Page 28 of The Laird’s Dangerous Prize (The Highland Sisters’ Secret Desires #1)
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
" F ollow me," Isolde said, guiding her mare to gallop pass Ciaran's mighty stallion.
Behind her, Ciaran urged his stallion forward, his dark eyes scanning the dense forest with a warrior's vigilance.
The ancient trees closed around them like silent sentinels, their branches forming a natural canopy over the secret route that few outside the clan knew existed. Isolde moved with practiced confidence, though it had been some time since she'd last traveled this path.
"Come," Isolde said, reining her mare to a halt at the ancient oak whose branches arched across the narrow path.
She turned in her saddle, watching as Ciaran studied the weathered stone markers half-hidden among the ferns.
"We must be cautious. Few ken of this path, and I'd prefer tae keep it that way. "
"Ye guard yer clan's secrets," Ciaran observed, his voice holding a note of respect. "Yet ye share them with a MacCraith."
"Nae just any MacCraith," she replied, offering a small smile. "Only one who's proven himself worthy of trust."
The weight of her words hung between them as she urged her mount forward, ducking beneath low-hanging branches that brushed against her hair. The forest seemed to close around them, sheltering them beneath a canopy of ancient guardians.
"The markers are subtle," Ciaran noted, pointing to a barely visible carving on a lichen-covered stone. "Ye'd never notice unless ye knew what tae look fer."
"That's the point," Isolde agreed, navigating around a fallen trunk. "Me ancestors were nothing if nae cautious. This path has saved MacAlpin lives during more than one conflict."
"And now it brings ye home," he said, his voice softening.
Isolde nodded, surprising herself with the sudden tightness in her throat.
Home.
After everything that had happened, the word carried new weight. She wondered what changes had taken place while she was gone? And would her family notice the changes in her?
The ancient trees closed around them like silent sentinels, their branches forming a natural canopy over the secret route. Isolde moved with practiced confidence, though it had been a while since she'd last traveled this path.
"We're nearly at the crossing stone," she called over her shoulder, pointing to a moss-covered boulder split down the middle by a sapling that had taken root decades ago. "From there, it's less than an hour tae the castle."
This hidden trail had been her escape route the night of the masquerade ball—a desperate gamble that had changed the course of her life. Now she was using it to return home, with the very man she had risked everything to see that fateful night.
"How did ye discover this path?" Ciaran asked, ducking beneath a low-hanging branch as they navigated a particularly dense section of woodland.
Isolde smiled, remembering. "I was but ten summers old, hiding from Rhona. I ran intae the woods, further than I'd ever dared alone."
She paused at a fork in the path, instinctively choosing the right branch. "I was lost and frightened when I stumbled upon the stone markers. I followed them out of desperation and found meself nearly at our castle's kitchen gardens."
The path widened as they emerged into a small clearing. Sunlight filtered through the ancient oaks, dappling the ground with golden light. Isolde turned tae face him, watching as he surveyed their surroundings with a warrior's assessment.
"Is it that same sense of adventure that brought ye tae Castle Murray alone? Tae take a great risk," he said quietly, "using this path."
"Aye
"Why?" His eyes held hers, demanding truth. "Why risk so much tae attend a masquerade where ye ken Wallace might have men watching?"
Her heart quickened at the directness of his question. The answering silence stretched between them, filled only by the soft rustle of leaves overhead and the distant call of a blackbird.
"I wanted tae see ye," she finally admitted, the words falling between them like stones into still water. "Since that day ye came tae me faither's hall two years past. I wanted tae see if ye were truly as I remembered."
Something shifted in his expression. "Ah. The lass that was staring from the gallery. His voice had dropped lower, intimate despite the open woodland around them.
"And was I?"
"Nay." She turned away, resuming their journey along the hidden trail. "Ye were more."
Her admission hung in the air between them, creating a silence filled with unspoken possibilities. Isolde kept her gaze fixed ahead, her heart pounding against her ribs.
Ye foolish lass. Ye sound too desperate. After last night, cannae ye keep yer trap shut?
Ciaran guided his stallion closer until they rode side by side where the path widened. "About last night, at the inn," he began, his voice low. "I want ye tae ken that I?—"
"It's fine," she interrupted quickly, panic fluttering in her chest. Was he trying to let her down gently?
Was he regretting their closeness? The thought of hearing him say he didn't want her, or closing his heart to her after what they shared was more than she could bear.
"We were both exhausted from battle. Emotions run high after facing death. "
"That's nae what I meant?—"
"We should focus on reaching the castle," she said, spurring her mare forward slightly. Better to change the subject than risk having her heart broken before they even reached her home.
"Wallace's men could be anywhere in these woods.
He has been threatening our clan since me maither died.
At first, it was merely offers of alliance through marriage—formal requests presented tae me faither at gatherings.
" Her face hardened at the memory. "When politeness failed, he turned tae thinly veiled threats. "
"What kind of threats?"
"'Tis remarkable how many livestock can go missing along border farms," she said bitterly. "How many crops can mysteriously burn before harvest. How many hunting accidents can befall clansmen who stray too close tae Wallace lands."
Ciaran's jaw tightened visibly. "We've had similar troubles in the past along our shared border with Wallace. But I made sure I sent a strong enough message tae Wallace."
"He's growing bolder," Isolde continued, ducking beneath a low branch. "The attack on me at the ball was his most direct move yet. I ken I've been acting like it's naething, but if ye hadnae been there…" She left the thought unfinished, not wanting to imagine what might have happened.
"As we already discussed, he is interested in our land’s position," Isolde then continued. Control of our land gives him a direct path tae the northern passes and the western sea routes." She hesitated, reluctant to voice the clan's weakness aloud, hating how vulnerable it made her feel.
“Aye." Ciaran pressed.
Isolde nodded. "And we're vulnerable," she added, the words tasting bitter. "We've nae the men nor the gold tae defend ourselves properly, not since the drought three years past when half our tenants left fer the Lowlands."
They rode in silence for several moments, the only sounds the soft thud of hooves on the forest floor and the distant call of birds. Isolde wondered if he was judging her clan's weakness, comparing the struggling MacAlpins to his own prosperous lands.
"Why has yer faither nae sought allies against him?" Ciaran finally asked, his tone careful but direct.
Isolde's shoulders stiffened. The question struck at the heart of her frustrations with her father, ones she rarely voiced aloud.
"Me faither is proud. Too proud, perhaps.
He remembers when the MacAlpins were among the strongest clans in the Highlands, when other lairds came tae us fer protection.
" Her voice softened. "He cannae bear the thought of appearing weak before those who once sought our favor. "
"Even if that pride costs him everything? I was there, at yer clan that day tae discuss border security with him, but he wouldnae have any of it."
The question about her father's pride hung between them. Isolde recalled how her father had dismissed Ciaran when he visited, stating he'd had ulterior motives.
Before she could respond, the dense woodland began to thin, sunlight breaking through in larger patches until they emerged from the forest onto a rise overlooking the valley below.
"We are close," she said, reining her mare to a halt beside an ancient standing stone that marked the boundary.
Below them spread the heart of her clan's territory. Rolling hills that once covered with prosperous farms now partially reclaimed by nature. Several fields lay fallow, stone cottages abandoned, their roofs caved in from neglect.
In the distance, smoke rose from the chimneys of the remaining crofts, but even from here, Isolde could see how few they were compared to her childhood.
The contrast with the MacCraith lands they'd left behind was stark. Where Ciaran's territory had bustled with activity—fields heavy with crops, roads busy with commerce—her homeland seemed half-asleep, half abandoned.
"When I was a bairn," she said, her voice softening with memory, "every field ye see was tended.
Every cottage had a family, and the harvest celebrations would last fer days.
" She gestured toward a distant ridge. "The sheep used tae cover those hills like clouds.
We exported the finest wool in the Highlands. "
Ciaran remained tactfully silent, though she could feel his assessment in his gaze. The warrior in him would see the strategic weaknesses, the laird would calculate the economic struggles. But what did the man see?
"I ken it's nae impressive compared tae what ye're used tae," she admitted, unable to mask the defensive edge in her voice. "But this land has weathered more storms than most and still stands."
"I dinnae see weakness here," Ciaran said unexpectedly. "I see land that could thrive again with the right care."