Ailis watched as Lucas faced Lachlan. His features were slackened by drink, but his eyes remained sharp—a window to the sober mind beneath.
“’Tis the plan, Lachlan,” Lucas slurred. “We must all follow the plan laid out for us.” His tone suggested a path deviation was forbidden.
Lachlan’s smile vanished as tension enveloped the group. He clenched his jaw in defiance.
“Who made the plan?” Ailis asked softly, hoping Lucas would say more in his inebriated state.
Horas stepped forward, silencing Lucas. “Enough about plans. We have indulged ye enough for one day.”
Ailis caught Moira’s eye, sharing a moment of silent understanding. Lachlan glanced at Ailis with concern while Brodie observed the scene quietly.
“We shall retire to prepare for supper,” announced Laird Gordon, his voice echoing through the hall. Ailis and Moira exchanged looks of relief. They were going to finally be allowed to be away from the men for a few minutes.
Ailis steadied herself, taking Moira’s arm. Together, they moved toward the castle doors, flanked by Lachlan and Brodie. The weight of unspoken questions and unseen plots was heavy with each step.
Once outside, a guard blocked their path. “Please, the hour grows late, and preparations for supper must commence.”
Feeling Lachlan’s supportive touch, Ailis offered him a faint smile. Moira replied with her usual hint of mischief, “We wouldn’t dream of defying tradition.”
The guard nodded respectfully and let them pass into the castle. As they climbed the stairs to their bedchamber, the sisters discussed how they would pry as much information as possible from the men that night.
