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Aindreas shook his head once more. “I can’t have ye going through an encampment, seeing the sins of men. Do not worry. I will return with MacAlister.” He chuckled when Sorcha’s gaze narrowed. “I won’t kill the man if that is what ye suspect.”
Sorcha’s frown deepened. “That is not what I suspect, my laird,” she said lowly. He half expected her to jump down from the mount, but with a sigh, she gave him a resolute nod and remained on his horse. “Please, be quick, my laird. I worry the longer ye wait, the more riled the men will become.”
Aindreas nodded and turned away from her. He slowly padded through the encampment, trying not to take notice of the number of men. His hand hovered over his sword, yet he didn’t unsheathe it as he moved through the tents. Thanks to the darkness, the men were unable to notice the color of his tartan. There were several fires lit, where men drank their ales and spoke of battle in excited voices. He remained in the darkness, hiding away from the flickering flames so as not to be discovered. Aindreas didn’t know what Laird MacAlister looked like, only that he was similar in age to himself and had taken over his father’s lairdship only two summers ago.
He stopped when he found several men laughing in a circle as two young men swung at each other. One was covered in sweat, his shirt stained with ale and dirt. The other chuckled while holding out his hands. He was bare-chested and only wearing the MacAlister tartan. His dark hair clung to his face while his blue eyes glimmered with mischievous joy.
The shirt-clothed man swung once more, stumbling over his feet. The other laughed, kicking him in the bottom and watching him spiral forward into the men circling around them.
“I believe ye have drunk too much,” the bare-chested soldier called haughtily. “Perhaps ye should sit this one out.”
The man turned towards Aindreas as if feeling his stare. His gaze narrowed on Aindreas’s tartan, and he straightened, all joy leaving his demeanor.
“What is this?” he asked bitterly, gesturing towards Aindreas before stepping towards him. “Have ye come to mock me?”
“Nae, I have not,” said Aindreas while approaching the man. “I have come seeking Laird MacAlister.”
The man scoffed while holding out his arms, slowly turning around and displaying his rippling muscles. “And here I stand.” The men around him chuckled. “Has the new Laird MacBean sent a messenger while he cowers behind his walls?” He raised an eyebrow. “Does he fear for his life?”
Aindreas smirked, tilting his head to the side while looking Laird MacAlister up and down as if assessing his worth. "I do not.”
The laird narrowed his eyes while the men around them unsheathed their swords. “Ye dare to come here unguarded?” He spat, the spittle landing near Aindreas’s boot. He snapped his fingers, and one of his men handed him his sword. “I suppose this makes it easier for me.”
“I have not come to fight ye, MacAlister. I’ve come to—“
Laird MacAlister didn’t wait. He swiped his sword, aiming for Aindreas’s neck. Aindreas barely dodged, stumbling backward as the laird attacked once more, this time towards his stomach. He grunted, moving swiftly, yet he could still feel the cool breeze of the blade sweeping past. If he hadn’t been well-practiced in swordplay, he supposed his insides would be hanging out right about now. It had been a while since Aindreas fought an adequate adversary. The rumors about Laird MacAlister were true. He was indeed just as fast and as swift as the eagle on his clan’s banners.
“Ye think so poorly of the MacAlisters ye decide to come here on yer own, do ye?” Laird MacAlister shouted while lunging towards Aindreas.
Aindreas swiftly unsheathed his sword, blocking the attack. He didn’t lunge or swipe his sword at MacAlister, knowing he needed to calm the situation rather than add kindling to the flame. His breath came out as gasps as he looked on at the laird, trying to regain his breath.
“I did not come to fight ye,” he rasped.
Laird MacAlister scoffed. “Why do I not believe ye?” He swiped again, and Aindreas blocked, but before he could move, Laird MacAlister rammed his fist into Aindreas’s jaw, making him stumble backward and his vision swim.
Aindreas groaned while shaking his head, trying to regain his balance. Before he could move, he felt something else ram into his gut. Aindreas coughed, bending over and cradling his stomach.
Laird MacAlister laughed while kicking Aindreas’s legs, sending him sprawling to his knees. “Say yer farewells now, MacBean, for ye will never get another chance to again.” He held his sword pointed at Aindreas’s neck as he smirked down at him, raising his sword higher.
“Calum, stop!”
Laird MacAlister blinked, his smile falling from his lips as he lifted his gaze. Aindreas glanced over his shoulder, finding Sorcha running towards them.
“I told ye to remain there,” Aindreas gasped while squinting at her, wondering if she was an apparition.
“Sorcha?” Laird MacAlister breathed, dropping his sword and rushing towards her. In one swoop, he picked her up, holding her tight to him. “What are ye doing here?” he asked while caressing her face, pressing his lips against her forehead. “I thought I would never see ye again.”
“Ye mustn’t kill him, Calum,” Sorcha rushed out while pushing Laird MacAlister away. “He’s brought me to ye.”
Laird MacAlister turned back to Aindreas. His eyes widened, and his brows pinched in confusion. “I don’t understand. I thought he was going to marry ye. I thought he was going to take ye away from me.”
Aindreas groaned as he pushed himself to standing. “Nae. She speaks the truth. I was bringing her to ye.”
Laird MacAlister looked between Aindreas and Sorcha. “But—I don’t understand. Yer father—“
“I will handle her father,” said Aindreas while striding towards the laird. “So long as we can have peace between our clans, I will speak with Laird Cambel and ensure his acceptance of yer union.”
“Peace between our clans?” Laird MacAlister asked while turning away from Sorcha. He looked Aindreas up and down, pursing his lips before giving a curt nod. “Fine,” he said while holding out his hand. “Let there be peace, so long as Sorcha and I can be together.”
Aindreas smiled and shook the laird’s hand. “Let there be peace.”
As soon as Laird MacAlister released his hand, Sorcha jumped into her lover’s arms, caressing the side of his face as he spun her around. Aindreas turned away as they kissed each other, intent on finding his horse and returning to his castle.
He needed to return to his own love and inform her of the news.
