Ailsa shook her head slightly, ignoring the way it caused tugs in her hair. “I-I don’t know, not exactly, but it must have been poison. They were at the table, and Da looked as though he’d just been reaching for his cup, when…” She couldn’t get out anymore.
“Poison,” Vaila spat. “A coward’s weapon.”
A coward, indeed. Who else would kill not only the Laird, but his Lady as well, and then pursue young ladies with the clear intent of doing them violence?
“I wish I knew who it was,” Ailsa said softly. Who stood to gain from her father’s death? From her mother’s?
“We’ll find them,” Vaila said fiercely. “Find them and kill them. But what are we going to do until then? Are you really going to…” She hesitated. “TomarryEwan Buchanan?”
Vaila said it like it was a punishment, and Ailsa supposed she could hardly blame her younger sister. Vaila had been her confidante when Ailsa’s betrothal to Ewan had fallen apart the first time. She had listened to everything that fifteen-year-old Ailsa had to say about the subject of Ewan Buchanan.
“Yes,” she said firmly. “I must. It’s the right thing to do.”
As she said it, though, the first thing that flashed to her mind wasn’t duty or her responsibility to her clan or even to her sisters.
It was the way Ewan’s arm had been warm and strong around her waist.
And how nice it had felt to lean on him, no matter how briefly she’d allowed herself to do so.
But she could not afford to think of this as anything but duty. If she let herself focus on anything else, she risked crumbling.
She cleared her throat.
“In fact,” she said, addressing Vaila, “if the Buchanans no longer wish to move forward with the betrothal, we must be prepared to flee. I am a woman, and that means that marriage is the key tool I have to secure us allies. And if it will not be the Buchanans, then I will have to look elsewhere.”
Vaila was quiet for a moment, her hands stilling in Ailsa’s hair. Then, she began separating the mass of waves into three strands, braiding them into a thick plait. It wasn’t the most elegant hairstyle for what would come, but it was practical.
Just that made her smile a little. It was so classically Vaila. Pragmatism came first for her sister.
“I hate that,” Vaila said after a moment. “I hate that you must barter yourself. No man would be asked to do so.”
“Vaila…”
“I hate it,” Vaila went on. “But I understand it. And I will follow you, wherever it leads us.”
Ailsa reached behind her to squeeze her sister’s hand.
“Just be ready to get the girls and flee,” she said. “I hope we shan’t need it, but we must be ready. Just in case.”
Vaila tied off the end of Ailsa’s braid, then stood. She lifted the hem of her skirt and showed Ailsa the brace of daggers strapped to her lower leg.
Vaila’s smile was nothing less than bloodthirsty.
“I’m ready,” she told her older sister. “I’malwaysready.”
Ewan sat at his customary place in the dining hall, at the head table, at his father’s right hand.
His sister, Mairi, sat next to him, as she’d done since they were children. For the very first time, it felt wrong.
It felt like Ailsa should be in that spot.
He pushed that thought deep, deep down, and looked at the woman herself, who had come into the dining hall with her sisters. They approached the front table and curtsied deeply. All four looked far steadier on their feet than they had mere hours ago. A rest, bath, and change of clothes had made them into proper ladies.
They hadn’t come with possessions, and therefore had been left to borrow clothing. Ailsa’s dress didn’t fit her quite right; it was too tight in the shoulders, and a bit long in the sleeves.
But it was Buchanan plaid.
Ewan tried not to look affected by the sight of the woman wearing his family colors. This was not the time. And he was not yet sure that his pride would allow it.
