Chapter Twelve
F iona stood before her father in the private chamber of Laird McClain. Her braid had come loose, and a few strands framed her face.
“Father,” she began, her voice steady, “I was taken not through negligence on the part of the McClains, but by the treachery of the Sinclairs.”
Knowing he was thinking of ending her betrothal to Alisdair, she had come again to talk to him about what she knew was the truth after he’d had time to think.
“Ye shouldna have been taken from McClain lands,” Duncan lamented. “Alisdair promised to keep ye safe, and ye were not safe.”
Fiona straightened her spine, her athletic form radiating defiance. “It is not the McClains’ defenses that were lacking, but Sinclair deceit that prevailed. The warriors of both Clan McClain and Clan McAfee are without blame.”
A flicker of pride crossed the laird’s countenance at his daughter’s spirited defense.
“Nevertheless,” Duncan replied, “we must consider all possibilities. The safety of our kin is paramount.”
Fiona’s heart drummed a rhythm of protest, yet she held her tongue. She knew her father’s mind battled between the love he bore for his daughter and the duty he owed to their clan.
“Let us not speak of blame now,” she implored, her voice softening. “There are greater concerns ahead, and we must stand united.”
His brow furrowed in thought, his eyes distant.
“Father,” Fiona began. “I dinna ken Malcolm’s treachery was his alone to bear.”
Duncan’s gaze returned from the horizon, settling upon his daughter with a solemnity that matched the gravity of their discourse. “Aye, Fiona. Malcolm acted without honor. But with the lad’s passing, we’re left with little but shadows and doubts.” He rose from his chair, his movements deliberate, the tartan of his clan draping him in the dignity of his station. “And Arran Sinclair is no mere acquaintance. He is a friend, one whose word I have trusted for many a year. I cannot fathom him having a hand in such dark dealings.”
Fiona watched her father pace slowly.
“Then what of Alisdair?” she pressed, the name of her betrothed carrying with it the hope of love entwined with the threads of political alliance. “Our union was to be a bond between our clans, a seal upon the peace we cherish.”
“Indeed, it was… and mayhap still could be.” Duncan halted his pacing, turning to face her, his expression an inscrutable mask carved from duty and concern. “But this incident casts a shadow upon the McClains’ ability to safeguard their keep, let alone my daughter. I must ponder whether ’tis wise to entrust thee to such uncertainty.”
“Father, I was the one who was out walking early in the morning before the sun was fully up. If I’d stayed inside the keep, where everyone thought I would be, then I never would have been taken.
The words struck Fiona like an unexpected squall against the cliffs, the idea of her marriage in jeopardy as unsettling as the ground quaking beneath one’s feet. She felt the familiar stirrings of defiance. She had no desire to marry a man other than Alisdair McClain.
“Father, I ask you to weigh your decision with care. Not just for my heart’s sake, but for the strength it would bring to both our clans.” Her voice carried the gentle firmness of a calm sea that could turn tempestuous if provoked. “Ye ken the McClains would be important allies, as they are considered the strongest of all the Highland clans.”
Laird Duncan nodded, a silent acknowledgment of the storm contained within his eldest daughter. “I shall consider it, Fiona. But know this—whatever my decision, ’tis for the good of our people and the future of the McAfees.”
As he left the chamber, Fiona remained rooted to the spot, her mind whirling. She understood the precarious balance her father sought to maintain between personal desires and the inexorable demands of leadership. And though her heart yearned for Alisdair, she too was her father’s daughter—a woman who would sacrifice her own happiness for the welfare of her clan, if need be.
Fiona joined her father later that day, hoping he’d made a decision about her marrying Alisdair. Fiona McAfee paced the length of the chamber. Her braid swung with the rhythm of her stride, a metronome to the tumult brewing within her heart.
“Father,” she began as Laird Duncan entered the room, “I’ve given this matter much thought.” Her eyes, the color of a stormy sea, met his steadfast gaze.
Duncan McAfee stood firm, his visage the embodiment of responsibility that had aged him beyond his years. “Aye, and so have I, Fiona. ’Tis a weighty decision.”
“Weighty it may be,” she countered, clasping her hands before her as if to steady herself. “But my heart has chosen its path. If ye stand in the way of my union with Alisdair, then I shall have no choice but to defy tradition and run off with him.”
The air grew thick with tension, the words hanging between them like a drawn sword. Duncan’s brows knit together, his lips thinning into a line of disapproval. “Would ye forsake your duty for passion? Think of what such recklessness would mean for our people!”
“Is it reckless to seek strength through alliance? To find love within the bonds of marriage?” Fiona’s voice rose, her spirit as unyielding as the ancient oak that stood sentinel outside the keep.
“Love,” Duncan scoffed, the word laced with a wariness born of experience. “Love can be as fleeting as the morning mist. ’Tis stability and honor that preserve a clan. I found love with yer mother, and we know what happened there. Then my next two wives were merely to be mothers to replace the one ye lost. Three wives I lost, and each left me with a daughter. Love is beautiful for the brief moment it lasts.”
“Know this,” Fiona insisted, “I shall marry Alisdair McClain, with or without your blessing, for I believe our union will bring love and strength to our clans.”
Duncan studied his daughter, the spitting image of her late mother—headstrong and fierce. It was a staring contest with destiny, and in the depths of his heart, the laird knew he could not win.
“Three days,” he conceded. “Ye shall have your wedding in three days’ time.”
“Thank ye, Father,” Fiona replied, her tone softening.
*
Alisdair McClain stood before Laird Duncan McAfee, the stone floors of the grand hall echoing their somber footfalls. The air hung heavy with the lingering chill of dawn, a silent witness to the meeting of two formidable men.
“Laird McAfee,” Alisdair began, his voice steady as the oak doors that safeguarded the hall. “I come before you—”
“Ye come before me having failed in your first duty as Fiona’s betrothed.” Duncan’s words cut through the air, sharp and unyielding. “My daughter was taken on your watch. How can you claim to be the man fit to lead the McAfees if ye cannot ensure the safety of one lass?”
The accusation stung, but Alisdair’s countenance did not waver. “I take full responsibility, and I swear on my honor, it willna happen again. I will protect her with my life.”
“Words are wind, lad,” Duncan’s gaze bore into him. “Actions speak louder than any vow. If yer to marry me Fiona, ye must prove yourself worthy. Not just as her husband, but as a leader for the McAfees.”
Alisdair nodded. “I will do whatever it takes. My loyalty to Fiona—and to your clan—is unwavering.”
Duncan held his stare a moment longer before nodding curtly, the matter settled for now.
*
In the privacy of her chamber, Fiona McAfee sat with her sisters, Ailis and Moira, the only witnesses to her unbridled fury. Her hands trembled not with fear but with ire, her knuckles whitening as she recounted the tale.
“Those Sinclairs thought they could use me as a pawn,” Fiona growled. “They underestimated the McAfees. And Father thinks that it is the McClains’ fault I was taken from their land. He blames Alisdair when he should blame Clan Sinclair.”
“Fiona, you’re shaking,” Ailis observed, her eyes reflecting the fire that blazed within her elder sister.
“Let her be, Ailis,” Moira interjected softly. “She is shaking with righteous anger, not terror.”
“Aye,” Fiona confirmed. “It is not fear that makes me tremble but the wrath that comes from enduring the affront to our honor.”
“The Sinclairs will pay for what they’ve done,” Ailis vowed, her tone mirroring her sister’s fervor.
“We’ll stand beside ye, Fiona. In strength and in retribution,” Moira added.
“First, we have a wedding to prepare for,” Fiona declared. “And after, we’ll show them who the McAfee daughters are, not as damsels in distress, but as vengeful spirits come to haunt them.”
*
Fiona, her braid swaying with each determined step, led her sisters Ailis and Moira into the midst of Clan McClain’s warriors. The men paused, their swords momentarily still, as the daughters of Duncan McAfee approached.
“Good morrow, gentlemen,” Fiona greeted. “We seek to train alongside you on this day.”
A murmur rippled through the ranks, surprise etched on the weathered faces of the seasoned fighters. It was not custom for women to cross blades with men in the practice yard, yet none could deny the fire that burned in the eyes of these sisters.
“Ye have our respect, Lady Fiona,” one of the McClain warriors responded, his grizzled features softening. “After what ye’ve endured, ’tis only right ye should wield sword and shield for your own defense.”
With nods of assent from his fellows, the yard transformed into a mosaic of motion, steel clashing against steel. Ailis and Moira followed suit, their skill surprising the men who had underestimated them.
As the morning waned, sweat glistened upon furrowed brows. Men who had initially held back now engaged with earnest respect, recognizing the strength of the McAfee bloodline.
In the midst of the melee, Fiona caught sight of Alisdair, his broad figure commanding even in repose. His gaze followed her movements with an intensity that spoke volumes, admiration mingling with something deeper within the depths of his eyes.
“Alisdair,” she called.
“Let us walk,” he suggested, bearing the weight of unspoken words.
They strode across the grounds, the crunch of gravel beneath their boots punctuating their silence. Yet they were not alone. A McAfee soldier trailed behind them, his presence a constant reminder of the duty and watchfulness expected of Fiona’s kin.
“Does he need to follow so closely?” Fiona asked, her frustration simmering beneath the surface.
“Aye, your father’s orders,” Alisdair replied, his jaw clenched as if the words pained him to speak. “He believes it prudent after… everything.”
“Prudent or suffocating?” Fiona countered, her dry wit failing to mask the longing for freedom that echoed in her heart. She wanted to be alone with Alisdair. For with a witness, they couldn’t kiss or touch.
“Both, perhaps,” Alisdair conceded, his hand brushing against hers in a fleeting caress. “But we must bear it, for now. Duty demands vigilance.”
“Then let us be vigilant together,” Fiona declared, her resolve fortifying with each step. She felt the weight of the future pressing upon her, the delicate balance between love and leadership.
“Until the dawn breaks on our wedding day,” Alisdair vowed.
“Until then,” Fiona agreed.
*
Fiona stood on the stone balcony, her gaze fixed upon the distant hills. The cool breeze whispered through the courtyard below, carrying with it the faint murmur of the McClain men as they retired from their training. She wrapped her arms around herself, a shiver creeping down her spine that had little to do with the chill in the air.
“Three days,” she murmured.
The heavy sound of footsteps heralded Alisdair’s approach. She turned to find him framed in the doorway, his broad shoulders casting a long shadow that reached out to her across the flagstones.
“Alisdair,” she greeted.
“Ye shouldna be out here alone. The night grows cold,” he cried, crossing the distance between them with purposeful strides. He wrapped her in his embrace, trying to warm her with his caress.
“Perhaps, but the solitude grants me time away from watchful eyes,” Fiona replied.
“Even mine?” Alisdair asked.
“Especially yours,” she teased, though her smile faltered as she regarded him. He was her chosen, yet even he could not shield her from the weight of expectation that clung to her.
“Ye ken I wouldna ever let harm befall ye, Fiona.” He brushed a stray lock of hair from her face, the gesture achingly tender.
“I know,” she whispered, leaning into him. “It is not your protection I doubt, but the freedom to live beyond its confines. I told Malcolm repeatedly that he should surrender to save his men, and that you and yours would best them. I was right, but his men died alongside him.”
“Only a few more nights,” he assured her, his thumb tracing the line of her jaw. “And then—”
“And then I am truly yours,” Fiona finished. The words were a vow, an anchor amidst the uncertainty that had come to define her days.
“Truly mine,” he echoed, his voice low with a reverence that matched the solemnity of the moment.
Their lips met in both affirmation and defiance. Time halted, the world narrowing to the point of their connection, the silent pledge of hearts entwined.
As they parted, Fiona’s fingers lingered on his cheek, reluctant to break the contact that offered solace. “I cannot wait for the day when we may be together without the need for guards or permissions,” she quietly confessed.
“Nor can I,” Alisdair agreed.
He kissed her forehead gently before stepping back. “Goodnight, my fierce warrior,” he crooned.
“Goodnight, my heart,” Fiona replied, watching as he retreated into the keep, lingering on his retreating form until he vanished from sight.
*
It was well past midnight when Fiona awoke to a sound from outside her room. She knew it could well be the guards her father had acting as watchmen for her and her sisters, but it felt off to her. Grabbing her dirk, she stepped outside the room, ready to protect herself if needed.
Instead of one of the guards, she spotted Alisdair standing outside her room, deep in thought. She turned one way and then the other before launching herself at him, wrapping her arms around him and holding him close. It was truly the first time she’d felt alone with him since the Sinclairs had taken her.
Alisdair took her into his arms and kissed her. No words were necessary.
Their kiss deepened, fueled by the intensity of their longing and the fear that had gripped them during Fiona’s ordeal. Relief at her safe return mingled with a fierce desire for one another.
Fiona’s hands roamed over Alisdair’s strong frame, memorizing the contours of his body as if to ensure he was truly there with her. His caress set her skin ablaze, every brush of his fingers sending sparks of electricity through her veins. In that moment, nothing else existed but the two of them, lost in a world where duty and danger faded into insignificance.
Alisdair cupped her face, his thumbs tracing the line of her jaw before tangling in her hair. He deepened the kiss, pouring all his unspoken emotions into the fervent meeting of their lips. Fiona responded in kind, her heart pounding in rhythm with his as they clung to one another, the heat between them igniting a passionate flame that consumed all doubts and fears.
Their bodies pressed together, fitting like two halves of a whole as their kiss deepened, the world falling away around them. Desire coursed through Fiona. It was an overwhelming need to be closer to Alisdair, to feel every part of him against her.
Alisdair moved his hands from her face to her waist, pulling her even closer as he deepened the kiss, their breaths mingling in a heady exchange. Fiona melted into his caress, her fingers threading through his hair as she lost herself in the intensity of their connection.
The weight of the past days, filled with worry and uncertainty, lifted from Fiona’s shoulders as she surrendered to the moment. Every caress from Alisdair was a promise of love and protection, a vow written in their bodily language.
As they broke apart for air, their foreheads resting against each other, they heard the footsteps of one of Fiona’s guards coming toward them. After one more quick kiss, she returned to the room she shared with her sisters and her lonely bed.
As she fell back to sleep, her mind was full of her future husband and the way his caress burned her.