Chapter Twenty-Three
In the greathall the following morning, Ailis sat beside her sister Moira, dreading the game they would play, though she didn’t ken what it was. It was the fact she knew she’d be playing with the three suitors, and she was more than a little sick of them. She wanted to drive her knife through Lucas’s hand. She didn’t think he needed to be killed just yet, but maiming seemed like a good thing where he was concerned.
The aroma of fresh bread filled the air. The laird spoke from the head of the table, his voice echoing throughout the large room.
“Today’s quest is one of strategy and cooperation,” he announced. “Gather items of significance, present them before the feast, and the successful team shall dine with me in honor.”
Ailis and Moira were assigned to Lucas, Horas, and Bearnard as a team. Eager to prove himself, Bearnard tried reading their list of items but struggled with the words. Ailis gently took it and read aloud with Moira. If it was a race, she knew they needed to get the details out quickly, and Bearnard was the only one of the men who was able to read. Thankfully, she and Moira were taught to read as small lasses.
“A tuft of heather from the moors,” Ailis began.
“Antlers shed by a stag,” continued Moira.
“An unusually shaped stick, an arrow taken from another’s quiver,” listed Ailis.
“Berries plucked from bramble, forest leaves,” chimed Moira.
“Wool strands shorn from a sheep,” Ailis added.
“An adornment for hair—perhaps a bow,” suggested Moira softly.
“Plaid not woven by kin, water drawn from the loch,” Ailis continued.
“A pitchfork from the fields, and a fish from the streams,” Moira finished. The diverse list ignited determination in her. The McAfee sisters had always won everything they set out to win, and this challenge would be no different. Ailis felt the weight of expectation mixing with excitement for the hunt.
As Ailis and Moira watched the men bicker over the possible antler locations, they shared a determined nod. They ventured out to gather items on their list.
Moira deftly plucked at a slender, twisted stick adorned with vibrant berries. “Behold!” she exclaimed, scanning the forest floor for more unique finds.
As they ventured deeper into the woods, their excitement grew as they spotted various colorful leaves and plants to add to their collection. “Imagine how well we’d do if the men could figure out how to help us instead of arguing,” Moira mused.
Ailis laughed as she moved toward a farmer’s wife to ask for a tartan in exchange for the brooch she wore.
“Can we trade for that shawl? It would be lovely on ye,” Ailis asked a nearby farmer, holding up the brooch in exchange.
Across the stream, Moira eagerly haggled with a cheeky, giggling girl for a bright hairbow to add to their collection.
The two of them also managed to convince a surprised farmer to lend them his metal pitchfork in exchange for Moira’s shawl. As they walked away from the farmer, Moira said, “I dinnae mind being cold for a short while. I do mind losing.”
After an hour of exploration and successful trades, they returned to the keep with an impressive bounty of treasures.
After what felt like ages of listening to Lucas, Horas, and Bearnard argue back and forth upon their return, Moira sighed with impatience. She motioned for Ailis to follow as they slipped away into the dense woods, their footsteps rustling through the fallen leaves.
Among the twisted branches and tangled roots, they uncovered a set of magnificent antlers, gleaming in the dappled light. With a triumphant smile, they emerged from the forest and proudly presented their find before any of the other teams could catch up.
As the evening meal was being prepared, Moira couldn’t help but feel a sense of satisfaction as she sat next to the very men who had doubted her earlier.
Ailis leaned over to whisper in her ear, “If I had been solely focused on the reward, I would have been much less eager to win.”
The warm glow of success filled Moira’s chest as she realized that sometimes, winning was its own kind of reward. With a knowing glance between them, both sisters prepared to endure an evening filled with the men’s prideful boasts. They would never let on that the women had won the contest for them while they argued. It wasn’t in their nature.
*
Seated at thesupper table, Ailis exchanged a weary glance with Moira amidst the men’s boisterous claims of triumph. The sisters partook in the meal, its flavors soured by the injustice of unacknowledged efforts. Their contributions were ignored as the men kept bragging of their win.
As the great hall thrummed with music and dancing, Moira approached Lucas with a jest upon her lips and challenge in hereyes. “Lucas, is it any wonder I bested ye with swords? Seems to me all yer clan is adept at is throwing ceilidhs.”
Lucas stiffened with offense. “Moira, ye mistake our hospitality for idleness at yer peril,” he retorted.
