Had they been at the Kincaid Castle, their footsteps would have echoed against the floor as they moved deeper into the heart of the fortress. There weren’t enough people and enough happenings to disguise their arrival. Here, the McKenzies seemed to be bustling with activity in all directions. Hardly anyone even stopped to acknowledge the newcomers surrounded by guards. Aila wondered if it was a normal occasion to have unannounced guests here.
When they finally made it to the Great Hall, Aila was sure her eyes were as wide as Arran’s.
“Wait here,” the man in charge said before he disappeared into the hall.
It wasn’t as if he had given them a choice, as all of his men were still stationed around the family, keeping them from so much as breathing without being seen.
“Everything will be all right. Just hold my hand and let me do the talking for now. I swear it will nae be as frightening as it seems. If the stories are to be believed, Iona McKenzie will love ye just as much as I do.”
“I will hold yer hand too, Aila,” Arran offered, putting on a brace face.
“Well then,” Aila answered with a warm smile. “How can I be nervous with my two favorite men here to keep me safe?”
Taking her place between them, she wove her fingers through Lachlan’s, holding them tight. In her other hand, Arran’s small hand tucked into hers. She didn’t know if the boy had offered more for her sake or his own, but she was happy to have him close. Squeezing his hand tight, she pulled her shoulders back and determined to ignore the nerves in her stomach.
“Follow me,” the same guard said curtly, having stepped in only seconds later.
Too nervous to take in the room, Aila kept her eyes directly in front of her, on the back of the guard’s head as he led them all inside the Great Hall. The rest of the guards faded to the background, taking up their positions around the room. She was half convinced that they had just walked into a death trap. At least, she was until she looked up and met rich, brown eyes.
The woman wasn’t smiling, but her eyes glimmered all the same, as if she could have been. Long, thick hair, the same chestnut color as her eyes, was plated and wrapped around a shoulder, sitting serenely against her pale skin.
Her place at the head of the table told Aila that she was looking at Laird Iona McKenzie. To her right sat a man with broad shoulders and hair speckled with gray. She assumed this was Finn, Iona’s Captain of the Guard and husband. He wore a very grim expression that made Aila glad he wasn’t the one they had come to meet. The man didn’t seem to know that, as he was the first to address them.
“It is nae verra often we have a man insist on speaking to our Laird. It is even less often that this stranger comes with grave news. How are we supposed to trust ye?”
These were all questions Aila would expect any good captain to ask, but they set her on edge all the same.
“My name is Lachlan Kincaid. My father was the Kincaid Laird for nearly three decades. I think perhaps ye kent him.”
Aila was shocked to hear Lachlan tell the truth. His state as a wanted man had prompted him to keep his identity hidden from nearly everyone. Lachlan knew his admission would surprise his wife, but he also knew that the risk of putting on a facade in front of the McKenzies posed a far greater danger than being candid.
The rest of the men sat around the table, with Laird Iona whispering furtively at Lachlan’s answer. Clearly they had at least heard of him before. Aila wasn’t sure if that would play in their favor or not. For a moment, the room was filled with chaotic murmurings. Though it had been Finn’s question that Lachlan had answered, it was Iona who spoke next.
“Aye,” she said, her voice even, not needing to raise it to silence her advisors. “The last I heard was that the Kincaid Clan had been razed and left desolate. I was nae even aware that the heir still lived.”
“There was a rumor,” a balding councilor spoke up, his voice gravely from a lifetime of shouting orders. “That a Kincaid warrior escaped the English prisons and has thus far evaded being recaptured.”
Iona hummed thoughtfully, so clearly and completely in control of the room. Lachlan didn’t shift his feet or avert his eyes. Everything they had said so far was the truth, and he wasn’t going to pretend otherwise. From the amused twitch at the corner of Finn’s mouth, he guessed that the Captain approved of Lachlan’s rebellious past.
“I will hear yer story,” Iona told him after another beat. “I want ye to tell me in yer own words. And then we will decide what to do.”
“Thank ye.”
Lachlan gave her a nod that looked more like a bow than anything else. She returned the gesture and sent a hand into the air, waving it over. Maids, who seemingly emerged from thin air, came behind the trio, giving them all a chair and a freshcup of tea at the table. Aila settled herself in, grateful for the steaming brew and the accompanying biscuit. Arran looked just as relieved to have been given the chance to sit. Lachlan sipped once at his cup then set it down and pushed it back, ready to dive into his recounting.
“What ye have heard is the truth. At least, they are bits and pieces of the truth. I am honored that ye give me the chance to tell the truth in its entirety.”
Iona waved Lachlan on.
“Many years ago, a dear friend and I were sent to an Englishman’s home to bring him the warhorses he had bought and to help with training. Once there, we discovered a Scottish lass, desperate and distraught. Her father had given the lass to the Englishman to pay off a debt. But this man was a wicked man and had already taken to beating the young woman whenever the mood struck him.”
Arran winced at hearing his mother’s tale. Aila reached out a hand and rubbed his back for just a moment, wishing he didn’t have to relive this alongside Lachlan.
“She begged for us to help her escape. I could nae, in good conscience, leave her there. She was convinced the man would kill her and within two days of kenning this Englishman, I was too. So my friend and I helped her escape back to our clan. There, she married and started a family.”
Lachlan reached a hand in front of Aila and gestured to Arran.
“My godson, Arran, is her firstborn.”
