Chapter Thirty-Five
Hooves thundered againstthe damp earth, shattering the misty silence of the McAfee estate.
Moira’s heart raced as the messenger dismounted, his cloak billowing. The family gathered in the great hall, whispers and the scent of peat thickening the air. Even before the wax-sealed parchment was presented, Moira felt an oppressive weight of impending news.
Her father, Duncan, stood at the head of the clan, eyes sharp as his dirk fixed on the missive. The fire crackled in the hearth, casting a warm glow but failing to dispel uncertainty.
“Let us see what tidings this dawn brings,” Duncan said, his voice steady yet laced with concern. The family drew closer in anxious anticipation.
Duncan broke the seal with unyielding hands. Moira held her breath, knowing the contents would have consequences for both their clan and the balance of power in the Highlands.
He unfolded the parchment; each line he read aloud etched gravity onto his face—silent stories told by furrows and creases. His eyes remained focused on their fate while kin listened intently, expressions weaving a tapestry of hope, fear, and resolve.
In flickering light, Duncan McAfee shared the queen’s will with his clan, each word rippling through their lives like stones cast into still waters.
“By royal decree,” Duncan announced, “the queen declared the fate of those captured here. All shall die by blade on the morrow, except Callum Sinclair, whose bloodline grants him mercy.”
The McAfee family gasped as the decision’s weight settled upon them. This act threatened to ignite a political firestorm throughout the Highlands. Sparing Callum hinted at hidden alliances and power struggles, endangering clans like the McAfees. When her father read on, Moira realized he’d been spared for the sake of the remaining Sinclairs.
Ailis stood amidst murmurs, her green eyes mirroring the hearth’s flame. Her usually steady hands trembled. The news wounded her deeply. In sparing Callum, the queen burdened him with the guilt of what his family had done to deserve retribution—a fate some deemed worse than death.
Pressure etched lines of worry onto Ailis’s features as her father folded the missive. She was familiar with Highland politics, but its harsh reality left her shaken. In the silence that followed, Ailis’s turmoil mirrored the imminent grief befalling the Sinclair family.
Later, Ailis stared at the fading embers, lost in thoughts of Arran Sinclair’s fate. The missive’s words haunted her, and she struggled with her sense of responsibility. She was the one who had been first tasked with deciding how to punish them, but she hadn’t done what she’d been asked. And now people were dying. As a healer, she couldn’t think of anything worse than killing.
“Come away, sister,” Moira urged, gripping Ailis’s arm, while Fiona offered silent support as they walked through McAfee Keep’s stone corridors. In a secluded alcove, the sisters tried to comfort Ailis.
“It was out of yer hands,” Fiona reassured her.
“Arran took part in the Stewart’s betrayal of our queen,” Moira added firmly. “Justice grinds without favor.”
Ailis acknowledged their words but couldn’t silence her inner turmoil. She contemplated the fragile threads of fate that spared one life and ended another’s.
In the dim alcove, Moira crouched before Ailis and asked what troubled her. Ailis wondered if she could have changed the queen’s judgment had she fought harder.
“Arran made his choices,” Fiona said, placing a comforting hand on Ailis’s shoulder. “We cannot change the past or stop justice from being served.”
Ailis questioned Callum’s survival compared to his father’s death, but Fiona reminded her that justice and politics often intertwined, especially when dealing with deceitful acts like those of the Sinclairs.
“Callum’s life serves as warning and opportunity,” Fiona said, her hair catching a beam of light, “a chance for peace on favorable terms.”
“Peace bought with blood,” Ailis whispered, mourning the cost of stability in the Highlands.
Moira’s hand instinctively found her dirk. “Ye need not carry this alone, Ailis,” she said firmly. “The Sinclairs betrayed our trust, spilled our blood. Justice is no burden for ye to bear.”
Ailis turned toward Moira, feeling the certainty in her sister’s voice. Moira’s gaze held only unwavering Highland justice.
“Ye ken well the cost of mercy in these times,” Moira continued, embodying McAfee lineage pride. “Laird Sinclair answered for his crimes. ’Tis the way of our land.”
Ailis sighed, accepting the strength offered by Moira’s resolve. “Your heart speaks with the courage I sometimes lack,” she admitted.
“Courage resides in ye as much as any McAfee,” Moira responded, resting a hand on Ailis’s arm. “Different we may be, but equal in strength, my sister.”
Ailis met Moira’s eyes and felt their shared bond. “Thank ye, Moira,” she murmured. “For your fire when my own falters.”
“Always,” Moira replied softly.
Together, they stood in the great hall as kin, fortified against the coming storm. With Moira by her side, Ailis knew they would face whatever the Highlands held in store.
