Page 66 of The Laird's Dangerous Prize
"Youth should never apologize fer honest questions," Ciaran replied, holding Aileen's gaze steadily. "And I have always valued sincerity over suitability."
A smile bloomed across the young woman's face, quickly suppressed as she ducked her head toward her plate. Across the table, her sisters exchanged another of those meaningful glances that confirmed his suspicions.
They'd been testing him, determining if his intentions toward their sister were honorable. Whatever Isolde had told them, they had appointed themselves her protectors in her absence from the table.
The remainder of the meal continued with careful conversation about neutral topics, from the weather, hunting prospects, to news from Edinburgh.
But beneath the civility, Ciaran remained acutely aware of being watched, evaluated by three pairs of eyes that saw far more than their father suspected.
After the meal, the gathering retired to the small sitting room where a modest fire warded off the evening chill. The chamber, once designed for entertaining noble guests, showed signs of better days—faded silk cushions carefully arranged to hide worn patches, silver candelabras polished to gleaming brightnessthough missing several arms, portraits of stern-faced MacAlpin ancestors watching from walls where lighter rectangles revealed where companion paintings had once hung.
"My daughter Aileen has some skill with the harp," Alistair announced, gesturing to where a beautifully carved instrument stood in the corner. It was one of the few items in the room that appeared untouched by the clan's declining fortunes. "Perhaps she might play fer us?"
"I'd be honored," Ciaran replied, noting how the three sisters exchanged another of their meaningful glances.
Aileen rose gracefully, moving to the instrument with practiced ease. Her fingers caressed the strings, drawing forth a traditional Highland melody that spoke of mountains and mist, of ancient loyalties and enduring bloodlines. The music filled the chamber, providing cover for other conversations.
"Ye mentioned Wallace's men at Braehead," Alistair said, his voice low as he leaned toward Ciaran. "What numbers did ye observe?"
"Six mounted, possibly more in the trees," Ciaran replied, watching Aileen play. "Their movements suggested military training, not common brigands. I stood with yer clansmen and pushed them back with several wounded and at least one dead."
"They grow bolder." Alistair's weathered hands tightened around his walking stick. "Yet I cannae spare more men fer patrols without leaving the castle vulnerable."
As they spoke of defenses and strategies, Ciaran noticed the careful movement of servants around them—too few for a household this size, each performing the work of three with quiet efficiency. A single manservant tended the fire and poured their whisky, while an elderly woman who might once have been head housekeeper herself carried away the used glasses.
Aileen's music shifted to a slower, more contemplative air. She glanced up, catching Ciaran's eye with purpose. "Laird MacCraith, would ye turn the page for me? Me hands are occupied with these difficult passages."
He approached the harp, aware of Lorna watching them carefully from her seat near the hearth. As he reached for the music, Aileen's fingers brushed his, leaving behind a small folded paper no larger than a coin.
"Thank ye," she said, her voice carrying naturally through the room while her eyes conveyed a different message entirely. "This melody speaks of patience rewarded, dinnae ye think?"
"Indeed," he replied, smoothly pocketing the note as he turned the page. "The best things often come tae those who wait."
The evening continued with more music and careful conversation, Alistair eventually rising with the aid of his stick. "I fear I must retire earlier than I once did," he announced. "The years make themselves known in me joints. Lorna, see our guest is comfortable."
"Of course, Faither." Lorna rose, every inch the practical daughter managing household duties. "If ye'll follow me, Laird MacCraith, I'll show ye tae yer chambers."
They walked in silence through corridors where tapestries had been strategically repositioned to cover damaged sections of wall. Lorna finally stopped before a heavy oak door in the west wing.
"Yer chambers, me laird," she said formally, though her eyes carried the same assessment he'd seen at dinner. "If ye need anything during the night, pull the bell rope."
"Thank ye fer yer hospitality," Ciaran replied.
Lorna hesitated, then spoke in a lower voice. "Me sister has spoken highly of ye, Laird MacCraith. I hope her judgment proves sound."
Before he could respond, she turned and disappeared down the dimly lit corridor, her footsteps fading into silence.
Inside his chamber, Ciaran waited until the sounds of the household settling for the night had quieted before retrieving Aileen's note from his pocket. The message, written in a delicate hand, contained just five words: Third hour. Wait by door.
The castle bell had just struck the third hour when a soft scratch at his chamber door alerted Ciaran. He opened it to find Aileen,a hooded cloak covering her nightdress, a single candle casting strange shadows across her young face.
"Follow me," she whispered, glancing nervously down the corridor. "And step where I step. The east passage floorboards creak something fierce."
Without waiting for his response, she turned and moved silently down the hallway, her bare feet making no sound on the stone floor. Ciaran followed, his own footfalls carefully placed despite his larger frame. His warrior's senses mapped their path, noting defensive positions and vulnerabilities as they wound deeper into the castle's heart.
Aileen led him down a servants' staircase, through a small antechamber lined with dusty suits of armor, and finally to a tapestry depicting a stag hunt. With practiced ease, she slipped behind the heavy fabric, revealing a narrow door cut into the stone wall.
"The old laird's passage," she explained in a whisper as she produced a key from within her cloak. "Built during the border wars three centuries past so the family could move unseen between chambers."
