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L aird Arran Sinclair stood before the hearth of the Sinclair keep, his coal-black eyes fixed on the shadow emerging from the tapestry-draped doorway—a figure covered in a cloak.

“Arran Sinclair,” the man beneath the hood insisted. “The union between yer clan and the McAfees is vital. A marriage must be arranged quickly. We seek Ailis’s hand now that ye have failed to secure a union between one of yer sons and the eldest lass.”

Arran’s shoulders tensed, his tartan sash tightening across his chest. With a slow nod, he answered, “Me sons are prepared to court the sisters honorably and diligently, but the girls seem to care naught for them.”

“Courting them with honor may not have the results we’re looking for. We cannot allow the McAfees to make their alliance with the McClains stronger than it already is. It is vital to our plan that we become allies with all we can and separate those whom we canna make alliances with.”

Arran nodded. “Aye. Me sons and I will make certain they dinna marry.”

“That may be harder than ye think. The girl is becoming fond of Lachlan McClain. I dinnae want to have to choose another laird to be me second-in-command,” the man warned. The cloaked figure studied him silently before receding into the shadows.

Arran began to plan, knowing that this alliance was more than just affection—it was a play for power.

If he did what he should, he would be second in command to the shadow man.

Together they would rule over all the Highlands.

He must make certain it happened that way, but without his sons knowing he was obeying another. They must never catch his weakness.

As silence enveloped the room, Laird Sinclair allowed himself a moment of solitude to weigh his options.

Within the cold walls of his ancestral home, duty and desire waged war in his heart.

No stranger to sacrifice, he was ready to pay the price for the sake of the entire Sinclair clan—and power. What man didn’t want power?

*

The oak door creaked open as Arran Sinclair emerged, observing his sons training with sword and shield. The clang of steel filled the air.

“Enough,” he commanded. Callum and Ian halted their sparring.

“Father,” Ian panted, “what news?”

“The McAfee lass, Ailis,” Arran announced, “Her heart seems inclined toward Lachlan McClain.”

Ian’s expression tightened, but Callum remained silent.

“We must succeed now where we’ve failed before. Time is short,” Arran warned. “Ailis must choose to marry a Sinclair or our legacy will crumble. Ye must win her over, Ian. Or if ye cannot, we must find a suitable Sinclair who will do as we tell him and win her hand.”

Determination flared in Ian’s eyes, the same that had carried the Sinclair line for generations. “Consider it done,” he replied. “Ailis McAfee will forget McClain ever caught her eye. I will court her.”

Arran regarded his sons, seeing their unwavering resolve. “Go now, prepare,” he instructed. “Tomorrow brings a new day and the future of our clan. If one of ye cannae catch her eye, we will have to find another Sinclair man who will follow our orders and marry her.”

As his sons left, Laird Sinclair reflected on the sacrifices made for ambition. Their cost was etched into his face and woven into his clan’s history.

Duty, above all else, would guide their hands, even as it constricted their hearts.

*

A week later, Ailis stood behind Fiona, her fingers skillfully braiding her sister’s long hair and twisting it in a knot behind her head. “Ye look more beautiful than ever,” she murmured.

Fiona met her gaze in the mirror. “Thank ye. Tis difficult to find the balance between wife and lady of the clan at times, but I am trying to make it work.”

“We are always here to help ye,” Ailis assured her, patting Fiona’s shoulder. “Moira and I would do anything.”

Fiona nodded, grateful for Ailis’s support. “I ken ye would. Yer the best sisters anyone could ask for.”

Ailis observed her sister, then turned toward the window, pondering the growing presence of Lachlan in her life. She recalled his lingering gaze, the warmth of his touch during a dance, and their laughter in moments of joy.

Her heart raced yet her doubts lingered. Their history was just a collection of fleeting moments. Could something enduring emerge?

She recalled his eyes, stormy and mischievous, his voice smooth as whisky when he spoke her name. The attraction was palpable, pulling her closer with each encounter.

But duty whispered caution. As the middle McAfee daughter, she was supposed to nurture and protect others. Was it wise to be drawn to Lachlan?

She glanced back at Fiona’s hopeful face and recognized her own yearning—to follow her heart despite uncertainty.

And as they descended the staircase together, Ailis held fast to the belief that, just perhaps, courage and grace could also guide her through the labyrinth of her own heart.

*

Ailis stepped outside into the misty morning, her skirts brushing against the damp courtyard stones.

The weight of her father’s decision hung heavily on her mind.

He had consented to Ian Sinclair’s courtship, but only if Ailis agreed as well.

It was a duty she reluctantly considered for her family’s sake.

When Ian touched her arm, she felt nothing. But she knew her father didn’t want her to turn Ian down, despite the fact that they all believed the Sinclairs were behind the men who kept attacking the McAfees. Her father believed in keeping enemies close, and Ian represented his father and his clan.

“Ye seem burdened,” Ian observed, confidently striding toward her. His hair gleamed in the sunlight, barely concealing the calculating glint in his eyes.

“Good morning, Ian,” Ailis responded emotionlessly. “Shall we begin our walk?”

As they strolled away from the keep, Ailis spotted Kevin McClain, Lachlan’s guard, trailing discreetly behind them—a silent testament to Lachlan’s jealousy. If Lachlan truly cared for her, why not come forward himself?

“Does it bother ye, having a McClain follow us?” Ian inquired, noting her glance over her shoulder. He all but spat the word McClain.

“Nay,” Ailis lied smoothly. “I just wonder why Lachlan would send a man to follow me instead of following me himself.”

The path meandered through the woods, leaves rustling with secrets above them. Ailis sensed Ian’s calculated charm, but she lingered on Lachlan—his sparkling blue eyes filled with mischief and warm laughter. His caresses spoke volumes more than words.

“Is there something amiss?” Ian asked, sensing her distraction.

“Nothing that need concern ye,” Ailis replied tersely, eyeing Kevin in the clearing ahead. Annoyance flitted across her face at Lachlan’s refusal to pursue her while denying others the chance.

“Very well,” Ian conceded, wearing a discontented expression.

Ailis could not force herself to care about Ian’s moods. He was a difficult man to be around on the best of days, and she had no desire to have any sort of relationship with him.

Ailis and Ian walked the wooded path, a natural cathedral of pine and oak above them. He plucked a wildflower from the underbrush and offered it to her.

“For ye, fair Ailis,” he offered, his voice lilting but cool.

She accepted the bluebell with a laugh that hid her inner turmoil. “Ye honor me,” she replied, struggling with sincerity. He had done something kind. It would not be right to throw the flower in his face as she would like to do.

As they resumed walking, Ian boasted about his army’s might while she lingered on Lachlan, absent yet present in her mind. Ailis glanced at Kevin, their stoic guard, wondering if he shared her weariness over Ian’s pomp compared to Lachlan’s quiet strength.

“Indeed, ye speak of great responsibility.” She shifted her gaze to the canopy above—the interlaced branches symbolizing the tension between personal desires and political responsibilities.

“I ken ye didn’t expect to be yer father’s heir.

It must have been hard for ye when Malcolm was killed for kidnapping me sister. ”

“He did what he did of his own accord,” Ian replied, using the same words his father had once used.

“Of course,” Ailis muttered, not looking at him as they continued their walk.

The glade shimmered before them, a secluded sanctuary within the murmuring woods. Ailis spotted a deer grazing. The sight awakened an ancestral instinct inside her.

Without hesitation, Ailis pulled her knife from its scabbard on her belt and threw it with practiced ease. Silently, the blade found its target. The deer fell lifeless in a heartbeat.

“Most impressive,” Ian murmured, his voice carrying a hint of surprise. “I wasn’t aware of yer skills with a knife.”

“Then ye weren’t present at the Highland Games,” Ailis replied swiftly. “Only Malcolm was there from yer clan. Why is that?”

At Ian’s shrug, she went to the deer.

“I still think yer skill amazing. Women aren’t taught to fight with knives.”

“Any lass would do the same,” Ailis said evenly, adrenaline still pumping through her.

“I suppose.” He stepped forward to claim the catch but stopped short. “Regrettably, I’m too sore from training to help carry it back.”

“Too sore?” Ailis scoffed. This man claimed to want to court her and be her husband, and he wouldn’t help her carry a deer? He brought shame to all Highlanders with his refusal.

“I’ve been honing me skills for many hours,” Ian retorted. “Greatness requires sacrifice.”

“Aye. I’ve practiced many hours to learn to throw me knife.” Ailis gave him a cool, amused glance and bent down to lift the deer. Her sense of duty compelled her onward. She hoisted the carcass and remarked wryly, “Good thing I dinnae share such grandeur. Me shoulders can handle this burden.”

“Allow me, milady,” Kevin, the McClain guard, said firmly as he took the game from Ailis. His eyes met with Ian’s in a silent challenge.