Chapter Six
I n the dim light of the McAfee clan’s formal study, Fiona stood before her father, the heavy oak door softly thudding behind her. The room exuded the power and history of their lineage, every tapestry and artifact mementos of duty and sacrifice. Laird Duncan McAfee was seated in a grand chair that commanded attention.
“Father,” Fiona began. “I have given much thought to the matter of Alisdair McClain.”
Duncan’s eyes, sharp as the dirk he kept at his side, studied Fiona’s face. “Ye ken my concerns, Fiona. I have been approached by Arran Sinclair with a match between you and Malcolm.”
“Nay. I will not marry that man,” she replied, the corners of her mouth tightening ever so slightly. “He makes me uneasy, and I dinna trust him.”
“I merely ask ye get ta know him better.”
“Nay, Father. There is something about him that turns my insides to stone. I danced with him, as I felt it was my duty to do so, but he sickened me. Not like Alisdair.”
“A merger between our clan and the Sinclairs would mean a much larger area of land that we would control. It would be a good arrangement.”
“Nay. Nay. Nay.”
Duncan sighed. “And ye suppose Alisdair McClain is the man ye should marry?”
“I am not certain yet, but I feel it is possible. But as ye have taught me, my mind must guide me, not haste. Alisdair is a man of honor, and I find myself drawn to the depth of his character. I wish to discern if his heart aligns with the values we hold dear, if his ambitions will bolster our kin or place them at risk.”
Duncan leaned back in his chair, the creak of leather soft in the silence that followed. His fingers drummed a thoughtful rhythm upon the arm of his chair.
“Ye are headstrong, like yer mother was,” he finally spoke, a hint of pride coloring his words. “But this decision bears the weight of our future. Can ye assure me that in seeking yer own path, ye will not lose sight of the needs of our clan?”
“Father, it is because I am yer daughter that ye need not fear.” Fiona’s stance remained unwavering. “I seek only to understand the true measure of the man who may stand by my side. Give me time, and I shall discern whether Alisdair McClain can be both a political ally and a companion worthy of my hand.”
“And if ye decide he is not, will ye at least consider Malcolm Sinclair?”
“Nay, I will not. He is not a man who I could ever lie with. He makes me want to vomit.”
The laird regarded Fiona, the lines of his face softening as he recognized the same resolve that had steered their clan through countless trials. “Then take the time ye need, my child,” he conceded, though his voice carried the weight of unspoken cautions. “But dinna let yer heart lead ye astray from the duties that bind us.”
“Thank ye, Father.” Fiona’s lips curved into a grateful smile. With a bow of her head, she turned to leave.
*
Laird Duncan McAfee paced the stone floor, his tartan sash swaying with each measured step. Alisdair stood by the window. “And tell me why ye think ye are the man to marry me eldest daughter? Me Fiona?”
Alisdair turned from the window, his gaze meeting Laird Duncan’s with a steady intensity. “Laird McAfee, I stand before ye not as a man seeking easy favor, but as one who recognizes the gravity of the alliance I seek to make. Fiona is a woman of incomparable strength and grace, a warrior.”
He paused, choosing his words with care, aware of the weight they carried in this crucial moment. “I offer naught but sincerity in my intentions toward Fiona. As the eldest son of the laird of Clan McClain, I have shouldered the burdens of command and fought to protect our kin with every fiber of my being. But in Fiona, I see a partner whose courage matches my own, whose unwavering loyalty to her family echoes the values that guide my own actions.”
Drawing closer to Duncan’s grand chair that commanded attention, Alisdair’s presence filled the room with a quiet authority. “I understand the concerns that weigh on yer heart, Laird McAfee. But I would ask ye to consider this—our union would not only bind our clans in alliance but in spirit as well. With Fiona at me side, I see a future where our peoples thrive, where our strengths complement each other in ways that will strengthen the very core of our lands.”
His blue eyes held a glint of determination as he continued, “I do not seek to claim Fiona out of duty or convenience. Nay, Laird, I stand before ye today to declare that it is out of genuine admiration for all that she is. Her spirit kindles a fire in me that burns brighter than any battlefield victory.”
Alisdair’s voice resonated with sincerity, each word carefully chosen to convey the depth of his feelings. “I pledge to ye now, Laird Duncan McAfee, that I will honor and cherish Fiona as my equal and my partner in all things.
“Ye ken well the whispers that surround the McClain clan,” Duncan began. “Ye are thought to be a cunning lot, and I fear yer intentions might not be as honorable as yer courtship implies.”
Alisdair held Duncan’s gaze, his piercing blue eyes unwavering as he spoke with conviction. “Laird McAfee, I understand the doubts that linger in your mind, but I swear by the blood of my ancestors and the honor of my clan that my intentions toward Fiona are pure. I seek nothing but her happiness and well-being, for her heart is a treasure that I would guard with my life.” Alisdair made sure to stare straight at the laird as he finished speaking, so the man would acknowledge the truth that he spoke.
Duncan McAfee, his expression unreadable, watched Alisdair carefully. The words rang with sincerity, resonating within the stone walls of the great hall where they stood. After a moment of contemplative silence, the laird finally spoke, his voice gruff yet measured.
“Alisdair McClain, I hear the earnestness in yer words and see the conviction in yer eyes,” Duncan began more softly. “I will trust Fiona’s judgment and the purity of yer intentions. But know this, laddie, there is another suitor whose claim to Fiona’s hand I hold in high regard. Malcolm Sinclair, a man of wealth and standing, has expressed his interest in allying through marriage with the McAfee clan. His lands are vast, his warriors fierce, and his loyalty unwavering.” Duncan paused, his eyes searching Alisdair’s face for any hint of reaction.
Alisdair remained composed, though inwardly a storm raged within him. Despite his resolve, a flicker of concern danced in his eyes as he met Duncan’s gaze.
“Laird McAfee,” Alisdair began steadily, “I am aware of Malcolm Sinclair’s suit for Fiona’s hand. While I hold respect for his accomplishments and the strength of his clan, I must say that I have feelings for your daughter. Can Sinclair say the same?”
Duncan stared at Alisdair for a moment before admitting, “I do not know.”
“Give me time to win her heart. Please.”
Duncan finally nodded.
*
Fiona stood firm as the silence swelled within the stone-clad chamber of her father’s study. “Father,” she began, her voice carrying the strength of her convictions, “I ken well the duties that bind me to our clan. My loyalty to our name is unwavering.” She paused, her hands clasping before her in a gesture of sincerity. “But I must also heed the call of my own heart in matters of love and life.”
Duncan’s gaze did not waver from his daughter’s, though the lines on his weathered face deepened with concern. His voice, when it broke the charged stillness, held the gravity of his station. “Fiona, my child, ye are braver than most men I have known and sharper than the tips of your arrows. Your accomplishments speak of your strength and wisdom.” He rose from his seat, moving closer to her, his tall frame casting a long shadow across the room.
“Yet even the strongest fortress may fall to treachery,” he continued, his words echoing with a father’s fear. “The McClains are shrouded in whispers of deceit and ambition. They say Fearghas McClain, Alisdair’s father, seeks alliances not for honor, but for power that could upset the delicate balance among the clans.”
Fiona listened, her braid shifting over her shoulder as she inclined her head to acknowledge his point. She felt the pull of her heartstrings, taut with the desire to explore what might bloom between her and Alisdair, yet she could not dismiss her father’s foreboding.
“Ye speak of rumors, Father,” Fiona countered gently. “Rumors are naught but shadows—insubstantial and often born of malice or fear. Should we not seek the light of truth ourselves?”
Laird Duncan McAfee’s gaze softened then, pride mingling with the worry in his eyes. “Aye, Fiona. It is your right to seek out such truth. Be careful, lest you find yourself ensnared in a McClain’s trap.”
She heard the unspoken love behind his caution, understanding the depth of his fears. “I will tread carefully, Father,” she promised, her resolve as steadfast as the ancient stones that formed the walls around them. “For the good of our people, and for my own heart’s sake.”
She started to leave, but paused, turning back to face the laird. “Father, I cannot depart without expressing the depth of my gratitude. Your counsel is very important to me, and I promise to weigh every word of it before I make a decision.”
“Your words honor me, Fiona.” His deep voice resonated through the room like a distant rumble of thunder over the highland moors. “Your independence, though it may fray my nerves, makes me a very proud father.”
“Your love and support are what I need to guide me through this time,” Fiona replied, her blue eyes holding his in a moment of silent acknowledgment.
“Go now,” Laird Duncan urged, warmth seeping into his demeanor. “And remember, whatever path you choose, you do not walk it alone. My love goes with ye, as does the pride of the McAfee name.”
Fiona stepped out into the brisk air. Her gaze swept over the grounds where the Highland Games had unfolded in days prior, the remnants of competition and camaraderie reduced to trampled grass and a sparse assembly of lingering tents. Yet among this desolation of festivity, the McClain tent remained, its robust canvas flapping softly against the whisper of the wind.
She moved across the field. As Fiona drew near, the sound of familiar voices reached her ears. Alisdair was engaged in earnest conversation with his brother, gesturing animatedly as he spoke, his broad shoulders squared.
Lachlan responded with equal vigor, his smile infectious even from a distance. But it was Alisdair who captivated her attention. The way his presence commanded the space around him, the sharp wit that flashed in his piercing blue eyes, the subtle gentleness that underscored his strength.
“Ah, Fiona,” Alisdair called, catching sight of her. A ripple of surprise crossed his features, quickly replaced by a welcoming expression. “I’ve been graced by your father’s generosity—he has permitted me to extend my stay within your clan’s stronghold.”
The words stirred a mixture of elation and apprehension for Fiona. It was a concession she had not anticipated, a gift of time that might allow her to unravel the enigma that was Alisdair. She considered his countenance carefully, searching for any hint of the rumors that her father feared, yet finding only the open visage of a man who wished to get better acquainted with her.
“Your presence honors us, Alisdair,” Fiona replied, allowing the formality of manners to cloak the fluttering of her thoughts. The prospect of his extended company promised both risk and reward, a challenge to her judgment and an opportunity to explore the depths of her desires.
“Shall we walk?” he suggested, extending an invitation with a slight tilt of his head toward the rolling expanse of the McAfee lands.
“Certainly,” she consented steadily as she stepped forward to join him.
“Would ye do me the honor of joining me on a hunt?” he inquired, his piercing blue gaze softening with an earnestness that beckoned to Fiona’s adventurous spirit.
“Nothing would please me more,” Fiona responded with a quickened heartbeat. Grasping the opportunity to witness his prowess beyond the battlefield and to test her own skills beside him, she excused herself with a graceful nod and hastened back toward the stronghold.
She knew for a certainty that Malcolm Sinclair would never ask her to hunt with him. He was the type of man who thought a woman should be seen and not heard. Nay, what she needed was a man like Alisdair, who accepted her for who she was.
Fiona navigated the familiar corridors with swift, determined strides. Her eyes sparkled with anticipation as she reached her chamber, retrieving her cherished bow and quiver of arrows.
The weight of the bow in her grasp felt like an extension of her very. With her hunting gear secured, she rushed through the castle.
Her path led her to the warm heart of the stronghold—the kitchen. There, in the middle of preparations for the evening meal, stood her grandmother, a pillar of wisdom and comfort in Fiona’s life.
“Granny,” Fiona began, “I believe I have found him—a man who is both a capable ally for our clan and a kindred spirit for my heart.”
Her grandmother paused, eyes locking with Fiona’s with an intensity that spoke volumes of her love and concern. Without a word, Fiona wrapped her arms around the diminutive figure, feeling the warmth and strength that had guided her since childhood. She planted a tender kiss atop the silver crown of hair.
“Be wary, child, but be true to yourself,” her grandmother uttered softly.
The door to the kitchen swung closed with a gentle thud. Granny’s eyes remained fixed on its sturdy oak panels, as if through sheer will she could still glimpse the granddaughter who had just departed.
Granny’s hands, gnarled like the ancient branches of the rowan tree outside her window, clutched at the edge of the worn wooden table.
As the lass hastened toward an uncertain future, the familiar tides of trepidation rose within Granny’s chest.
“Choices,” she murmured to herself. Aye, the decisions Fiona faced were as rugged and daunting as the Highlands themselves. Would she find a path through the heather-laden fields that allowed her both the joy of love and the strength of alliance? Or would she, like so many before her, lose herself in duty and sacrifice?
A gentle clinking of metal drew Granny’s gaze to the hearth, where a pot hung simmering over the low flames. She watched as the bubbles rose and popped, a slow and steady rhythm that matched the beating of her own heart. In the dance of firelight and shadow, she saw reflected the trials of her own youth—the choices made, the love cherished, and the sacrifices endured.
“Guide her, ancestors,” Granny whispered. “Shield her heart from folly, but let it not be hardened by the chill of politics.”
It was in such moments of solitude that Granny afforded herself the luxury of worry, for in the presence of others, she was the matriarch—the keeper of stories and wisdom. But here, in the quiet aftermath of Fiona’s departure, she permitted the fears of a grandmother to swell within her bosom.
*
Fiona strode purposefully alongside Alisdair. Oblivious to her grandmother’s fretful musings ensconced within the stone walls of their ancestral home, she ventured into the woods.
“Your father would have preferred your sisters’ company on such a venture,” Alisdair remarked, his voice a deep timbre that vibrated through the trees themselves.
“Aye,” Fiona agreed, her eyes flickering with unspoken thoughts. “But ’tis not my sisters I wish to steal away with.” She cast a sidelong glance at him, her blue eyes sparking with daring, revealing a glint of the desire that lay hidden beneath layers of duty.
They made their way to a clearing known only to those who bore the secrets of the land. The chill of the morning mist clung to Fiona’s skin, but it was the anticipation of what was to come that sent shivers down her spine. A hush settled over the clearing as if even the wildlife held its breath for the moment about to unfold.
“Alisdair,” Fiona murmured. He stepped toward her, a silent understanding passing between them.
His hand found hers, strong and warm against the cool air, and he drew her closer. Their lips met, and the world faded into insignificance. Fiona lost herself in the embrace, her warrior’s guard falling away to reveal the woman whose heart yearned fiercely.
As the kiss ended, they stood forehead to forehead, breath mingling. For now, in this secluded enclave, duty and sacrifice were distant echoes, drowned out by the beating of two hearts entwined in the timeless dance of longing and affection.
“Come.” Fiona’s voice was steady despite the turmoil that raged within. “Let us begin our hunt.”
And with the taste of Alisdair’s kiss still lingering upon her lips, she led the way deeper into the woods, an arrow notched and ready, the huntress once more in command.