Chapter Three
Laird Arran Sinclairstood before the hearth of the Sinclair keep, his coal-black eyes fixed on the shadow emerging from the tapestry-draped doorway—a figure covered in a cloak.
“Arran Sinclair,” the man beneath the hood insisted. “The union between yer clan and the McAfees is vital. A marriage must be arranged quickly. We seek Ailis’s hand now that ye have failed to secure a union between one of yer sons and the eldest lass.”
Arran’s shoulders tensed, his tartan sash tightening across his chest. With a slow nod, he answered, “Me sons are prepared to court the sisters honorably and diligently, but the girls seem to care naught for them.”
“Courting them with honor may not have the results we’re looking for. We cannot allow the McAfees to make their alliance with the McClains stronger than it already is. It is vital to our plan that we become allies with all we can and separate those whom we canna make alliances with.”
Arran nodded. “Aye. Me sons and I will make certain they dinna marry.”
“That may be harder than ye think. The girl is becoming fond of Lachlan McClain. I dinnae want to have to choose another laird to be me second-in-command,” the man warned. The cloaked figure studied him silently before receding into the shadows.
Arran began to plan, knowing that this alliance was more than just affection—it was a play for power. If he did what he should, he would be second in command to the shadow man. Together they would rule over all the Highlands. He must make certain it happened that way, but without his sons knowing he was obeying another. They must never catch his weakness.
As silence enveloped the room, Laird Sinclair allowed himself a moment of solitude to weigh his options. Within the cold walls of his ancestral home, duty and desire waged war in his heart. No stranger to sacrifice, he was ready to pay the price for the sake of the entire Sinclair clan—and power. What man didn’t want power?
*
The oak doorcreaked open as Arran Sinclair emerged, observing his sons training with sword and shield. The clang of steel filled the air.
“Enough,” he commanded. Callum and Ian halted their sparring.
“Father,” Ian panted, “what news?”
“The McAfee lass, Ailis,” Arran announced, “Her heart seems inclined toward Lachlan McClain.”
Ian’s expression tightened, but Callum remained silent.
“We must succeed now where we’ve failed before. Time is short,” Arran warned. “Ailis must choose to marry a Sinclair or our legacy will crumble. Ye must win her over, Ian. Or if ye cannot, we must find a suitable Sinclair who will do as we tell him and win her hand.”
Determination flared in Ian’s eyes, the same that had carried the Sinclair line for generations. “Consider it done,” he replied. “Ailis McAfee will forget McClain ever caught her eye. I will court her.”
Arran regarded his sons, seeing their unwavering resolve. “Go now, prepare,” he instructed. “Tomorrow brings a new day and the future of our clan. If one of ye cannae catch her eye, we will have to find another Sinclair man who will follow our orders and marry her.”
As his sons left, Laird Sinclair reflected on the sacrifices made for ambition. Their cost was etched into his face and woven into his clan’s history.
Duty, above all else, would guide their hands, even as it constricted their hearts.
*
A week later,Ailis stood behind Fiona, her fingers skillfully braiding her sister’s long hair and twisting it in a knot behind her head. “Ye look more beautiful than ever,” she murmured.
Fiona met her gaze in the mirror. “Thank ye. Tis difficult to find the balance between wife and lady of the clan at times, but I am trying to make it work.”
“We are always here to help ye,” Ailis assured her, patting Fiona’s shoulder. “Moira and I would do anything.”
Fiona nodded, grateful for Ailis’s support. “I ken ye would. Yer the best sisters anyone could ask for.”
Ailis observed her sister, then turned toward the window, pondering the growing presence of Lachlan in her life. She recalled his lingering gaze, the warmth of his touch during a dance, and their laughter in moments of joy.
Her heart raced yet her doubts lingered. Their history was just a collection of fleeting moments. Could something enduring emerge?
She recalled his eyes, stormy and mischievous, his voice smooth as whisky when he spoke her name. The attraction was palpable, pulling her closer with each encounter.
But duty whispered caution. As the middle McAfee daughter, she was supposed to nurture and protect others. Was it wise to be drawn to Lachlan?
She glanced back at Fiona’s hopeful face and recognized her own yearning—to follow her heart despite uncertainty.
