Chapter Twelve
Fiona stood beforeher 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.
