Page 27

T he grand stone walls of the great hall reverberated with Laird Gordon’s booming voice. “This afternoon, we shall partake in a lively game of rum-soaked apple bobbing!”

Ailis and her sister Moira exchanged icy glances, their disdain for such a childish activity clearly evident.

Ailis had never enjoyed bobbing for apples, and she knew she wouldn’t like the same activity with rum added.

With their postures, it was clear that they were both harboring rebellious thoughts behind their composed exteriors.

As they finished their noon meal, the sisters secretly plotted to escape the confines of the keep as soon as possible. Creeping through the quiet corridors, their steps muffled by lush carpets, Ailis and Moira cautiously made their way toward the exit.

But just as they were about to slip out undetected, Laird Gordon appeared before them, blocking their escape with his imposing presence.

“Good morrow,” he heaved. “Ye McAfee women are intent on causing trouble at our ceilidh. Where are ye going?”

“We—” Ailis began, wondering how to explain where she and Moira were going.

“Ye cannot leave us now,” Laird Gordon scolded. “Ye are integral to today’s celebrations.”

Ailis stared at the laird in disbelief. “How can two young women be integral to bobbing apples in rum? That makes no sense.”

Laird Gordon smiled. “Because ye are. Now return to the great hall.”

Their hearts sank at the orders. Having had their hopes of escape crushed, they conceded to the laird.

“We do but wish for quiet before the celebration commences,” Ailis forced through gritted teeth.

“It’s been a loud few days.” She didn’t add that she and Moira had spent the previous day hunting instead of learning the dance.

Shame burned in her chest as she was sure the man already knew of their absence and would use it against them later.

“Ah, but ye shall find serenity in the joy this brings,” Laird Gordon commanded affectionately.

Reluctance heavy on their shoulders, Ailis and Moira turned back into the keep. The apple bobbing awaited them—a day filled with dutiful performances expected of them. Whether they were inclined to join or not, they could not bring shame on their clan by refusing.

In the lively great hall, Ailis gazed upon Lachlan, who stood beside a large wooden tub filled with apples in rum. He leaned over the tub, dark hair falling forward as he prepared for the ridiculous game Laird Gordon had planned.

“Watch closely,” Lachlan called, eyes gleaming with mischief. “I shall demonstrate the noble art of apple conquest!”

With hands clasped behind his back, Lachlan dipped his head into the barrel. Cheers erupted as he failed to secure an apple, emerging damp and undaunted. He raised both arms above his head in victory.

Ailis chuckled at his efforts. “Mayhap the apples are bewitched, repelling ye like true scoundrels.” She loved that he hadn’t gotten an apple. The man seemed to be good at everything, and she was thrilled to see that didn’t hold true here.

“Or they fear Clan McClain!” Lachlan retorted, shaking droplets from his hair.

Ailis and Moira laughed heartily at his comment before they were interrupted by Bearnard, Lucas, and Horas—their self-appointed suitors—approaching in fine attire and wearing eager expressions.

“Come now, Ailis,” Bearnard rumbled. “Yer turn awaits.”

Lucas nodded eagerly. “Aye, it’ll be grand to see ye best the apples.”

Horas loomed a pace behind—an unspoken reminder of duty and tradition.

“Stand aside,” Ailis commanded gently. “I am content to observe.” She had no desire to stick her face into the barrel. She had never enjoyed bobbing for apples, and when ye added the rum into the activity, she knew she would hate it.

“Observation is the refuge of the timid,” Bearnard countered, gesturing toward the tub theatrically.

“Aye, perhaps another day—” Ailis began before being ushered toward the challenge by Lucas and Horas. Now that she was in front of the tub, she worried that if she backed away, she would be seen as a coward.

“Ye needn’t fear the rum, nor the apples,” Lucas assured her. His eyes seemed to dare her to try the activity, and as much as she despised the man, it was hard for her to back down from a dare.

“Besides, ’tis but in good fun,” Horas added, his smile not quite reaching his watchful eyes.

Ailis found herself before the tub and cast a longing glance at Moira. “Very well,” Ailis conceded reluctantly. “Let us proceed with this… merriment.”

After successfully bobbing an apple, all eyes turned expectantly toward Moira. The youngest McAfee braced herself for battle, defiance flickering in her eyes.

“Moira, ’tis yer turn to partake in the revelry,” Bearnard beckoned.

“I think not,” Moira retorted sharply. “Such games are better suited for those who find amusement in the spectacle. I’m not one of those.” She turned her attention to her sister. “Yer hair is wet and escaping yer braid.”

Lucas and Horas closed in on either side of Moira, nudging her firmly toward the tub. With a resigned sigh, she stepped forward. Though she had no desire to participate, if she must, she would do well at it. It was in her nature to always win.

As Moira leaned over the tub, Ailis watched closely, sensing something was amiss. It was then that she realized the men were using the game to lower their defenses with drink.

“Moira,” Ailis whispered urgently when her sister resurfaced with an apple. “They seek to cloud our judgment with spirits. We need to keep our senses about us.”

Moira’s eyes narrowed in understanding. “Fear not, Ailis. They’ll find the McAfee sisters are not so easily swayed by a barrel of apples and a splash of rum.”

Together, they stood in the middle of the crowd, duty demanding their participation but their shared will seeing them through unscathed.

An idea came to Ailis and she leaned toward Moira.

“Let’s go fix our hair. When we return, we’ll try to get more information from the men.

Perhaps, they will be addled with drink, as they are trying to force us to be. ”

Moira and Ailis exchanged glances. Ailis gestured toward the tapestried archway beyond the great hall. As they neared, they were blocked by a guard.

“Back to the festivities,” he commanded coldly. “Laird Gordon insists all guests partake until he declares the contest over.”

“We would like to repair our hair after our turn was taken. Is that allowed?” Ailis asked.

The guard shook his head. “Nay. Go back.”

Ailis sighed and guided her sister back into the crowd for cover. “We’ll blend in and find reprieve there,” she whispered.

They navigated through the sea of bodies and found Lachlan and Brodie. “Good morrow, Lachlan, Brodie,” Ailis greeted. “Our suitors’ intentions are very clear—they seek to addle our senses with drink.”

Lachlan’s eyes narrowed. “Fear not, for ye and Moira shall remain under our watchful eye.” Brodie nodded silently.

“Yer aid is most appreciated,” Ailis replied. “Ye would think they would know we understand they are trying to ply us with drink.”

“We’ll stand together,” Lachlan declared. “There is no need for ye to give into their schemes.”

“We are hoping they will soon be addled from drink, and then we can ask them questions they may finally answer.”

“That’s a good plan,” Lachlan replied with a smile. Then he glared at the raucous scene with disdain. “Patience can serve as a shield in times of folly.”

Ailis nodded skeptically, watching another man lunge face-first into a barrel to retrieve an apple with his teeth. “I cannae believe the laird insists we participate in such an absurd task,” she mused.

“Truly a spectacle without dignity,” Moira chimed in, her lips curling into a wry smile while tugging discreetly at her sleeve.

Lachlan chuckled, eyes crinkling with amusement. “One might argue it reveals more about the people around us than intended.”

“However revealing it may be,” Ailis replied, “it serves no purpose for those who seek respect and partnership. We’ll do what we can to make the most of it though.”

Their quiet camaraderie was interrupted by the approach of the three suitors: Bearnard, Lucas, and Horas, each flushed and unsteady. They clumsily inserted themselves between the sisters and the McClains.

“Ah, there ye are!” Bearnard slurred, leaning closer to Ailis. “Ye hinnae had yer turn yet. Come, let us see how ye fair!”

“I have had me turn. I am finished,” Ailis replied, doing her best to be polite with the men.

“Aye,” Horas added, seeming not to have heard Ailis. “It is a grand tradition that is not to be missed by fair maidens.”

“Tradition or not,” Ailis began, “I lack enthusiasm for such an activity and since I have taken me turn, I dinnae plan to do so again.” Her stance remained resolute as she braced for further protestations.

Moira stood silent, eyes darting to Lachlan and Brodie for support. It was clear that the sisters’ afternoon would unfold under the watchful presence of their persistent admirers.

Ailis sensed eyes upon her, their gazes heavy with expectation and tradition. She stood still as Lucas positioned himself by her side, blocking Lachlan’s path.

“Lucas,” Lachlan cut in, “why do ye stand so close to Ailis? Am I not permitted to be at her side?”

Ailis watched as Lucas faced Lachlan. His features were slackened by drink, but his eyes remained sharp—a window to the sober mind beneath.

“’Tis the plan, Lachlan,” Lucas slurred. “We must all follow the plan laid out for us.” His tone suggested a path deviation was forbidden.

Lachlan’s smile vanished as tension enveloped the group. He clenched his jaw in defiance.

“Who made the plan?” Ailis asked softly, hoping Lucas would say more in his inebriated state.

Horas stepped forward, silencing Lucas. “Enough about plans. We have indulged ye enough for one day.”

Ailis caught Moira’s eye, sharing a moment of silent understanding. Lachlan glanced at Ailis with concern while Brodie observed the scene quietly.

“We shall retire to prepare for supper,” announced Laird Gordon, his voice echoing through the hall. Ailis and Moira exchanged looks of relief. They were going to finally be allowed to be away from the men for a few minutes.

Ailis steadied herself, taking Moira’s arm. Together, they moved toward the castle doors, flanked by Lachlan and Brodie. The weight of unspoken questions and unseen plots was heavy with each step.

Once outside, a guard blocked their path. “Please, the hour grows late, and preparations for supper must commence.”

Feeling Lachlan’s supportive touch, Ailis offered him a faint smile. Moira replied with her usual hint of mischief, “We wouldn’t dream of defying tradition.”

The guard nodded respectfully and let them pass into the castle. As they climbed the stairs to their bedchamber, the sisters discussed how they would pry as much information as possible from the men that night.