Chapter Twenty-Four
The grand stonewalls of the great hall reverberated with Laird Gordon’s booming voice. “This afternoon, we shall partake in a lively game of rum-soaked apple bobbing!”
Ailis and her sister Moira exchanged icy glances, their disdain for such a childish activity clearly evident. Ailis had never enjoyed bobbing for apples, and she knew she wouldn’t like the same activity with rum added. With their postures, it was clear that they were both harboring rebellious thoughts behind their composed exteriors.
As they finished their noon meal, the sisters secretly plotted to escape the confines of the keep as soon as possible. Creeping through the quiet corridors, their steps muffled by lush carpets, Ailis and Moira cautiously made their way toward the exit.
But just as they were about to slip out undetected, Laird Gordon appeared before them, blocking their escape with his imposing presence.
“Good morrow,” he heaved. “Ye McAfee women are intent on causing trouble at our ceilidh. Where are ye going?”
“We—” Ailis began, wondering how to explain where she and Moira were going.
“Ye cannot leave us now,” Laird Gordon scolded. “Ye are integral to today’s celebrations.”
Ailis stared at the laird in disbelief. “How can two young women be integral to bobbing apples in rum? That makes no sense.”
Laird Gordon smiled. “Because ye are. Now return to the great hall.”
Their hearts sank at the orders. Having had their hopes of escape crushed, they conceded to the laird.
“We do but wish for quiet before the celebration commences,” Ailis forced through gritted teeth. “It’s been a loud few days.” She didn’t add that she and Moira had spent the previous day hunting instead of learning the dance. Shame burned in her chest as she was sure the man already knew of their absence and would use it against them later.
“Ah, but ye shall find serenity in the joy this brings,” Laird Gordon commanded affectionately.
Reluctance heavy on their shoulders, Ailis and Moira turned back into the keep. The apple bobbing awaited them—a day filled with dutiful performances expected of them. Whether they were inclined to join or not, they could not bring shame on their clan by refusing.
In the lively great hall, Ailis gazed upon Lachlan, who stood beside a large wooden tub filled with apples in rum. He leaned over the tub, dark hair falling forward as he prepared for the ridiculous game Laird Gordon had planned.
“Watch closely,” Lachlan called, eyes gleaming with mischief. “I shall demonstrate the noble art of apple conquest!”
With hands clasped behind his back, Lachlan dipped his head into the barrel. Cheers erupted as he failed to secure an apple, emerging damp and undaunted. He raised both arms above his head in victory.
Ailis chuckled at his efforts. “Mayhap the apples are bewitched, repelling ye like true scoundrels.” She loved that he hadn’t gotten an apple. The man seemed to be good at everything, and she was thrilled to see that didn’t hold true here.
“Or they fear Clan McClain!” Lachlan retorted, shaking droplets from his hair.
Ailis and Moira laughed heartily at his comment before they were interrupted by Bearnard, Lucas, and Horas—their self-appointed suitors—approaching in fine attire and wearing eager expressions.
“Come now, Ailis,” Bearnard rumbled. “Yer turn awaits.”
Lucas nodded eagerly. “Aye, it’ll be grand to see ye best the apples.”
Horas loomed a pace behind—an unspoken reminder of duty and tradition.
“Stand aside,” Ailis commanded gently. “I am content to observe.” She had no desire to stick her face into the barrel. She had never enjoyed bobbing for apples, and when ye added the rum into the activity, she knew she would hate it.
“Observation is the refuge of the timid,” Bearnard countered, gesturing toward the tub theatrically.
“Aye, perhaps another day—” Ailis began before being ushered toward the challenge by Lucas and Horas. Now that she was in front of the tub, she worried that if she backed away, she would be seen as a coward.
“Ye needn’t fear the rum, nor the apples,” Lucas assured her. His eyes seemed to dare her to try the activity, and as much as she despised the man, it was hard for her to back down from a dare.
“Besides, ’tis but in good fun,” Horas added, his smile not quite reaching his watchful eyes.
Ailis found herself before the tub and cast a longing glance at Moira. “Very well,” Ailis conceded reluctantly. “Let us proceed with this… merriment.”
After successfully bobbing an apple, all eyes turned expectantly toward Moira. The youngest McAfee braced herself for battle, defiance flickering in her eyes.
