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L ileas MacDonald sat in her tower chamber, surrounded by the beautiful chaos of her mind's work.

Parchments lay open beside bubbling bottles filled with herbs and spices, while half-drawn sketches and calculations covered every available surface.

Notes in her careful script were strewn across her bed like fallen leaves.

A clever blind of her own design shielded the window from harsh sunlight yet could be lowered to welcome fresh air inside.

It had taken her a fortnight to perfect, but like everything else in her domain, it eventually worked.

Her entire room told the story of an inventive spirit: bits and pieces of projects, works in progress, innovations half-completed as she tinkered and tested.

Ink and charcoal stained her fingers from endless hours of drawing and sketching new designs.

In one corner stood her small workshop where she had been perfecting the art of spirit-making for the local abbey.

Her father knew nothing of this endeavor.

He had sent her away often enough to be tutored by the nuns, and they had done their job well while also giving her sharp mind room to flourish.

It was there she discovered the good sisters brewing their own uisge beatha and creating recipes for all manner of tinctures.

Lileas had absorbed it all like a sponge, eager to learn every secret they would share.

If she could just perfect the proportions, she believed she could distill spirits for the clan, saving them coin and providing valuable goods for trade and barter.

But alas, time had come when suddenly her life's work seemed of no consequence. Somewhere in the midst of her dreams and discoveries, she had been betrothed against her will.

"Father, please dinnae do this." Lileas rose from her chair. "Dinnae marry me off so soon. I would perish if I cannot be allowed the freedom to learn."

Her father began pacing before the window, his heavy boots echoing against the stone floor. "It is already done." He gestured sharply with his hand, cutting through the air. "'Tis time ye put away yer strange ways and produce bairns for a laird worthy of yer upbringing."

Lileas stepped forward, her arms outstretched in appeal. "So I am to be just a brood mare? But I can do so much more than birthing babes." Her voice rose with desperation. "I've heard the MacNeils are brutish, boorish men. Why, even Connor the laird's brother is rumored to be vicious and cruel."

"Tsk, 'tis just rumors." Her father waved dismissively, his face reddening. "Dinnae pay them any mind. Connor married that Finnigan lass, and by all accounts she seems hale enough. Besides, Ewan MacNeil is spoken of favorably, and he appears to be a reasonable sort of man."

Lileas clasped her hands before her chest, her eyes wide with hope. "But will he allow me to create things, to continue studying with the nuns?"

Her father whirled around to face her, his expression thunderous. "As if any husband would allow that! This is all my fault. After yer mother's death, I indulged yer peculiar ways too long. But now 'tis time to do yer duty for the clan."

"Perhaps there is another woman he could marry?" Lileas reached out toward him, her voice trembling.

"No!" Her father's voice boomed through the chamber as he resumed his agitated pacing. "'Tis ye and ye alone. We need this alliance, Lileas." He stopped abruptly and pointed at her. "Dinnae be so selfish as to deny the entire clan good fortune for once."

Lileas moved closer, gesturing toward the window and the lands beyond.

"But I can help the clan in other ways. Who told the farmers to rotate their crops for better yield?

I did, and now we have grain aplenty." She swept her arm toward her inventions scattered about the room.

"Who created a better system for bringing water to the fields? That was me, Father."

Her father's shoulders sagged slightly before he straightened again, his jaw set. "Aye, ye did well, lass, but only because there were men who could do the work." He shook his head, his voice growing stern. "Without them, yer ideas would be nothing."

Lileas's hands clenched into fists at her sides, her face flushing with indignation. "Without me, they would have no ideas, and we would have starved last winter!"

"Och, enough!" Her father slammed his hand down on her work table, making the clay jars rattle.

"I will not be contradicted on this. Ye've been allowed too much freedom.

" His eyes blazed as he leaned forward. "Now 'tis time ye submit.

The marriage will proceed, and that's final!

" He turned on his heel and strode from the room, his cloak billowing behind him.

Lileas was seething as she paced the length of her chamber after her father left.

All she could see before her were years of despair, living under a tyrant's rule, for it was true that any man she married would never understand her.

Even her own clan thought her daft. She had watched her dearest friends succumb to arranged marriages, babies, and the never-ending monotony of creating comfortable lives for their husbands.

She had long ago concluded that men were the beneficiaries of marriage, rarely women.

Lileas knew in her very bones that if she were stifled from her creativity, her soul would wither and die. The lord had made her this way. Surely he would not have given her such a curious mind if he had not intended her to use it?

With that conviction burning in her heart, she made a plan. It was really the only option left to her.

Exactly one week before her wedding day, Lady Lileas MacDonald ran away.

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