must keep them from the McClains, no matter what it takes.”

The suitors exchanged glances but understood Clyde’s orders carried weight with their fathers.

“Be seen kissing them?” Horas asked. “They are women who best men at war games.”

“Aye. Do this, and our plans will unfold.” Clyde realized he should have gone to their fathers. The boys questioned him and thought too highly of themselves. He wished there was time for him to choose boys that would suit the sisters better than these three did.

Clyde started to walk away, but turned and added, “The future of our clans may hinge upon yer actions.”

With a final glance at each man, Clyde retreated into the darkness.

*

Before dawn, Ailis and Moira left their chamber to seek out the McClain brothers. They found Kevin, the man guarding their door, who guided them through dimly lit corridors.

“We must speak with Lachlan and Brodie,” Ailis whispered urgently. Kevin nodded solemnly and led them out of the keep and to the brothers’ tent.

As they entered, Lachlan turned to them, while Brodie watched silently from the shadows.

“We find ourselves in a dire circumstance,” Ailis began, explaining how Horas, Lucas, and Bearnard kept them apart from the brothers and stifled their freedom.

“We have no desire to be in their presence, let alone have them be the only people we are allowed to speak with.”

Lachlan’s eyes sharpened like icy shards upon realizing the situation, and Brodie clenched his jaw. “We knew something was amiss.” Lachlan shook his head.

Moira added fiercely, “We wish to leave.”

Ailis met Lachlan’s gaze with determination. “We have been pawns for too long.”

Ailis observed as Lachlan and Brodie deliberated in the cool morning air. Their patience contrasted with the unrest in her heart.

“They seem to be carrying on where the Sinclairs left off,” Lachlan murmured. “Every action orchestrated by unseen hands.”

“Aye, but who is doing it?” Brodie replied. “We must uncover the truth.” His eyes met Ailis’s.

“I haven’t spoken to Alisdair since our arrival,” Lachlan confessed, gazing into the distance. “We’re pawns on a chessboard, but pawns become queens when they reach their opponent’s side of the board. That is what we must do. We must persevere until we become the most powerful pieces on the board.”

Moira’s hand brushed against Ailis’s—a wordless vow between sisters to face whatever game was afoot together. “I suppose that means that we must stay longer to determine what plans they have for us, and what they plan to do in the end.”

Lachlan nodded. “I think it best. And we must speak with Alisdair and Fiona. I worry that they are being kept from us, even as we’re kept from them.”

Moira sighed dramatically. “I do not want to spend another second in the company of those men. They think we should be incapable of being good at shooting and knife-throwing because we are women.”

Ailis wanted to mention that a penis didn’t seem to be necessary for knife-throwing, but she knew better. It would embarrass all four of them. Perhaps it was something she should say to the would-be suitors who plagued them.

The great hall enveloped them as they entered for breakfast, united in their resistance against invisible constraints. Ailis planned to sit with Lachlan and Brodie, but she worried that something would happen to keep her from doing so.

Yet, moments after sitting at the long table, Horas, Lucas, and Bearnard wedged themselves between them like hawks to prey.

“Good morrow,” Lucas greeted with feigned cordiality. “I’m looking forward to the knife-throwing this morning. Ye’re to enter as well, Ailis?”

“Good morrow,” Ailis replied politely but distant, attempting to see past the human barricade separating her from Lachlan. “I am. And I will win.”

The clatter of plates and the aroma of porridge filled the air while unsaid words and weighted glances thickened the atmosphere. Duty warred with desire within Ailis as battle lines were drawn precisely, leaving no room for retreat.

Lucas laughed softly. “Ye only say that because ye’ve never seen me throw a knife.”

Ailis clenched her jaw, tension in her face betraying the storm brewing within. The false air of friendliness suffocated the breakfast table. She turned to Horas who avoided eye contact as he served himself porridge. “And ye’ve never seen me throw.”

“Why do ye insist on following us and keeping us from speaking to Lachlan and Brodie?” Ailis’s green eyes blazed. Perhaps the men would be willing to share who held the strings as their puppet master.

Horas finally met her gaze. “Ye mistake our intent, Ailis. We only seek good company.” Unease flickered across his face.

“Good company that leaves no room for choice or freedom,” she retorted. Their silence spoke louder than words. Ailis could tell that Horas was uncomfortable with the lie. Perhaps he was the one to focus on with her questions.

Later, at the knife-throwing competition, Ailis stepped forward, her heart pounding like war drums of old. She focused on the wooden target ahead, blocking out the crowd’s murmurs. She’d been practicing this sport for her entire life, and she was confident she would do well.

With practiced grace, she drew back her arm and released. The dagger spun through the air before embedding itself into the target’s center. Whispers of admiration rippled through the onlookers.

Ailis savored a moment of triumph but was weighed down by expectations and political schemes. As she retrieved her knife, she vowed to wield fate with precision and resolve, honoring both her desires and duties.

Lachlan calmly watched Ailis claim victory with a deadly and accurate throw. When his turn came, he confidently hurled his blade, landing it just shy of center. While he earned second place, Lachlan’s joy came from witnessing Ailis’s skill.

As he approached her, Laird Gordon intercepted him. “Lachlan,” he began gravely, “yer skills are commendable. Yer father must be very proud of ye.”

“Thank ye, Laird,” Lachlan replied respectfully, although his attention remained on Ailis. “He’s made sure all of his sons are proficient in fighting skills.”

Later, as they observed the bustling grounds, Lachlan voiced his concern to Brodie. “Brother, we must speak with Moira and Ailis without unwanted company. There must be a way.”

Brodie agreed. “Aye, let’s offer them an escape. Perhaps arrange a meeting away in the glen to unveil the truth. We may not be able to get to them, but we can write a note to meet us and give it to Kevin to give to them. This is ridiculous.”

“Let us be cautious,” Brodie warned. “We tread upon delicate ground.”

Lachlan smiled wryly. “True enough. But we are McClains. Challenges dinnae daunt us.” And with that, they began planning their next move.

*

In the great hall, Ailis sat beside Moira at the supper table, venison and freshly baked bread tantalizing their senses. The flickering candlelight showcased Lucas’s annoyance as he confronted the sisters.

“Tell me,” Lucas began sharply, “do ye truly believe any man would take to wife a lass who can best him in feats of strength and skill?” His eyes challenged Ailis’s composure.

Ailis met his gaze, a smile disguising the tension between them. She shared a glance with Moira, whose eyes gleamed with mischief.

“Lucas,” Ailis replied, measured words hiding the turmoil within, “a true marriage is a partnership of equals. If a man’s pride is so fragile that it cannot withstand the talents of his lady, then perhaps it is not a match forged by destiny.

” She shook her head. “I worry for whomever ye take to wife, Lucas. Is she allowed to have any skills of which ye dinnae approve?”

Next to her, Moira laughed. “Indeed,” she added, “we seek not to diminish our suitors, but to rise alongside them. Strength recognizes strength. Do ye not see us as strong, capable women?”

Lucas, Horas, and Bearnard exchanged incredulous glances, taken aback by the sisters’ response.

Their confidence wavered as Ailis and Moira’s unwavering resolve challenged their perception of women’s roles.

The flickering torches cast dancing shadows across the hall, mirroring the shifting dynamics at play.

Horas cleared his throat, attempting to regain his composure. “Ye jest, lasses,” he scoffed, his voice betraying a hint of uncertainty. “Men seek women who need protection and guidance, not those who can outshine them in every endeavor.”

Ailis raised an eyebrow at his words, a playful glint in her emerald eyes. “Oh, Horas, are ye suggesting that a woman’s worth lies solely in her need for protection? Are we to be delicate flowers, wilting under the weight of a man’s expectations?”

Moira’s laughter rang out like silver bells in the night air. “We shall not diminish ourselves to fit into the box ye have crafted for us, sirs,” she declared. “We are McAfee women, strong and capable in our own right. If that intimidates ye, then perhaps ye are not worthy of our company.”

The voices around them fell silent, the crackling of the hearth the only sound permeating the tension that hung thick in the air. Ailis stood gracefully, her every movement exuding quiet defiance.

“We are not seeking protection, sirs,” Ailis insisted, addressing Horas, Lucas, and Bearnard. “We seek respect, partnership, and understanding. If those qualities elude ye, then we bid ye good morrow.”

With a graceful nod to Moira by her side, Ailis turned on her heel and led the way out of the great hall, her head held high and her spirit unbroken.

The echo of their laughter followed them out, a melody of independence and strength that resonated through the stone walls of the castle.

The flickering torches cast long shadows that danced along the corridor, a silent testament to the fire within the McAfee sisters.

*

Horas, Lucas, and Bearnard watched in stunned silence as Ailis and Moira departed. The aroma of the feast still hung around them, mingling with the tension that now gripped the hall.

“We cannot let them slip through our fingers,” Horas finally spoke, his voice tinged with desperation.

“They are slipping away from us. I feel that we need to be more understanding of their chosen pursuits, and not let them know we think they are never going to be able to find men. Me father wants me to marry one of them.”

Lucas nodded slowly, furrowing his brows. “Aye, they are not like any other women we have encountered. Their spirit is as untamed as the winds.” He sighed. “Unfortunately, me father wants me to marry one of them as well. Me father will not get his way in this.”

Bearnard’s gaze followed the retreating forms of Ailis and Moira, a flicker of admiration in his eyes. “Perhaps we have underestimated them,” he mused.

Their laughter, like a cascade of silver bells, lingered in the air.

Horas squared his shoulders, his expression a mask of determination. “We must show them that our intentions are sincere, that our desire to protect stems from a place of love. We should have been working on our acting skills, not our warrior skills.”

Lucas nodded, his rugged features softened by a hint of vulnerability. “Aye, we have erred in underestimating the depth of their spirit. It is not weakness they seek but understanding and equality.”

Bearnard’s gaze lingered on the doorway through which Ailis and Moira had vanished, his thoughts a whirlwind of contemplation. “We must prove ourselves worthy of their trust and respect. Actions shall speak louder than words.”

“Ye are right,” Horas replied. “I just have one question.”

“What’s that?” Lucas asked.

“What will we do if one of them actually agrees to marry one of us? Will we be able to handle them?”

Lucas laughed. “They are mere women! They will follow our orders as all women do.”

“Have ye met them?” Bearnard asked.