Moira added fiercely, “We wish to leave.”
Ailis met Lachlan’s gaze with determination. “We have been pawns for too long.”
Ailis observed as Lachlan and Brodie deliberated in the cool morning air. Their patience contrasted with the unrest in her heart.
“They seem to be carrying on where the Sinclairs left off,” Lachlan murmured. “Every action orchestrated by unseen hands.”
“Aye, but who is doing it?” Brodie replied. “We must uncover the truth.” His eyes met Ailis’s.
“I haven’t spoken to Alisdair since our arrival,” Lachlan confessed, gazing into the distance. “We’re pawns on a chessboard, but pawns become queens when they reach their opponent’s side of the board. That is what we must do. We must persevere until we become the most powerful pieces on the board.”
Moira’s hand brushed against Ailis’s—a wordless vow between sisters to face whatever game was afoot together. “I suppose that means that we must stay longer to determine what plans they have for us, and what they plan to do in the end.”
Lachlan nodded. “I think it best. And we must speak with Alisdair and Fiona. I worry that they are being kept from us, even as we’re kept from them.”
Moira sighed dramatically. “I do not want to spend another second in the company of those men. They think we should be incapable of being good at shooting and knife-throwing because we are women.”
Ailis wanted to mention that a penis didn’t seem to be necessary for knife-throwing, but she knew better. It would embarrass all four of them. Perhaps it was something she should say to the would-be suitors who plagued them.
The great hall enveloped them as they entered for breakfast, united in their resistance against invisible constraints. Ailis planned to sit with Lachlan and Brodie, but she worried that something would happen to keep her from doing so.
Yet, moments after sitting at the long table, Horas, Lucas, and Bearnard wedged themselves between them like hawks to prey.
“Good morrow,” Lucas greeted with feigned cordiality. “I’m looking forward to the knife-throwing this morning. Ye’re to enter as well, Ailis?”
“Good morrow,” Ailis replied politely but distant, attempting to see past the human barricade separating her from Lachlan. “I am. And I will win.”
The clatter of plates and the aroma of porridge filled the air while unsaid words and weighted glances thickened the atmosphere. Duty warred with desire within Ailis as battle lines were drawn precisely, leaving no room for retreat.
Lucas laughed softly. “Ye only say that because ye’ve never seen me throw a knife.”
Ailis clenched her jaw, tension in her face betraying the storm brewing within. The false air of friendliness suffocated the breakfast table. She turned to Horas who avoided eye contact as he served himself porridge. “And ye’ve never seen me throw.”
“Why do ye insist on following us and keeping us from speaking to Lachlan and Brodie?” Ailis’s green eyes blazed. Perhaps the men would be willing to share who held the strings as their puppet master.
Horas finally met her gaze. “Ye mistake our intent, Ailis. We only seek good company.” Unease flickered across his face.
“Good company that leaves no room for choice or freedom,” she retorted. Their silence spoke louder than words. Ailis could tell that Horas was uncomfortable with the lie. Perhaps he was the one to focus on with her questions.
Later, at the knife-throwing competition, Ailis stepped forward, her heart pounding like war drums of old. She focused on the wooden target ahead, blocking out the crowd’s murmurs. She’d been practicing this sport for her entire life, and she was confident she would do well.
With practiced grace, she drew back her arm and released. The dagger spun through the air before embedding itself into the target’s center. Whispers of admiration rippled through the onlookers.
Ailis savored a moment of triumph but was weighed down by expectations and political schemes. As she retrieved her knife, she vowed to wield fate with precision and resolve, honoring both her desires and duties.
Lachlan calmly watched Ailis claim victory with a deadly and accurate throw. When his turn came, he confidently hurled his blade, landing it just shy of center. While he earned second place, Lachlan’s joy came from witnessing Ailis’s skill.
As he approached her, Laird Gordon intercepted him. “Lachlan,” he began gravely, “yer skills are commendable. Yer father must be very proud of ye.”
“Thank ye, Laird,” Lachlan replied respectfully, although his attention remained on Ailis. “He’s made sure all of his sons are proficient in fighting skills.”
Later, as they observed the bustling grounds, Lachlan voiced his concern to Brodie. “Brother, we must speak with Moira and Ailis without unwanted company. There must be a way.”
Brodie agreed. “Aye, let’s offer them an escape. Perhaps arrange a meeting away in the glen to unveil the truth. We may not be able to get to them, but we can write a note to meet us and give it to Kevin to give to them. This is ridiculous.”
“Let us be cautious,” Brodie warned. “We tread upon delicate ground.”
Lachlan smiled wryly. “True enough. But we are McClains. Challenges dinnae daunt us.” And with that, they began planning their next move.
