“In case ye cannae tell,” Jacob continued. “Ye yerself are the first strong alliance we’ve secured in a very long time. Yer presence here strengthens us.”
“Does it?”
“Aye,” Thomas chimed in. “Word of yer arrival to the clan has spread far and wide, and our potential enemies are currently reconsidering their stance.”
Lily opened her mouth to remind them that she had no intention of staying, but something stilled her tongue. A reminder, perhaps, of how fragile this clan seemed.
Angus leaned forward, his bushy eyebrows drawn together. “We were wondering if ye might aid us further. We ken that two of yer sisters are wed to powerful lairds. If ye could persuade them to stand with Clan MacRay, such an alliance would cement us as one of the strongest clans in the Highlands.”
The request wound her for a moment. Her sisters—Brigid and Valerie—were indeed married to powerful men, and both clans were formidable in their own right. If she brought them to Alasdair’s side…
“Do ye ken if that would be possible, me Lady?” Thomas asked.
“Well,” Lily said at last, her voice low and careful. “I would have to ask them first. But I ken me sisters, and I’ve little doubt they’d lend their aid. I can send word within the next month, if I’m stillhere. At present, I have a patient whose toe must be amputated. A grim business, and one that’ll hold me here for some time.”
Colm shook his head. “That is the thing, Lady MacRay. We daenae have until next month. We had hoped ye might send word before the week’s end.”
Her eyebrows drew together. “Before the week’s end? Why so soon?”
Colm’s eyes narrowed ever so slightly. “Did the Laird nae tell ye?”
Her pulse quickened. “Tell me what?”
“The cèilidh,” Colm said simply, as though it were obvious.
The word landed like a stone in her stomach.
“Cèilidh?” she echoed. “I ken nothing of any cèilidh. There was nay mention of such a gathering.”
Alasdair shifted beside her. She felt his heat even before he leaned in, his voice pitched low for her ears only. “I meant to tell ye about it this evening,” he murmured. “Seems the council has beaten me to it.”
“How convenient,” she responded, her eyes snapping to his, fury simmering beneath her calm.
He only raised an eyebrow, as if telling her not to challenge him before the others.
Colm, oblivious to the silent battle at the table, continued, “‘Tis meant as a celebration of our victory. A gathering for the clan, aye, but also for forging alliances. If yer sisters and their husbands attend, it would strengthen our standing beyond reckoning.”
The men all watched her, waiting. Cornering her.
Lily inhaled slowly and dug her nails into her palm beneath the table to ground herself. At last, she gave a measured nod.
“Very well. I will write to them before the week’s end. But whether they come or nae is their choice, nae mine.”
“Of course, of course,” Colm said quickly, smiling.
Lily turned her gaze to Alasdair, pinning him with a look sharp enough to cut glass. A silent message passed between them:Ye owe me for this.
He met her stare without flinching, but something in the set of his mouth told her he understood.
The council moved on to other matters, but Lily sat straighter in her chair, her pulse still racing.
Why did Alasdair not mention the cèilidh earlier? She didn’t know why it affected her this much, but it did. Everyone’s words faded into the background, and soon she could only hear the jarring thump of her heart.
A cèilidh.
Of course, there would be one. Why hadn’t she considered it in the first place? And what did she possibly have to celebrate?
CHAPTER 16
