Eilidh and Davina followed Ailsa with a confidence that belied their trust in her. However, Ailsa could feel their tension ratchet higher every time she made them pause at a corner or hesitate to assess that a sound wasn’t coming toward them. Ailsa felt her chest grow tighter and tighter as they crept down hallways that suddenly seemed strange and menacing, for all that she’d traversed them without thinking every day of her life. The castle, her home, was suddenly a prison. Each breath felt like a battle.
A gasp left her lungs in a rush when they finally stepped out onto the verdant grounds, the air crisp and smelling of spring. She knew it was a false reassurance—they weren’t away safe yet—but she drew strength from the land.
Herland, even if it had now been tainted so mercilessly.
It felt so incongruous to creep across the expansive, open grounds that it would have been comical if it wasn’t so horrid. It was even sunny, one of those rare, perfect spring days in the Scottish Highlands.
Ailsa worried she’d never enjoy the sun again.
“Where is everyone?” Eilidh whispered, slipping her hand into Ailsa’s. “Where are Ma and Da?”
“They’re… They’re not coming with us,” she stammered.
It was the best she could do. And maybe Eilidh understood because she didn’t ask another question. She just squeezed Ailsa’s fingers and kept on.
They reached the stables to find Vaila there, already with four houses saddled. When she saw them, her shoulders slumped in relief, but she revealed no other outward sign of relief or distress.
“Come,” she urged instead, holding out a hand to take Eilidh from Ailsa’s grip. “The horses are ready.”
The sisters moved with quiet purpose as they mounted their horses. Ailsa wound her fingers tightly through Geal’s white mane, drawing comfort from the white stallion that had been with her since she was a girl.
Her father’s voice played in her ear again.
Ye’re a horsewoman in yer blood, leannan. Never let anyone tell ye that a lassie cannae ride a stallion. Trust Geal, and he’ll serve ye well.
She had never had reason to doubt him at his word.
The sisters rode out across the glen. With every long stride of her mount’s legs, Ailsa felt both safer and more ill at ease.
She was leaving her home. She knew it was right, but it was still her home. And what lay ahead of her…
Well, she couldn't think about that quite yet. Not just yet.
Vaila rode in the lead, her mount, Sgàil, always eager to go faster, faster. Vaila’s head never stopped moving, always scanning the horizon.
Davina and Eilidh rode up on either side of Ailsa.
“They’re dead, aren’t they?” Davina asked quietly.
And there it was, the moment where Ailsa had to shatter her sisters’ hearts.
“Aye,” she said. “They’re dead.”
Eilidh let out a choked sob, but she didn’t falter in her saddle.
Ailsa felt her own heart break just a little bit more at that. Her sisters were so, so strong. And she hated that they needed to be.
“And where… are we going?” Eilidh asked, her voice hitching in the middle.
Ailsa had to take a breath before she could be confident that she wouldn't sob as well.
“The Buchanans.”
Davina jolted. “The Buchanans? But?—”
“Ailsa!” Vaila’s sharp voice cut off Davina’s question. “They’re coming.”
Ailsa jerked her head to follow the direction of Vaila’s arm. There, on the horizon back the way they’d come, was a line of riders, too far away to identify. It was possible they were friendly, Ailsa supposed, but she didn’t dare take the risk.
