Rory glanced to Frederick before he pinned her with a dark gaze. ‘Why else did you think I was invited to eat leeks with you?’
Ailsa pushed away from the table. The sharp scrape echoed in the Hall and earned her glances.
‘Ailsa, please.’ Her father turned to her, his eyes darting to others in case their conversation was overheard.
This. This was what had been plaguing the clan. Not her father’s position or Hamish’s illness. An English King decreed McCrieff land to Lochmores and they were here to collect.
Aware of Rory’s eyes on her, she laid her hand on her father’s arm. ‘All of it?’
‘Some,’ her father whispered low. ‘Along the water.’
Reeling, Ailsa gripped her father’s arm. Her father had been acting strange for weeks. Nothing untoward for everything was kept to a routine that was sustained by the Chief before him. Hamish was still too cognisant to do otherwise. Months of her father attending council meetings, inspecting land, conversing with tenants. So much to do and more so since John Balliol was crowned King of Scots last November.
Many Highlanders believed he was nothing more than a vassal of the English King Edward. But some supported him more openly than others. The Lochmore clan was one of those...
It became clear to her. The Lochmore clan supported the English King and in doing so had been granted part of their lands.
Land that McCrieffs firmly maintained was theirs and which had been fought over time and time again. It was politically crucial land since it contained water and naturally separated the clans. For her, it was important because it fed McCrieffs and provided foliage she needed for remedies. She wanted to stand and wave her arms. To shout for them all to leave the land alone. To lose such an advantage was detrimental to her and the clan. Hamish, in his day, would never have agreed to such a granting.
Hamish would have called men to arms, he would have called for battle. He would never have let Lochmores on his land, let alone in the courtyard. But her father, whose loyalty she had never questioned before, practically invited them here and prepared a feast for them.
She couldn’t cause a scene, but she would say what she needed to. ‘You can’t.’
‘Ailsa,’ Frederick said.
‘Why can’t he?’ Rory said. ‘If he is Tanist, with the agreement he has authority to do so. Even if he didn’t, it is already done by King’s decree and by mine.’
‘That land is not yours,’ Ailsa said.
Rory’s eyes went to Fredericks. ‘She didn’t know. What is happening here, Tanist?’
She’d like to know as well. Since Balliol’s claim, many secrets were being kept. Her father held private meetings, but so did Hamish. Her father acted as though he didn’t notice these meetings and, though she asked, she wasn’t privy to her father’s secrets. But everything about their behaviours filled her with unease. She couldn’t be the only one who observed their leaders’ movements. The ‘others’ would have seen as well.
‘You have to have some ideas,’ Frederick said. At Rory’s shrug, he added, ‘You can’t be a Lochmore and not want more,’ Frederick continued, his voice low so that if people tried to listen, they would not hear. ‘Especially, since it’s about to be handed to you.’
The King hadn’t decreed that all McCrieff land should be handed to the Lochmores, just the land against the border, so that couldn’t be what his father was hinting at. Even confused, Ailsa felt relief. Until...
Until Rory’s eyes locked with hers and she knew he understood a fraction of a moment before she did how Lochmores could gain more without a fight.
‘All you need to do is marry my daughter.’
‘No!’ Ailsa cried.
Lochmore made some sound she couldn’t determine. Her father wasn’t looking at her even though she had never raised her voice in her life. That didn’t bode well especially when he stood to address the hall. His words were formal as he declared there were important matters to be discussed. No one stood to question or protest. It appeared that everyone had assumed as much. Fuming, wondering how she couldn’t have known, Ailsa followed her father when he retired to the room in the back. She felt rather than saw Rory follow behind her.
It was a small room with several doors and she saw with some consternation there were also provisions on a table and several chairs. It was all previously laid out for comfort and for private discussions. Her father expected and planned well.
For her to marry a Lochmore.
She wanted to do more than raise her voice, she wanted to brandish her shears. Secrets. Her father had been acting odd for months. Why had she not suspected this? Or at least demanded answers to his behaviour. But how could she have guessed what questions to ask him?
She’d been telling herself he’d been worried about Hamish, about the clan’s discontent. She never could have guessed this. But she should have suspected something because her father was never worried or alarmed.
She was the one who worried. Especially when her father ordered her to hide when the enemy clan arrived instead of providing her an escort as she tended her clan. She was the one who grew alarmed the moment her father brought her and Rory into this tiny room and gave her that wistful paternal look. The one that asked for forgiveness even before she knew there was something to forgive about.
This wasn’t forgivable and she’d have words with her father. For now, she needed to make clear to the Lochmore her position in this matter. Yet when she met Rory’s gaze, the emotions roiling in the depth shocked her anew. Surprise definitely, but something else she refused to believe. His consideration.
‘Never!’ The word felt inadequate to express her rejection, so she said the simple word with as much vehemence as she felt.
She knew she shocked her father. She had always been the sensible one. After all, her mother had died when her sisters were born. By then she’d already started helping the clan healer. Everything she’d done up to this point was for others. Now, it appeared her father thought she’d automatically sacrifice herself. Not this time.
‘Ailsa, think about this.’ Her father sat in one of the chairs and used the voice she’d heard thousands of times before. That of a father to his daughter. But if he was acting like a father, he wouldn’t ask this.
‘I am thinking about this. How could I not know that our land was given away? And it appears as if I’m the only McCrieff who doesn’t know! Me, the healer, your daughter, who needs the marsh and soil. You know how important that land is!’
She planted there. Rhona, the old healer and the healer before that, planted there. There was need and tradition rooted in that dirt. It was dangerous, yes, since it was on the border, but it was the best place for certain necessary herbs.
‘He can’t have the land. They can’t have the land!’
‘A
