“In the morn. Once The MacLeod is sighted, word will spread.” Lachlan nodded to the stables. “I have matters to arrange.”
As he walked away, Artair spoke his name. Lachlan turned and saw a strange expression on his friend’s face.
“She is not as she appears, Lachlan. She never was.”
Did his friend speak of Wynda or of Ailis? Did he know something more after all? Before he could ask for an explanation, Artair walked away.
The rest of the day passed in silence, his family still reeling from the deaths around them. Supper was a somber meal. Those living in the keep had little patience for idle or joyful chatter that night. Rest wouldn’t come to him, so he rose long before dawn to be on his way.
He reached the cottage just as the sun broke the eastern horizon. There was no sign of Ailis, so he walked inside to wait. Smiling at the memories of this place and of her, Lachlan tugged open the wooden shutters to watch for her approach. When the sound of footsteps behind him interrupted his thoughts, he turned, thinking he’d missed her arrival.
“Lachlan,” she said softly as he turned.
That was the last thing he would remember.
