Chapter Eleven
B efore her sisters were awake the following morning, Fiona crept from the quiet of their room and through the keep. She took her bow and arrow with her, needing to focus on something other than her impending nuptials. Father had not yet arrived, and she had no idea where he could be. He’d promised to be there in time for the wedding, and the wedding was only a few hours away.
She went to the forested area near the loch, her bow and arrow at the ready. Perhaps she could do some hunting and share it with some of the village, as she did when she was home in McAfee land. She liked to help the orphans and widows, and this was the best way she’d found to do it. Mayhap the McClains would enjoy the same type of help.
She loosed an arrow and shot a rabbit, walking over to collect it. As she was best to pick up her bounty, she stopped for a moment, listening. She put her hand on her hip where she kept her dagger. She wasn’t nearly as good with knives as Ailis, but she was good enough to protect herself. When it wasn’t there, she reached over her shoulder to the quiver. Someone caught her hand as she moved to take an arrow from it.
The stillness of the forest was shattered by the sudden charge of men. Soon Fiona was surrounded by men in McAfee plaids, but she knew they couldn’t be her father’s men, for his men were trained to protect her and her sisters to the point of laying down their lives for them.
The one who had grabbed her hand, who appeared to be the leader, declared, “Yer father has commanded you come with us.”
Fiona struggled against his hands, knowing full well that none of her father’s men would put hands on her without her permission.
Betrayal seized her heart as she recognized the deceit in the garments of her assailants—men she didn’t recognize disguised in the familiar patterns of her own clan.
“Seize her,” came the steely command from amongst the intruders, and the men followed his orders exactly.
She was dragged away from the forest and toward the border of McClain land. She hesitated to scream, for that was a woman’s defense, calling for others to help her. Yet after a short time, she knew it was what she must do.
“Unhand me, ye cowards!” Fiona cried out. Her long braid whipped about her as she struggled against the sinewy arms that bound her. Yet, even as fear clawed at her insides, Fiona’s thoughts raced not to her plight but to the safety of her sisters. She hoped they would not follow and be taken captive as well.
Her captors were relentless, their grips tightening as they dragged her away from the McClain ancestral lands. Despite her warrior’s training, the sheer number overwhelmed her. The shock of the ambush, so deftly executed, left her reeling—their deception a bitter taste upon her tongue.
“Ye may take me, but ye’ll never break the spirit of the McAfees,” Fiona declared, her voice a mixture of defiance and dread.
As her feet stumbled over the uneven terrain, forced onward by her captors, Fiona’s mind raced with the possibilities, each more foreboding than the last.
In that anguished moment, caught between the duty to her kin and the stark reality of her capture, Fiona vowed that no matter the cost, she would not yield to fear, nor would she allow her personal desires to sway her from the path of sacrifice required by her noble station.
She screamed… one loud piercing cry, and she knew that Alisdair heard it… for he must.
“Quiet, lass,” grumbled one of the guards.
Another of the men took a piece of cloth and stuffed it into her mouth so she couldn’t cry out again.
*
Moira woke and realized it was Fiona’s wedding day. She searched around for the sister in question, but she was nowhere to be seen. Moira frowned, realizing it was late in the day for them to not be readying themselves for the wedding that would take place at noon.
She shook Ailis awake. “Where has Fiona gone?”
Ailis frowned, rubbing her eyes and trying to focus. “Fiona? She must be with Lady Caitlin or mayhap she went for a walk.”
Moira rushed from the room, finding the lady in question. “Fiona, she’s not in her bed. Do ye know where she could be?”
Lady Caitlin shook her head slowly. “Nay, I haven’t seen her this morn.” Within moments, she had her sons out watching for Fiona, though she had yet to spot Alisdair.
Caitlin sent one of the servants to tell Alisdair Fiona was missing, though she had probably gone for a morning walk. But Alisdair knew better. He’d sensed the impending danger the night before, and his hunch was much stronger now.
Alisdair stood amid his brothers and loyal warriors, his face a mask of controlled fury. The very air stilled as he stepped forward. With an imperious gesture, he summoned his kin to gather close.
“Brothers,” Alisdair began, “a grievous wrong has been done this day. Fiona McAfee, daughter of our ally, and my affianced bride has been taken from our lands. She’s not merely hiding or wandering. I sense it.”
Lachlan exchanged glances with Brodie, each brother’s resolve mirroring the others. Brodie, ever the silent sentinel, nodded minutely, his every sense attuned to the unfolding strategy.
“We shall not suffer such affronts to go unanswered,” Alisdair declared. “We will marshal our forces and reclaim what has been unjustly seized.”
The warriors, bound by fealty and honor, murmured their agreement, the sound like the rustling of leaves before a storm. Alisdair cast his gaze upon the rugged expanse of highland terrain that lay beyond their gates.
“Her captor must believe the land cloaks him in secrecy,” Lachlan posited, his voice carrying the confidence of one well-versed in the art of deception. “But it is our ally as much as it is his.”
“More our ally,” Alisdair added, “for these are our lands.” His mind was already tracing paths through dense thickets and hidden trails. “Brodie, your eyes have always seen what others overlook. I trust you’ll guide us through the terrain.”
“Under cover of nightfall, we shall move unseen,” Brodie agreed.
“We cannot wait until night,” Alisdair declared. “We must go now.” He spotted his youngest brother, who stood watching everything with wide eyes. “Boyd, you must ask your friends .”
Boyd immediately understood what his brother was saying and nodded. “Aye.” With that, the boy ran back to the safety of the keep.
“The McAfees who arrived yesterday… their tents are gone,” Lachlan observed. “Could they have taken her back to her father?”
“Nay, her father has agreed to our marriage. We must make haste,” Alisdair called. “We shall split our force—Lachlan, take a handful of men and scout the eastern ridge. Brodie and I will lead the main force through the Glen of Shadows.”
“Let us then prepare our arms and our spirits for the task ahead,” Lachlan proclaimed, a rallying cry that roused the hearts of all who heard it. The men dispersed, each to his given duty, their steps sure and silent.
*
The rustle of leaves beneath her feet was the only sound that pierced the heavy silence as Fiona strained against the ropes that bit into her wrists. Her captors, men of Clan Sinclair adorned in the unmistakable McAfee plaids, had not anticipated her warrior’s resolve nor the cunning that sparked like flint in her mind.
“Ye think ye can hold me with mere twine?” she muttered to herself. Fiona worked a small stone between her fingers, abrading the rope stealthily.
As soon as they were beyond the border of McClain land, a man stepped out of the shadows, his eyes meeting Fiona’s. His towering frame loomed at the edge of the fray, his eyes a cold reflection of the calculating mind behind them. Fiona’s piercing blue gaze met his but for a moment.
Her eyes, wide with the terror of uncertainty, never strayed far from Malcolm, whose presence commanded the scene with silent authority. In his unyielding gaze, she saw the unspoken promise of a strategic gambit, one that sought to ensnare more than just a single lass. What plans did Malcolm Sinclair harbor that necessitated such a brazen act?
As she observed the men who had captured her, she realized they knew not that they were merely pawns in a game of political strategy, set upon the chessboard by Malcolm Sinclair himself.
’Tis only a matter of time before I turn their folly against them , thought Fiona, her gaze locked on the horizon where freedom lay beyond the craggy expanse.
As dusk settled upon the land like a cloak, Malcolm Sinclair emerged from the shadows where he’d been, his presence commanding yet weighed down by expectations unseen. Standing tall before Fiona, he surveyed her with calculating eyes.
“Fiona McAfee, your spirit is admirable, but your situation is unyielding. Accept the merger between our clans, and all this unpleasantness can be avoided.”
Fiona’s lips curled into a wry smile, revealing none of the inner turmoil that clashed within her—the duty to her family, the sacrifice that might be demanded, the longing for the adventures she shared with her sisters. She shook her head adamantly.
“Ye’ll find that my patience has limits,” Malcolm replied, his tone even, betraying neither anger nor impatience. “Consider the welfare of your clan. Is your pride worth their suffering?”
In the ensuing silence, Fiona pondered his words, her heart battling against the logic of his argument. She had always placed the needs of others above her desires. She made mumbling sounds against the cloth in her mouth, and it was removed. “If ye dare scream again, we will take your sisters next.”
“Ye may try to break my spirit, Sinclair, but it is as steadfast as the highland stone,” Fiona declared. She spat at his feet.
“Time will tell, Fiona,” Malcolm responded, his voice a soft threat that hung in the chill air. “Time will tell.”
With a nod to his men, Malcolm retreated into the night, leaving Fiona to the solitude of her thoughts and the relentless pursuit of escape. The ropes around her wrists loosened imperceptibly, the fruits of her labor slowly yielding.
*
Alisdair led his kinsmen through the undulating terrain. The breeze carried the scent of heather and the distant murmur of a brook, but the beauty of the land was lost to him, his mind wholly consumed by the task at hand.
“Keep yer eyes sharp,” Alisdair commanded, his deep voice resonating with authority. His broad shoulders, cloaked in the tartan of Clan McClain, moved with purpose as he navigated the rocky hillsides. His clan followed, their faces etched with determination, the weight of swords and shields a familiar burden.
They had been tracking Fiona’s captors since morning, reading the signs left upon the earth—a trampled fern here, a snapped twig there. Each clue whispered secrets of passage to those who could interpret them, and none were more skilled than Brodie.
“Over here!” Lachlan exclaimed, pointing to a piece of plaid caught on a bramble. The fabric, unmistakably McAfee, bolstered their resolve. Alisdair knelt.
“Her captors are growing careless,” he observed, the lines around his eyes tightening. “We’re closing in.”
The McClains pressed onward, the silence between them laden with unspoken vows of rescue and retribution. The air grew cooler as the evening approached, casting long shadows that danced eerily across the landscape, as if mocking their urgent quest.
Alisdair paused, signaling for quiet. He tilted his head, listening. A faint scream reached his ears, drifting from the direction of a small building not far off.
“Prepare yerselves, brothers,” Alisdair addressed his kin, his voice barely above a whisper. “Our confrontation with her captors draws nigh.”
Tension coiled within the group like a drawn bowstring. Alisdair studied the area, his strategic mind mapping out potential approaches, defenses, and escape routes. He was certain the trees surrounding the building were filled with their adversaries.
“Remember, we strike swift and true,” Alisdair continued, his gaze flitting between his brothers. “Fiona’s safety is paramount.”
The McClain warriors nodded. They had faced countless battles, but this one bore the heavy cloak of personal stakes, the outcome of which would seal the fates of two clans.
As twilight descended, Alisdair led his men closer, each step measured, each breath controlled.
“Steady now,” Alisdair murmured, drawing his sword with a steely rasp. The sound was a call to arms, a signal that the hour of reckoning was at hand.
*
Having spent most of the day alone within the stone walls of the fortress, Fiona had gotten her hands mostly freed, and she knew with a little more effort, she would be able to move them.
It was almost nightfall when Fiona McAfee stood tall before Malcolm Sinclair, her captor’s demands echoing off the barren walls. She squared her shoulders, facing him with an unwavering gaze.
“Ye may control these walls, Sinclair,” Fiona spoke, her voice a steadfast timbre in the cold room, “but ye’ll ne’er control the heart and soul of Clan McAfee.”
Malcolm’s eyes narrowed, but his posture remained regal. “Yield now, and this can end without bloodshed. Join our clans, not through war, but through union.”
“Never.” Fiona’s response was a whisper, yet it carried the weight of a thunderclap. She knew the stakes were greater than her fate.
The distant clamor of clashing steel suddenly pierced the silence, growing louder with each passing moment. Fiona’s heart quickened. Alisdair was there with his men to rescue her. And though she’d never seen herself as a damsel in distress, she was thankful for his rescue.
A slow smile lit her face. “It sounds like my rescuers are here. Do you want to die slowly or quickly?”
Fiona’s eyes gleamed with a fierce determination as she stood before Malcolm, her tone unwavering and her words laced with an undeniable threat. The weight of the situation hung heavy in the air, the tension palpable as she sought to convince him of the imminent danger looming just beyond the walls of his stronghold.
“Listen carefully, Malcolm,” Fiona began, her voice low and commanding. “Alisdair’s presence outside these walls signifies the beginning of the end for you. He is a force to be reckoned with, skilled in both strategy and combat. Your reign of terror is coming to a close, and you must decide now how you wish to meet your fate.”
The torchlight flickered against Malcolm’s stoic expression, but a glint of uncertainty betrayed his facade of confidence. Fiona pressed on, her words cutting through the silence like a blade.
“Every passing moment brings Alisdair closer to this very spot. When he arrives, there will be no mercy from him. He will stop at nothing to see you vanquished, the remnants of your once-great clan scattered to the winds. Do not delude yourself into thinking that your vast resources and strategist skills can protect you forever, for the tide of battle is unpredictable and swift.”
Malcolm’s eyes bore into hers. “Fiona, you speak of doom and despair, but I have faith in my people and my ability to lead them through this storm. We are not so easily vanquished.”
Fiona raised an eyebrow, her voice maintaining its steady cadence. “Ye speak with unnecessary bravado, Malcolm. It is not simply a matter of skill or numbers that will decide the outcome of this conflict. Alisdair is a cunning adversary, one who has studied and exploited the weaknesses of his enemies time and again. His tactics are subtle, his strategy calculated. He will infiltrate your strongest defenses and strike when you least expect it. Do not underestimate him, for he is not one to be trifled with.”
As Fiona spoke, she could spot the worry creasing Malcolm’s face. She knew that he was not ignorant of the threat posed by Alisdair, but he was stubborn and refused to accept the severity of the situation. Fiona took a deep breath, determined to drive her point home.
“Listen to me, Malcolm. This is not a game. The lives of people are at stake, and I refuse to stand idly by while you gamble with their safety. You must take action now, before it is too late. Raise the white flag. Surrender to the McClains and let them deal with you as they see fit. Save the lives of your men. Otherwise, you will all perish.”
Malcolm’s jaw clenched as Fiona’s words struck a nerve deep within him. Despite the ominous warning, he couldn’t help but feel a flicker of defiance ignite within his chest. His pride and determination fueled his belief in his own capabilities and the loyalty of his men.
“Fiona,” Malcolm spoke, his voice filled with conviction. “I appreciate your concern, but I have led these men through countless battles, and we have emerged victorious each time. I will not cower before Alisdair or anyone else who dares to challenge us. We will prevail, mark my words.”
The distant sounds of the approaching skirmish grew louder, the clash of steel against steel now echoing through the halls of the stronghold. Malcolm knew that the time for words had passed. It was time to act.
With a solemn nod to Fiona, Malcolm swiftly moved toward the door leading to the battleground, firmly grasping the hilt of his sword. As he pushed open the door and stepped onto the bloodstained cobblestones, the bitter chill of the night air bit at his face. He drew his sword from its scabbard with practiced ease, the metal glinting ominously under the silvery moonlight.
“I will do what I must to protect our people and our land,” he declared. “And the woman I plan to marry. We are not so easily vanquished, Fiona. We will fight until our last breath, and we will fight with everything we have to ensure our victory.”
With that, he turned away from Fiona and charged into the fray, his last few warriors following close behind. The sound of clashing swords and shouted commands filled the air as the battle raged on.
In the misty highlands outside, Alisdair surged forward, leading his kinsmen with the ferocity of a storm unleashed upon the shore. His sword gleamed under the moon’s pale glow as he cut through Malcolm’s men.
“Push forward!” he commanded, his voice carrying over the din of battle. “For Fiona, for Clan McClain!”
The clash of metal rang through the night. Alisdair parried and thrusted, his movements precise, thanks to years of discipline and training. Each swing of his blade was a note in the song of their people—a melody of freedom and defiance.
Inside her makeshift prison, Fiona heard the unmistakable sound of combat. Her spirit soared with hope, yet she steeled herself against the surge of emotion. She would not be a passive damsel awaiting rescue. She had played her part in this intricate game of power and would continue to do so until her final breath.
“Ye think yer McClain warriors will breach these walls?” Malcolm asked as he walked back into the room and locked the door. His voice was laced with disdain, yet beneath the surface lay an undercurrent of concern. “They are but men, and men falter.”
“Men led by love and loyalty are more formidable than any fortress,” Fiona retorted.
The battle raged on, drawing ever closer to the heart of Malcolm’s stronghold. With each fallen enemy, Alisdair’s determination grew, his purpose clear as the stars above. He fought not just for land or legacy, but for the woman who he would marry and his future clan.
As the door to her confinement splintered under the force of McClain swords, Fiona’s breath caught in her throat.
“Release her,” Alisdair’s command boomed through the chamber, his presence commanding attention.
With a swift motion, Fiona was free, her hands no longer bound by ropes or politics. She wanted to step forward and fight with the McClain men. Her honor was at stake! But her hands were weakened by the time they had been bound, and her shoulders throbbed from having her hands behind her back. Instead, she stepped back and made herself as small as she could against the wall as her gaze met Alisdair’s. “They did not hurt me other than a few scrapes. Malcolm was trying to force my hand in marriage.”
Fiona McAfee, heart thundering against her chest, stood behind the line of fierce warriors of Clan McClain. She would have preferred to have a sword in her hand as she fought beside them, but that was not possible, so she waited for the fight to be over, but she didn’t cower. Nay, she would never cower before a Sinclair.
“Stand fast!” Alisdair’s voice cut through the din, a beacon in the middle of the tempest of battle. Lachlan dispatched foes with a fluidity that impressed her, his presence a comfort in the relentless tide of adversaries.
As the battle waned, the thrumming in Fiona’s veins echoed the rhythm of victory. With every fallen enemy, the McClains pressed on, their resolve as unyielding as the ancient mountains that bore witness to their struggle.
The moment of triumph neared, the remnants of Malcolm’s men retreating before the might of the McClains. “For clan! For home!” she cried, her voice ringing clear above the clamor.
At last, as the final adversary lay vanquished at her feet, silence descended upon the battlefield like a shroud. Fiona stood among the men, her breaths coming in heavy gusts that hung visible in the crisp air.
“Ye’ve done us proud,” Alisdair proclaimed, his gaze meeting hers with unspoken reverence. No longer did she stand as a captive, but as an equal, a warrior of indomitable will.
“Let us return home,” Lachlan declared, his words carrying the weight of their collective yearning. The McClains gathered their wounded before preparing for the walk back to McClain land.
As they made their way back to the stronghold, Fiona walked with head held high, her blond hair eerie in the moonlight. As she walked, she wondered if her father had arrived. She hoped he would see that what had happened was caused by the Sinclairs, but she had a hunch he wouldn’t. He would see the McClains as having done something wrong because she was taken from McClain land. She had to convince him differently.
Under the canopy of twilight stars, the McClain stronghold loomed ahead. Fiona’s pace had not waned despite the long march from the battlefield, her warrior’s heart steadied by the rhythm of homecoming drums that echoed through the glen.
The clamor of celebration greeted them as they crossed the threshold—their respite from the day’s grim dance of war. Yet amid the jubilation, Fiona’s gaze drifted to the torchlit battlements.
“Ye need rest,” Alisdair murmured, his hand briefly brushing hers with protective concern. His eyes searched hers for the toll the ordeal may have exacted upon her spirit but found only the undiminished fire of her conviction.
“Aye,” Fiona conceded, though she knew sleep would be a stranger this night. Her capture, her rescue—it had all stirred the waters of change, and ripples would soon reach distant shores.
With her sisters at her sides, she headed for the chamber she had shared with them, only then thinking about how many people would have been disappointed to have traveled for a wedding that didn’t take place.
“Tomorrow,” Ailis murmured. “We must speak of it, sister. Of what comes next.”
“Of the wedding?” Moira chimed in, ever the ember of candor in any conversation. The very mention of the union meant to merge two powerful clans hung in the air—a question, a challenge, an unyielding decree by fate itself.
“Aye,” Fiona replied, her words sparing as she regarded her sisters with solemn affection. “Did Father arrive?”
“He did, and I have never seen him so angry. He said he will speak with you in the morning.” Moira glanced at Fiona.
“We must convince him that the Sinclairs are to blame, and not the McClains. He has been betrayed by his closest ally, and he must realize that to continue to call Laird Sinclair friend is naught but folly.”
*
As soon as Fiona was dressed the following morning, she went down to the great hall, where her father would be waiting to speak with her.
As soon as she entered the room, he spread his arms, and she sprinted to him, held in his arms as if she was still a bairn for just a moment.
“We must discuss what has happened.” Duncan guided her from the great hall. His eyes met Fiona’s, pride mingling with the gravity of consequence. As laird and father, he too understood the weight that now settled upon her shoulders.
“It was the Sinclairs, Father,” Fiona insisted. “Malcolm Sinclair sent men into McClain land dressed as McAfees. I didn’t recognize them, but they could have been new. I didn’t know. I had too much energy yesterday morning, so I took a walk and decided to hunt a few rabbits and give them to the widows and orphans as I do at home so often.”
She huffed, finding it more difficult to tell the tale than she’d realized it would be. “I shot my first rabbit, and then I felt something… like I wasn’t alone. So I reached for my dagger, only to discover I’d left it in my chamber. Someone caught my hand when I reached for an arrow. They took me from McClain land, and I soon saw that their leader was Malcolm Sinclair. He took me to an abandoned fortress outside of McClain land, and there he told me he would keep me until I agreed to be his wife and merge our two clans.” She left out the part where she was gagged and her hands were tied, keeping her hands behind her back so he wouldn’t see the bruises from the ropes on her wrists.
“The McClains should have taken better care of ye,” he growled.
“I left without telling anyone where I was. How could they have known to take care of me?”
He shook his head. “There should not have been strange men in their village with my three precious daughters here under their care.”
“Mayhap not, but I was not gone for even a day, and they brought me back. All of the men who were part of my kidnapping are now dead, their blood spilled around and inside the fortress where I was held. It is your friend, Laird Sinclair, who is at the bottom of all this!”
“That canna be true, lass. Laird Sinclair and I were friends as lads, and we are still friends to this day. We have helped them in many ways over the years, providing food for them when they had none for themselves. What reason would they have to betray us this way?”
“They want a merging of clans,” she murmured. “They want McAfee and Sinclair to be as one.”
Duncan shook his head. “Not possible. Malcolm must have been acting on his own.”
Fiona sighed. It was just as she’d expected. Her father believed the Sinclairs were innocent and the fault lay with the McClains. She had to find a way to convince him differently.