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He aided her efforts, shrugging out of the garment and letting it fall forgotten to the floor.

Ailis splayed her fingers over the hard planes of Lachlan’s chest, reveling in the feel of firm muscle beneath heated skin.

“Mo ghràdh, you are so beautiful,” he groaned.

Lachlan captured her hands and brought them to his lips, kissing each palm reverently before guiding them to the belt holding his kilt in place.

Ailis’s fingers trembled as she unfastened his belt, her eyes never leaving his. The intensity of his gaze sent shivers racing down her spine. When the last tie loosened, Lachlan kicked the garment away impatiently, leaving him bare before her.

Ailis drank in the sight of him, all hard planes and angles. An awed whisper fell from her lips. “Ye’re magnificent.”

A roguish grin tugged at Lachlan’s lips as he gathered Ailis into his arms, his hardness pressing insistently against her belly. “And you, mo chridhe, are a goddess,” he murmured, his voice husky with desire. “I plan to spend the rest of my days loving ye.”

Ailis shivered at his words, liquid heat pooling between her thighs.

Lachlan lowered his head, trailing scorching kisses along the column of her throat as he walked them backward toward the bed.

The back of her knees hit the mattress and they tumbled onto the soft furs, a tangle of eager limbs and heated skin.

Lachlan’s weight settled over her, delicious and grounding. He captured her mouth in a searing kiss that left her breathless and aching for more.

Ailis buried her fingers in Lachlan’s thick, dark hair as she returned his kiss with equal fervor. His tongue delved into her mouth, tangling with hers in a sensual dance that left her dizzy and wanting. She could feel the evidence of his need, hot and heavy against her thigh.

Breaking the kiss, Lachlan began to explore the ivory column of her throat with lips and tongue and teeth, wringing breathy sighs from her kiss-swollen lips. Slowly, torturously, he mapped a path of fire along her collarbone and down to the valley between her breasts.

They came together with heat, both of them worried this would be their last time to make love.

Afterward, they lay entwined, hearts beating together while savoring brief tranquility. With Lachlan by her side, Ailis knew their love would be a guiding light amid uncertainty.

Basking in the afterglow of their lovemaking, Ailis nestled closer to Lachlan, her head resting on his broad chest. The steady rhythm of his heartbeat soothed her racing thoughts. She traced intricate patterns across his skin, committing every scar to memory.

Lachlan tenderly brushed a stray lock of hair from her face, his calloused fingers lingering on her cheek. “Ailis,” he murmured, resonating through her very being. “Ye are the light that guides me through the darkest of times. Without ye, I would be lost.”

Ailis lifted her head to meet his gaze, her emerald eyes shimmering with unshed tears. “And ye, Lachlan, are the rock upon which I stand. Yer strength gives me courage.

Ailis’s heart swelled with the depth of her love for this man, her husband, her everything.

“I cannot imagine a life without ye by me side,” she whispered, her voice trembling with emotion.

“Promise me, Lachlan, that ye will return to me. That ye will fight with all yer strength and cunning to come back to me arms.”

Lachlan’s eyes, as blue as the lochs on a clear summer day, held her gaze with an intensity that stole her breath.

“I swear to ye, mo chridhe, I will move heaven and earth to return to ye. But…” He hesitated, his brow furrowing with the weight of his words.

“If the fates are cruel and I fall in battle, ye must promise me that ye will love again. That ye will find happiness.”

A single tear escaped Ailis’s eye, trailing down her cheek like a glistening pearl.

She shook her head vehemently, dark locks cascading around her face.

“No, Lachlan. I cannot promise that. Ye are the only man I will ever love, in this life and the next. If ye fall…” Her voice broke, the mere thought of losing him too painful to bear.

“If ye fall, I will never forgive ye. I will never love another as I love ye.”

Lachlan’s hand cupped her face, his thumb gently wiping away the errant tear. “Ailis, mo ghraidh, ye must not let grief consume ye. Ye have too much light, too much love to give to the world. Promise me that ye will find a way to go on, to find joy again, even if it is without me by yer side.”

Ailis’s heart clenched at the thought of a life without Lachlan. She gazed into his eyes. With a trembling hand, she traced the strong lines of his jaw, memorizing every beloved feature.

“I cannot bear the thought of losing ye,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. “Ye are the very air I breathe, the beat of me heart. Without ye, I would be but a shell of meself, wandering lost through this life.”

Lachlan’s arms tightened around her, pulling her flush against his bare chest. She could feel the steady thrum of his heartbeat, a soothing metronome that anchored her in the midst of her turbulent fears.

“Mo ghràdh,” he murmured, his breath warm against her ear.

As they fell asleep in one another’s arms, Ailis knew he would be all right. He had to be. For she wasn’t sure she could go on without him.

*

Clyde Stewart stood tall and imposing before the sea of gathered warriors, their eager faces illuminated by the light of flickering torches. The men shifted restlessly in anticipation of the coming battle. Stewart’s unwavering gaze swept over them, a calculating glint in his eye.

With a voice that carried like thunder, Clyde addressed the assembled throng. “Men of the Stewart clan and all assembled allies, the time has come for us to seize our destiny! For too long, the McAfees and McClains have stood in the way of our rightful dominion over these lands. But no more!”

He paused, allowing his words to sink in. The warriors hung on every syllable, their blood stirring with the promise of glory and conquest.

“Two days hence, we strike at the very heart of our enemies,” Clyde continued, his tone laced with grim determination.

“We will catch them unawares, reveling in their foolish celebrations. They think themselves safe, but they have grown soft and complacent. They are no match for the might of the Stewarts!”

A roar of approval erupted from the gathered men, their weapons clanging against shields in a cacophony of anticipation. Clyde raised a hand, silencing the crowd. His eyes blazed with the fire of a man possessed by a singular purpose.

“We will show no mercy,” he declared menacingly. “Every McAfee and McClain shall fall beneath our blades. Their blood will soak the earth, and their cries will echo through the hills. We will claim what is rightfully ours, and the Stewart clan will rise as the undisputed rulers of these lands!”

The warriors erupted in a frenzy of cheers and war cries, their spirits enflamed by Clyde’s words. They brandished their weapons, ready to follow their leader into the jaws of battle.

Stewart’s voice boomed across the clearing. “On the morrow, we march into Sinclair lands to take what is rightfully ours.”

A rousing cheer rose from the assembled host. Clyde Stewart allowed a grim smile, holding up a hand for silence.

“Each man here has a vital role to play in our triumph. Fight with courage and conviction, and glory shall be yers. Bring me victory, and ye will earn a place of honor in the kingdom we shall forge together!”

The men roared their approval, slamming weapons against shields. Their bloodlust was palpable, stoked by Stewart’s words. He nodded in satisfaction, his speech complete.

As the army began dispersing to make camp for the night, Stewart turned and strode to his tent, where servants jumped to attend him.

Tomorrow, they would take the Sinclair castle, and he would be one step closer to conquering the Highlands and bending them to his will.

His eyes gleamed with ruthless determination, already envisioning his enemies crushed beneath his boot.

*

Lucas stood silent and still, positioned at the very rear of the army. He kept his head down, praying that Stewart’s keen gaze would not pick him out among the crowd. To draw the laird’s attention was to court death itself.

Lucas’s stomach churned as he watched his fellow clansmen hang on Stewart’s every word, their faces alight with zealous devotion. Did they not see the cruel ambition that burned in their leader’s eyes? The hunger for power that would consume all in its path?

Stewart’s words were gilded poison, promising glory and riches, but Lucas knew the truth. Behind the charismatic facade lurked a vicious, uncompromising tyrant who would sacrifice a thousand men to achieve his aims.

The urge to speak out, to warn the others of Stewart’s true nature, rose in Lucas’s throat. But fear stilled his tongue. To openly defy the laird was to sign his own death warrant. Stewart’s spies were everywhere, always watching for the slightest hint of disloyalty.

No, he must bide his time and choose his moment carefully. Revealing Stewart’s duplicity would require irrefutable proof and powerful allies. Alone, Lucas stood no chance against the laird’s iron grip on the clan.

As the men began making camp, Lucas slipped away into the shadows, his heart heavy with foreboding.

Stewart’s thirst for conquest would lead them all to ruin, and the Highlands would drown in blood.

There had to be a way to stop him, but Lucas feared that such a path would demand a steep and terrible price.

In the face of Stewart’s implacable ambition, how much would he be willing to sacrifice for the greater good?

Lucas watched from the shadows as Stewart retired to his opulent tent, a dozen servants scurrying to attend to their master’s every whim.

Even on the eve of battle, the laird insisted on the trappings of luxury, as if to remind all who saw him of his elevated station.

And he wouldn’t lead. He would simply tell the leaders how he wanted them to proceed.

It seemed to Lucas that he wasn’t a true Highlander at all.

Just a power-hungry man who cared nothing about the people who died for his cause along the way.

The sight filled Lucas with a bitter mix of envy and disgust. How easy it must be, he mused, to send men to their deaths from the comfort of a gilded pavilion.

Stewart need never feel the bite of cold steel or hear the screams of the dying.

His hands would remain clean while others spilled their blood in his name.

As the camp settled into an uneasy silence, Lucas’s thoughts turned to the future.

If the Stewart succeeded in his bid for power, the Highlands would become a vast chessboard, with clans and families as mere pawns to be sacrificed at the laird’s whim.

The ancient traditions and fierce independence of the Highland people would be ground to dust beneath the heel of Stewart’s ambition.

“Nae, it cannae come tae pass,” Lucas muttered, clenching his fists at his sides. “Stewart’s madness must be stopped, ere it consumes us all.”

But even as the words left his lips, Lucas was weighed down by his helplessness. He was but one man, a solitary voice of dissent against a tide of unquestioning loyalty. What could he hope to achieve against the might of Stewart and his allies?

For the sake of the Highlands and all who called it home, Lucas would see Stewart’s ambitions shattered and the laird’s name cursed for generations to come.

It was a vow he made to himself, to the stars above, and to the land that had borne him.

One way or another, Clyde Stewart’s reign would end, and Lucas would be the one to bring him low.