Chapter Thirteen
F iona McAfee stood at a distance, arms crossed over her chest as she watched the training grounds of the McClains. A single strand of blond hair, rebellious as her spirit, danced upon her brow as her piercing blue eyes reflected the arcs of swinging swords.
“Again!” Alisdair commanded from the center of the men, his voice carrying over the din of combat. His gaze found Fiona’s—a silent acknowledgment of her presence.
As the men around him continued their dance of mock warfare, Fiona’s thoughts wandered, her lips moving silently in conversation with herself. She was tired of talking about wedding preparations. She’d already made these decisions for the day they were supposed to wed, and now she was having to make them all over again. Why couldn’t her original decisions for the wedding still hold true?
She knew well that Ailis, with her keen eye and zest for such affairs, would revel in taking over the reins of wedding preparations.
“Brother,” Alisdair called, his tone slicing through the air with practiced ease. Brodie, with the poise of an archer even on foot, approached, his eyes seeking instruction. “Take the men through the paces. I have a matter to attend to.”
Brodie nodded, his demeanor calm as a still lake, his dark hair tied back in solemnity for the task at hand. There was trust there, a silent language spoken in the briefest of glances and the subtle shift of responsibility from one pair of capable hands to another.
With a final nod, Alisdair withdrew from the field, his movements deliberate, every step a measured advance toward Fiona. The world slowed its breath, the clamor of training fading into a distant thrum as he approached her. Fiona watched him come, her heart beating a rhythm akin to the warriors’ drills, yet her posture betrayed none of the tumult that stirred within her.
“Ye find escape in the spectacle of battle, Fiona?” Alisdair asked. His low rumble was rich with the promise of shared confidences.
“Escape? Nay,” she replied. Her reflective tone belied the storm of emotions that played behind her stoic facade. “Merely seeking solace in familiarity. ’Tis a comfort to see life continue unabated, as decisions for the morrow are made without my hand.”
Alisdair’s eyes captured hers in a moment of vulnerability. “Then perhaps ye’ll allow me to offer a different kind of solace, away from prying eyes?”
Alisdair extended his hand. Without a word, Fiona placed her own in his. Even as she did, she knew her father would be displeased if he caught her. But at that moment, it was a great deal more important to caress Alisdair and be caressed by him than try to avoid her father’s wrath.
They wound their way through the maze of tents and supplies, slipping past the vigilant eyes of the guards with the ease of shadows.
“Are we daring too much?” Fiona whispered, not wanting to be caught.
“Mayhap,” Alisdair conceded. “But what is life without a measure of risk?”
They delved deeper into the woods, where the clamor of the keep was muffled by the dense embrace of the forest. Here among ancient trees, they found a haven untouched by duty’s call—a rock veiled by overhanging branches and the dappled shade they offered.
“Here, we are but man and woman,” Alisdair murmured. “Not pawns in the game of clans.”
Fiona’s breath caught as she gazed into his eyes, seeing there the reflection of her own yearning. She allowed herself this moment, this sweet surrender to desire, as if the world beyond these trees ceased to exist.
Seated upon the stone, Fiona sensed the solid weight of him, exploring the contours of his broad shoulders through the fabric of his tunic. Alisdair returned her fervor, his fingers threading through her hair, releasing it from her braid to cascade down her back.
Their lips met in a kiss that was passionate and thrilling to them both. He eased her onto his lap, stroking her back, one boldly coming around to cup her breast and toy with the nipple he found there. “The days leading up to our wedding are taking much too long,” he whispered against her lips.
Their kiss deepened, a dance of longing and urgency that spoke volumes of the desire they shared. Fiona’s hands roamed over Alisdair’s warm chest, memorizing every ridge and muscle as if committing them to heart. His caress ignited a fire within her, a blaze that consumed any doubts or fears, leaving only the unquenchable yearning for more.
Alisdair’s devotion was obvious in the way he held her, not with possession but with care, as if she were a precious treasure to be cherished. His lips trailed a path of scorching kisses along her jawline, down her neck, igniting a trail of fire. Fiona arched into his caress, gasping raggedly as she surrendered to the heady rush of sensation that enveloped them. She could feel the bulge of his member pressing against her from under his plaid, and she thought how easy it would be to lift both of their plaids and join together.
The world around them faded into insignificance as they lost themselves in each other. Their bodies moved in perfect sync as if they were two halves of a whole, destined to intertwine in a dance as old as time. The rustle of leaves above them whispered a secret melody.
For Fiona, every caress from Alisdair felt like an awakening, igniting a passion within her that she had long kept dormant. With his calloused hands, he traced patterns of desire along her skin, leaving trails of heat in their wake. As his mouth found hers once more, a fierce and unrelenting hunger rose within her.
She responded in kind, her kisses a symphony of longing and love, telling him without words the depth of her emotions. Their connection transcended the physical, delving into the realm of souls intertwined, bound by a bond that defied the constraints of duty and expectation.
The world beyond their secluded haven ceased to exist as they continued rubbing and kissing one another, laying bare their desires and vulnerabilities in the shared intimacy of that hidden sanctuary. Fiona’s hands trembled with a mixture of anticipation and raw emotion as she sought to convey what words could never truly capture.
Alisdair’s gaze held a fierce determination yet softened by the tenderness reserved only for her. In that moment, he was not just a warrior burdened by responsibilities. He was a man laid bare before her, offering himself.
As if guided by an unspoken understanding, Fiona traced the lines of his face, memorizing every contour with a delicate caress. Each mark told a story of battles fought and hardships endured, but to her, they were the map leading to the core of his being. In her eyes, those scars were not signs of weakness but proof of his strength.
Their breaths mingled in the space between them. Alisdair’s chest beat thunderously beneath Fiona’s fingertips, a steady drumming that reverberated through her and called to her. In the quiet of that secluded glade, she found a sanctuary where they could shed the expectations and burdens weighing upon them, embracing the passion that bound them together.
As Alisdair trailed fiery kisses down her neck, Fiona was ablaze. Her body arched instinctively into his, seeking ever closer proximity as if to merge their very beings into one. The warmth of his breath against her skin sent shivers of anticipation racing down her spine, awakening a hunger that had long simmered within her.
Their movements were a fluid symphony of passion, each caress a note in a melody of unspoken devotion and longing. Fiona surrendered herself wholly to Alisdair’s body, her heart pounding in rhythm with his, two hearts beating as one. The world around them melted away, leaving only the heat of desire and their breathless whispers.
In this moment, time stood still. Fiona was on the precipice of something extraordinary—a leap into the unknown depths of passion that promised to flood her senses and redefine her understanding of love. She wanted to drown in the intensity of this connection. As Alisdair’s hands roamed over her, leaving trails of fire in their wake, Fiona teetered on the edge of an abyss, ready to plunge into the depths of desire with no fear of what lay beneath.
“Ye shouldnae be here alone with him, milady.” The voice was like a stone through glass. Startled, they turned to find the guard, his expression a mix of disapproval and concern etched deeply upon his weathered face.
It took Fiona a moment to comprehend his words, but when she did, she jumped up from Alisdair’s lap, fixing her clothing.
“Forgive us, Aiden,” Fiona began, her cheeks flushed with the embers of their passion now cooled by the chill of duty. “We meant no disrespect nor danger to ourselves.”
“Respect or nae,” Aiden replied sternly, though his eyes softened as they rested on Fiona, “it is for yer safety I am charged. The woods hold more than secret trysts. They harbor unseen threats that care not for love’s embrace.” He paused for a moment. “After what has occurred, ye should ken that better than anyone.”
“Ye speak truly,” Alisdair acknowledged, standing and offering a hand to help Fiona rise. “We’ll not forget our station again.”
*
Aiden strode with purpose through the stone corridors of Castle McClain, the echo of his boots a somber prelude to the news he bore. His shadow stretched long and thin in the waning light that filtered through the arrow slits, as if it too sensed the gravity of his report. He found Laird Duncan in the great hall, hunched over scrolls and missives that spoke of alliances and feuds, the weight of leadership etched into his furrowed brow.
“Laird,” Aiden began, his voice carrying the heavy burden of duty. “I must speak on a matter most urgent.”
Duncan raised his gaze. “Speak, Aiden. What troubles have ye found?”
“Your daughter, the Lady Fiona…” Aiden hesitated, the words catching like thorns in his throat. “She has evaded my watch and sought the company of Alisdair McClain in the forest.”
The air grew dense with silence. With measured calm, Duncan rose from his seat, the sash of his clan swaying gently. “So be it,” he declared. “We shall return to our lands. The wedding is called off. If she cannae abide by the rules of her courtship, then there will be no more courtship.”
As the laird summoned his daughters for their journey home, an unspoken understanding passed between them.
Alisdair McClain watched from a distance. His jaw set firm, his resolve unwavering. He would not forsake Fiona to the whims of fate nor the dictates of clans. With silent determination, he followed the procession to the keep of Clan McAfee.
Laird McAfee could not fault him for this—knowing well the protection their land provided, knowing too the stubbornness of young hearts. Alisdair’s presence within their walls was a challenge to tradition, yet Duncan perceived the honor in his actions, even as the future lay uncertain like the untamed wilderness beyond their gates.
Within the keep, Fiona paced her chamber, her mind a tempest of emotions. She yearned for Alisdair’s embrace, for the freedom of their time together, yet she was bound by the cords of birthright and the looming specter of responsibility. Her once defiant spirit now grappled with the complexities of loyalty.
*
Alisdair’s sword met the clanging of steel against steel, his muscular frame moving with a precision that spoke of many battles and skirmishes. The men of Clan McAfee circled around him, their respect for his prowess growing with every deft maneuver he executed. They had come to accept him, not merely as an outsider, but as one of their own, bound by the sweat of training and the camaraderie forged in shared exertion. He had trained with them every day since he’d come to stay with them a fortnight before.
Fiona watched from the shade of an ancient oak, her blue eyes tracing Alisdair’s movements like a hawk tracking its prey. Her heart thrummed, not only from the thrill of his combat but from the knowledge that soon, they would escape the vigilant eyes for the seclusion of the forest.
“Ye fight well, McClain,” grunted one burly McAfee warrior, clapping Alisdair on the shoulder as they took a moment away from their sparring. Silent acknowledgment passed between them.
Alisdair sheathed his blade and strode toward Fiona. Their fingers entwined, they slipped away, unnoticed by all. In the forest’s embrace, passion bloomed anew, as if the very earth itself conspired to draw them closer. Lips met in fervent haste, hands exploring the familiar yet still exhilarating contours of each other’s bodies.
She pulled back from Alisdair. “I must try to speak with my father again. We will be caught if we keep sneaking off this way.”
Alisdair nodded. “Aye. I want to marry ye, not dally with ye in the forest.”
Alisdair’s words echoed in Fiona’s mind as she gazed into his captivating eyes. The weight of his sincerity hit her, causing her heart to race with a mix of anxiety and longing. She knew she had to find a way to convince her father, Laird Duncan McAfee, to see things from her perspective.
As they walked through the lush greenery of the forest, Fiona grew determined. She needed to find the right words to sway her father’s rigid beliefs. Ideas swirled in her mind like colorful leaves dancing in the wind, each one vying for attention.
They found a secluded spot near a bubbling brook, its melodious song providing a soothing backdrop to their conversation. Fiona sighed, steeling herself for what was to come. This moment could change everything.
“I believe I have a plan,” she began steadily despite her fluttering stomach.
Fiona’s gaze locked with Alisdair’s, the intensity in her piercing blue eyes mirroring the gravity of their clandestine meeting.
“Alisdair,” she began, “we have traversed beyond the boundaries set by tradition and duty.” Her fingers brushed against the fabric of her kilt, straightening it unconsciously—a habit that emerged when her thoughts ran deep.
“Aye, we find ourselves entangled within the very heart of forbidden terrain,” he replied, his posture reflecting both his acknowledgment of their transgression and readiness to stand firm beside her.
“Yet, ’tis precisely this boldness, this willingness to defy convention, that shall be the cornerstone of my appeal to my father,” Fiona continued, her braid swaying slightly as she tilted her head, considering the path they must now tread. “I shall approach him with candor, laying bare our intentions and the depth of our commitment.”
“Such a revelation will demand great courage, Fiona,” Alisdair replied, though the glint in his eye showed his admiration for her tenacity. “The McAfee clan is steeped in principle, and your father—”
“Is a man of reason as much as he is of tradition,” she cut in. “He cannot deny the strategic merit of our union. The alliance between McAfee and McClain would fortify our lands against any who dare encroach upon our sovereignty.”
“Your words are as a fortress themselves, unyielding and formidable,” Alisdair conceded. “And what of the contention such honesty may incite? Our families, bound by honor but divided by history, might not readily accept this breach of etiquette as easily as you foresee.”
“Then it is upon us to present a vision of unity, one so compelling that even the staunchest opposition will yield to its promise,” Fiona replied. “For what is a life without risk, and what is love if not the greatest venture of all?”
“Indeed,” Alisdair murmured. He stepped closer, the space between them charged with the tension of their intertwined fates. “Ye speak of duty and sacrifice, yet I see in your eyes the flame of personal desire. I’m willing to do whatever it takes to get yer father to trust me again.”
Their hands met, fingers intertwining. The moment held the fragility of a truce on the eve of war, yet it was strengthened by the unspoken oath that pulsed through their clasped hands. In the quiet that enveloped them, time itself bowed to the inevitability of their bond.
She spoke of their shared values, their aspirations for a peaceful future together, and the undeniable connection that bound them together as one.
Alisdair’s eyes softened with each word, his admiration for Fiona growing with every impassioned argument she presented. He perceived the fire in her soul, the fierce determination that lay beneath her composed exterior.
She finally fell silent. A moment of stillness enveloped them like a protective cloak. The brook continued its gentle song, a reminder of the passage of time and the eternal flow of nature.
“Do ye think he’ll listen?” Fiona asked nervously.
Alisdair sighed. “I hope so. I’m ready for ye to be my wife.”
They wandered back to the castle, hand in hand, her mind working through the arguments she’d prepared to present to her father. Surely, he would listen. He’d promised to hear her out on prospective suitors.
*
“Father,” Fiona began, “I must speak with ye.”
Duncan sat behind the great oak desk that had borne witness to countless decisions shaping the destiny of their clan.
“Speak, lass.” His eyes met hers. He’d obviously been expecting her to come with all the reasons she should be allowed to marry Alisdair, which made her forget the reasons she’d prepared.
“Alisdair and I wish to marry. We both want more than a political alliance, and naught shall sever the bond we share,” Fiona declared, lifting her chin in defiance.
The laird regarded her, the silence stretching into eternity before he finally responded. “Then he must prove himself worthy of ye, Fiona—worthy of being the laird of Clan McAfee.”
“And what if he does not?” Fiona whispered.
“Then ye ken yer duty,” Duncan replied, his voice soft but irrevocable.
“Would ye have me choose between my heart and my clan? I’ll run away this very night to marry him, if that’s what it takes,” she threatened, her fierce spirit flaring.
“Ye would have already left if ye truly meant to,” Duncan countered, his eyes revealing a depth of understanding. “Ye are your mother’s daughter, through and through.”
Fiona emerged from the keep, her stride brisk as she crossed the dew-kissed courtyard to where Alisdair awaited her. The cool morning air did little to soothe the fire of annoyance that blazed within her chest. Her heart beat a fierce rhythm against her ribs, echoing the turmoil that churned in her thoughts.
“Alisdair.” Her voice carried the edge of her vexation. Her braid swayed with each determined step she took toward him, the escaped strands framing her face like the tendrils of her growing frustration.
He faced her, his blue eyes piercing through the facade of her composure. “Ye’ve spoken with yer father, then?” he asked, his voice calm and even, betraying none of the urgency he felt.
“Aye, and he demands ye prove yerself worthy of my hand, as if I were some prize to be won at the end of a trial,” Fiona retorted bitterly. She watched as his jaw tightened, the subtle shift of muscle beneath the skin revealing his own inner struggle.
“Perhaps he is right,” Alisdair conceded. “I was remiss in allowing ye to be taken from McClain land. It falls to me now to show that I can protect ye—that I am fit to stand by yer side.”
For a moment, Fiona could only stare at him, her mind grappling with the weight of his agreement. The idea of Alisdair acquiescing to her father’s demand stirred a torrent of emotions within her. She had expected resistance, but instead, she found a man willing to shoulder the burden of proof.
“Then what are we to do?” she asked, the fierceness of her spirit not yet quelled. “Shall we dance to the tune he plays for us?”
“Nay, Fiona,” he replied, stepping closer to her until the space between them was but a whisper. “We shall not push for this wedding. Let us lay aside the mantle of expectation and simply be together.”
The simplicity of his proposal gave pause to the tempest in Fiona’s soul. To enjoy stolen moments without the shadow of duty looming over them—it was a temptation sweet and inviting.
“Very well,” she agreed with a small smile. “We shall spend time in each other’s company, and let the morrow bring what it may.”
Together, they walked, veering away from the prying eyes of the keep and into the sanctuary of the forest. The world around them fell into a hush, as if nature itself held its breath in reverence to their plight. Here, among the ancient trees and the soft carpet of fallen leaves, they found solace in the quiet embrace of the woods.
Their time was their own, a precious commodity they hoarded greedily. With every kiss, they made many sweet memories.