Finally breaking free from the group, Lachlan made his way through the throng of dancers toward where Ailis was dancing with Bearnard. Just as he reached out a hand to claim her as his partner, another figure intercepted him—Horas joined the dance, smoothly taking over from Bearnard without missing a beat.
A mix of frustration and longing flashed across Lachlan’s face as he watched Ailis whirl away from him once more. Their hosts seemed determined to keep them apart despite their silent desires to be together.
And so, Ailis and Lachlan found themselves dancing closer yet further away than ever before, their hearts intertwined yet physically separated by unseen forces at play.
Ailis’s gaze swept the hall, taking in the festivities that concealed her inner turmoil. Trapped in a dance, she couldn’t reach Lachlan. Her smile hid her growing frustration as her role prevented any private conversation with him.
As the night wore on, Ailis observed Lachlan engaged in lively dances, his eyes gleaming with mischief. She yearned to draw him close, but the crowded hall hindered her. When the music died down at the end of the celebration, Horas, Bearnard, and Lucas escorted Ailis and Moira through stone corridors to their chambers.
At their doors, Lucas challenged whether they needed their own guard—Kevin—outside their room.
“It is no slight to the Gordon Clan,” Ailis spoke diplomatically, “but with such grand assembly, we find comfort in added precautions.” She didn’t mention how she and her sister had been kidnapped in recent months. She decided that information wasn’t any of his business.
With a nod from Lucas and goodnights exchanged, Ailis entered her chamber. She was relieved when she could finally shut the door. Now it was just her and Moira.
Inside the stone chamber, Ailis turned to Moira. “Did ye feel cornered by Horas, Bearnard, and Lucas tonight?”
Moira plucked at her skirt before responding, “Aye, we had no say in our own evening. And Lucas mentioned something about ye and Bearnard, but it wasn’t clear. I truly think they were set upon us to keep us from the McClain men. But why?”
Ailis longed for a moment with Lachlan to discuss her theories about what had happened that evening, but she had a feeling it would do no good. Besides, she couldn’t get to him without being interrupted. They’d been at the games for less than a day, and she was ready to return home.
The sisters retired to bed, each pondering what the morrow might bring. Sleep evaded them on the coarse mattress while unfamiliar sounds echoed around.
The dance of alliance and courtship chafed against Ailis’s yearning for sincerity and choice. She tossed restlessly throughout the night. Moira eventually succumbed to slumber,leaving Ailis awash in longing and the reality of her predicament.
It was after dawn when Ailis finally drifted off, haunted by whispers of unspoken words and distant bagpipes’ melody.
The call of the bagpipes disrupted dawn’s silence, waking Ailis from her restless sleep. She left the bed she shared with Moira and dressed in formal attire alongside her sister.
In the great hall, Horas, Bearnard, and Lucas circled Ailis and Moira like competing eagles. The chivalrous courtship hinted at more than simple affection. Ailis met each advance gracefully, though her smile never reached her eyes.
*
As the clansall gathered together for the archery contest, anticipation filled the misty highlands. The three suitors boasted their expertise with the bow and sought tokens from the sisters. Ailis hid her amusement as she responded, “I’d wager our Fiona will outshoot every man present.” And she knew her words to be true. Fiona could outshoot any man she’d ever seen.
The sisters watched the men compete—an embodiment of grace, wit, and subtle rebellion against their expected roles.
Ailis whispered to Moira that the men seemed to think they could actually win the contest, and they both dissolved into giggles, ready to see the men’s faces when a mere lass outshot them all.
Anticipation coiled in Ailis’s chest while Fiona stood among the competitors, serene amid restless energy. It seemed the three of them were the only women to be competing, but that didn’t bother Ailis. She knew that she was the best at knife-throwing, and Fiona could outshoot any man. And no one could match Moira with a sword. Even a man twice Moira’s size couldn’t defeat her.
“Begin!” called the master of games.
The men took aim and loosed their arrows, drawing cheers or sympathetic sighs. Horas, Bearnard, and Lucas struck near the heart of the targets. Still, everyone awaited Fiona’s turn.
Approaching the mark, Fiona commanded silent respect. She nocked her arrow with practiced ease, bowstring brushing her lips. The air stilled as she drew back, eyes narrowing in concentration.
Her arrow flew swift and true. Once, twice, thrice. Each shot showcased Fiona’s prowess. Ailis swelled with pride at her sister’s triumph.
“Yer aim is as keen as yer wit,” Ailis murmured to herself.
Applause erupted like a waterfall after a storm. Even competing archers commended her skill. A child presented Fiona with a heather-colored silk ribbon—the champion’s prize—and she held it up, letting it dance in the breeze.
As the contest ended and feasting began, well-meaning courtships blocked Fiona from reuniting with her sisters for a shared meal, despite their best efforts to find a quiet corner.
The sisters settled at a table on the periphery, their hearts burdened by the absence of cherished company. As they ate and drank, their eldest sibling’s silent specter lingered, a reminder of duty and decorum parting kin.
Lucas was angry during supper that night. “How did ye know yer sister would win?”
