Page 65 of The Laird's Dangerous Prize
Alistair raised his goblet in a formal toast. "Tae our guest, Laird MacCraith, who brings us warning of Wallace's treachery."
"Laird MacCraith," echoed the gathered clansmen, their voices a rumble beneath the vaulted ceiling.
Ciaran inclined his head in acknowledgment, taking a measured sip of the wine—good stock, likely from dwindling reserves saved for such occasions. "Tae Clan MacAlpin's health and prosperity," he returned, the traditional response of a welcomed guest.
His gaze moved purposefully across the table to where three young women sat watching him with expressions too careful to be innocent. The MacAlpin sisters formed a striking tableau: Lorna, with shrewd eyes that missed nothing; Isla, with her barely suppressed smile; and young Aileen, whose stare was so transparent in its assessment that Ciaran nearly smiled.
Their hair—a shade lighter than Isolde's but unmistakably marking them as sisters—caught the candlelight as they exchanged glances too coordinated to be coincidental. Something passed between them, a silent communication that reminded him forcefully of Isolde.
"We're honored by yer intervention at Braehead," Lorna said, breaking the momentary silence. Her tone was perfectly proper, yet something in her steady gaze suggested layers beneath her words. "Especially considering the historic relations between our clans."
"History needn't dictate present actions," Ciaran replied carefully. "Wallace threatens all Highland peace."
"Indeed," Isla interjected, leaning forward slightly. "It's remarkable how fate brings people together in times of danger. Wouldn't ye agree, Laird MacCraith? How chance encounters can change everything?"
Beside her, Aileen's eyes widened fractionally, a warning glance directed at her sister that Ciaran caught only because he was watching so closely.
It was then that certainty crystallized in his mind. They knew. Perhaps not everything, but enough. Isolde had confided in them, had told them of their meeting, their journey, perhaps even their growing feelings. These were not merely sisters making polite conversation, they were assessing the man who had returned their eldest sister home.
"I find," he said carefully, meeting Isla's gaze directly, "that the most meaningful encounters rarely happen by chance alone."
A small, satisfied smile touched her lips before she ducked her head to attend to her meal. Beside her, Aileen's cheeks flushed slightly, while Lorna's expression remained composed but watchful.
The conversation shifted as servants brought in the main course—a roasted venison that spoke to the clan's continued hunting rights in the surrounding forests. The meat was carved with ceremony at the high table, the portions carefully distributed to demonstrate proper hospitality while conserving precious resources.
"Ye'll find our deer have a distinctive flavor," Alistair commented, ever the gracious host despite the undercurrent of wariness in his posture. "The heather they graze upon here lends a sweetness ye won't find elsewhere."
"It's excellent," Ciaran acknowledged truthfully. "Reminds me of hunting these forests as a lad with me faither."
"Ye've been tae MacAlpin lands before?" Lorna asked, her tone conversational though her eyes remained sharp.
"A few times. Once as a boy, and again fer feasts and two summers past." He kept his expression neutral as he took a piece of venison.
"And what brings ye back now, truly?" Aileen asked, her youthful directness earning her a quelling look from Lorna. "Beyond Wallace's raiders, I mean."
A moment of tense silence followed the question. Alistair's hand stilled above his wine goblet, his gaze shifting between his youngest daughter and their guest with sudden attention.
"Aileen," Lorna admonished softly, "Laird MacCraith has explained his presence."
"It's quite alright," Ciaran assured them, meeting Aileen's transparent gaze. "Curiosity is natural, especially in unusual circumstances." He deliberately gentled his voice. "I find meself concerned by Wallace's increasing aggression. Yer clan has borne the brunt of his attention far longer than mine. I thought our shared intelligence might benefit both our peoples."
Alistair nodded slowly, though the suspicion never fully left his eyes. "A reasonable sentiment, though uncommon among Highland lairds."
"Perhaps more lairds should consider common threats above ancient rivalries," Ciaran suggested.
"How progressive," Isla murmured, her tone lightly teasing but her eyes serious. "Next you'll suggest Highland clans should unite through more than just temporary alliances."
"Isla," Alistair said sharply, "our guest has no interest in your romantic notions of Highland politics."
"On the contrary," Ciaran countered smoothly, "I find Lady Isla's perspective refreshing. The old ways of clan isolation grow increasingly impractical in changing times."
"Is that what ye've observed in yer travels, Laird MacCraith?" Lorna asked, her tone carefully neutral. "That isolation leaves clans vulnerable?"
"I've observed," he replied, meeting her gaze directly, "that those who stand alone often fall alone."
Aileen leaned forward slightly. "And if one offered their hand in friendship, or something more, would ye accept it, even from those society might deem unsuitable?"
Alistair's fork clattered against his plate. "Aileen! That is quite enough. Fergive me daughter's impertinence, Laird MacCraith. She sometimes forgets herself."
