Chapter Two

      Ailsa set the bowl of bone broth and bread on the table and raised the cup of tisane to the thin lips of the Chief of Clan McCrieff. Only a few drops did he take this morning, only a few more throughout last night. The tisane was important for the pain, the beef-broth mixture crucial to retain his strength.

      But this last fortnight both had been increasingly difficult for him to swallow. It was that which was telling of the sickness overwhelming him more than the grey pallor of his skin and his laboured breath. His body was slowly wasting away. His ice-blue eyes, however, were sharp as ever and steady on her.

      If his eyes could speak, Ailsa knew the barrage of hate would be fierce. Though he was losing his strength day by day, he hadn’t lost his opinions.

      The fact he didn’t speak now meant he was saving his strength...for what she didn’t know. She never could understand their Chief who was and had always been filled with rage and suspicion.

      Even towards her, their only healer. She glanced up to find his eyes piercing her the entire time he drank the tisane. Mistrust. As if her long sleepless nights and tireless searching for calming herbs weren’t because she was there to help, but to harm him.

      She would never, could never, do so. It went against everything she was. It was also a sin. God’s law should have been enough to appease Hamish McCrieff that she would do her duty to him. But she suspected Hamish had committed so many sins he didn’t see the breaking of one as much of a deterrent.

      Blasphemous thoughts. This man was Chief of the Clan and deserved respect and loyalty. But everything about him made fear climb like poisonous vines under her skin.

      Standing and setting down the cup, Ailsa nodded towards Mary, one of the most faithful of servants, who stood as well, and they adjusted the bedding so Hamish was made more comfortable. She didn’t know what ailed him, but she’d seen it before. The decline was slow, the body consumed on the inside until there was nothing left. All that could be done was to ease the pain and ensure a longer sleep until he died.

      A quick death would be more merciful and she had heard of men doing so to their brethren on the battlefields. But for her it was too kind for this man, who wasn’t worth risking her soul for. There was many a day when she wanted to. Something she went to confessional with often. Weeks of confessionals now. The seasons were changing and still McCrieff lingered, leaving the clan in a vulnerable state.

      It was no relief when Hamish’s gaze shifted over her shoulder. No relief at all since his accusing stare was aimed entirely at the only other person in the room. Her father, Frederick, who months ago had been elected to be heir apparent to the Chief. To become, in effect, Tanist. Further because Hamish was so ill it was also agreed that her father would be privy to any and all decisions that Hamish would decree. Most significantly, Frederick could suggest and, in certain circumstances, make decisions of his own that would be equally revered by the council. Unusual, but Hamish was dying and her father was a greatly respected warrior, with a bloodline linked to chiefs in the past. The decree was unanimous, including that of Hamish himself. However, Alisa always felt Hamish had given it unwillingly.

      Her father must have felt the same way as well. And whether it was because of loyalty to the Chief who he had served under for years or to keep the peace among the Clan, Frederick still consulted with Hamish. In front of the clan, it kept the peace. Only she knew what a toll it took on her father and it was no surprise that, after he gained her attention, he left the room.

      As quietly as possible, Alisa stepped away from the bed and let Mary continue with the rest of the routine. Months of working together, they no longer had to discuss the Chief’s care...they only had to endure it.

      The room next to the chamber was empty save for her father and Alisa closed the door behind her. He let out a breath.

      ‘He eats less every day,’ Ailsa said.

      ‘But drinks your tisane more. Is this because of the pain?’

      Hamish hid his pain from her; Ailsa suspected, because he didn’t want her father to know. But at night, when Hannah or Mary took over, when he tried to sleep, he cried out. For a man of Hamish’s stature to do so meant the pain was horrific.

      Ailsa nodded. ‘The pain is expected at this stage. For now he seems aware, but it will increase and he will be less... He may not even know who he is.’

      Frederick exhaled. ‘The others will not care.’

      ‘Others?’

      Her father raised his finger to his lips and shook his head once.

      Ailsa tightened her jaw and kept her words to herself. If Hamish’s health was in further decline, more decisions would be made by her father. The issue, of course, was even at the height of Hamish’s power, her father never saw eye to eye with their Chief. In the past, there were arguments, but to keep the loyalties strong, her father always yielded to the clan Chief...as he should.

      Since Hamish didn’t have the strength for all decision making, the clan would lean more on her father, whether Hamish wanted it or not.

      There should be no others when it came to the rule of McCrieffs. Everyone should be behind her father, who was a fair man. The Tanist vote and shared ruling was unanimous. It was rare and, to keep McCrieffs strong, to everyone outside the clan it was unknown, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t the right course for her clan. Hamish couldn’t be expected to rule as he once had. However, Hamish had lived long and had spread his venom deep. There were rumours that others were loyal to only him. It incensed her. Her father had every right by blood and sword to rule the McCrieffs and rule them justly. Yet, as long as Hamish lived, Hamish still kept his power and her father was forced to keep the balance.

      And she was forced to keep Hamish alive. When Hamish died, her father would face adversity no other McCrieff had ever faced before: To mend a divided Clan. Her father was a warrior, not a negotiator.

      However, Hamish’s decreasing strength could change the stalemate—

      The outside door burst open and both swung their gaze towards the messenger who bent over his knees to catch his breath. ‘Lochmores are here,’ he panted.

      Ailsa’s entire body seized. Their enemy was on their land. How could this have happened without her father being at the forefront of the fight? ‘Father, what is—?’

      Frederick kept his gaze on the young man before him. ‘How far?’

      ‘Just outside the village.’

      ‘Again!’ Ailsa gasped and Frederick laid a hand on her arm.

      The Lochmores were on McCrieff land. It was too soon since the last time. The bodies were still raw in the graves and they were here this soon again? Never!

      Lochmores attacking again and this time their clan was divided. They were weak. Is that why they struck? While she’d been tending a dying man, already her clan were dying defending their land.

      Ailsa wrenched her arm free of her father’s restraint. ‘They’ve never returned this soon before. Why now?’

      ‘And the people?’