Three months earlier

Lorna had been sitting in the solar so long her legs had gone stiff on the bench, and the heat from the hearth did not comfort her so much as remind her time was passing. Aileen sat beside her on the bench, trying very hard to sit like a lady and failing in the quiet ways only Lorna would notice, her heel tapping then stopping as if she had remembered she was not supposed to, her fingers twisting at the ribbon on her sleeve.

Her stomach had been clenched since sunrise, and the longer the castle remained without news, the more she felt it move through her.

“He should be back by now,” Aileen said, and it came out sharper than she meant, because she immediately glanced at Lorna as if to apologize for speaking aloud.

Lorna turned her head slightly, not fully, just enough to let Aileen know she was listening. “Court daesnae move like us.”

Aileen’s brows knit. “He’s nae askin’ fer a feast invitation. He’s askin’ the king tae stop MacTavish.”

“He’ll dae what he can,” Lorna said, and reached out with her fingertips to cover Aileen’s restless hand, a small touch that was meant to anchor, not command. “Da has never gone tae the king wi’out a plan.”

Aileen’s fingers kept moving beneath hers anyway. “Plans dinnae matter if the king daesnae care.”

Lorna wanted to tell her that the king must care, because a king who did not care was a danger even to himself, but she could not bring herself to offer comfort she did not feel.

Instead she said, “The king cares about peace.”

Aileen made a sound that might have been a laugh if she had been older. “He cares about himself.”

Lorna’s mouth tightened. “Aye. And peace keeps his crown steady. That’s the only reason it matters.”

Aileen turned toward the hearth, her face caught in the glow, and for a moment Lorna saw how young she still was in the shape of her cheeks, in the way her lashes looked too long for her eyes. She was young enough that she still wanted things to be fair, and old enough that she had started to realize fairness was not a promise the world made to anyone.

“I hate that we have tae wait,” Aileen whispered.

Lorna’s hand tightened a fraction. “So dae I.”

Aileen looked back at her, quick as a blade. “Then why are ye actin’ like ye arenae scared?”

Lorna held her gaze. “Because if I start showin’ it, I might nae stop.”

Aileen’s expression softened, and the anger drained into something smaller, something more honest. “I’m scared too.”

Lorna slid her hand up, gently smoothing the ribbon at Aileen’s sleeve the way their mother used to smooth Lorna’s hair when she was upset, and the memory of it hurt like the sudden press of a bruise.

“I ken,” she murmured. “But ye’re here. Ye’re safe right now. That’s what we hold onto until Da comes back through that door.”

They sat in silence after that, the kind that made Lorna hear everything, the faint movement of servants beyond the corridor, the shifting of logs in the hearth, the far-off sound of a door opening somewhere below.

Minutes dragged, then another stretch, and Lorna began to count the changes in light as it slid across the floor, the way she used to count her mother’s breaths when she was ill.

Then, finally, there was a sound from the courtyard, muffled at first through the stone, then clearer, the rhythm of hooves, the scrape of boots, a short call from one of the guards.

Aileen’s head snapped up. “That’s him.”

Lorna was already standing, the movement sharp enough that her skirt brushed the bench.

They reached the great hall just as the doors opened. Their father stepped inside, and for a heartbeat Lorna’s relief was so fierce it made her dizzy, because he was there, solid and familiar, and then she saw his face.

Alistair MacAlpin moved like he had carried something too heavy for too long, cloak damp at the shoulders, hair wind-tossed, the edges of his mouth fixed in a line that did not soften when he saw his daughters. His eyes, usually steady, looked dulled and lifeless.

Aileen ran to him first, grabbing his sleeve with both hands. “Da. What happened? Did he decide?”

Lorna stopped a step behind Aileen, because something in her had gone very still, her instincts catching danger before her mind shaped it into words. Alistair’s hand came down on Aileen’s head, gentle, and that softness made Lorna’s throat tighten.

“Aye,” he said, voice low and rough. “He decided.”

Aileen leaned forward. “And? What did the king say about MacTavish?”

Alistair looked at Lorna then, and for a brief moment his eyes flickered with something that looked like apology, and Lorna felt her stomach drop.

“He spoke o’ peace,” he said. “He spoke o’ keeping the clans from tearing each other apart. He spoke o’… appearances.”

Aileen’s fingers tightened. “Appearances?”

Alistair exhaled, slow and heavy, as though he had been holding his breath since the king’s chamber. “He says the crown cannae be seen tae favor us too openly.”

Aileen’s face flushed. “So he’s punishing us?”

Alistair’s jaw tightened, but he did not deny it, and Lorna’s chest went cold at that small confirmation.

“What is it?” Lorna asked, because Aileen could rage, and her father could speak around the truth, but Lorna needed the shape of it, needed the blunt edge.

Alistair’s gaze stayed on her, and she saw the strain there. “He’s decided one o’ me daughters must go tae Iona,” he said.

The hall did not change, but Lorna felt as if the air had been pulled away, the sound of everything fading so the words landed cleanly, cruelly, with nowhere to hide.

Aileen stared at him as if she had misheard. “Go tae Iona?”

“A nunnery,” Alistair added, and his voice turned rougher on the word. “Exile, in all but name. He says it will show we’re willing tae sacrifice fer peace. He says it will protect our honor and keep MacTavish from pushing further, because it sends a message that the crown is watching.”

Aileen’s mouth opened, and for a moment she looked so small that Lorna’s heart twisted. “But… we did naething.”

“We are a clan,” Alistair said quietly. “We are always something in the eyes of the crown, whether we like it or nae.”

Aileen’s eyes darted to Lorna. “One o’ us?”

Alistair nodded once.

Aileen’s voice cracked. “It could be me.”

It was the first time Aileen had spoken the fear aloud, and the sound of it made Lorna feel sick.

Alistair’s hand tightened on Aileen’s shoulder. “Aye.”

Aileen’s face went pale, then flushed, then pale again. “But I’m young.”

Lorna watched her sister’s expression shift, watched the panic build behind her eyes, and something inside Lorna rearranged itself with a quiet, terrible clarity. Aileen still woke at night sometimes, though she pretended she didn’t, still clutched at Lorna’s sleeve when thunder rolled, still looked for their mother in the faces of older women and then looked away quickly when she realized what she was doing.

Lorna had been old enough when their mother died to understand grief, and she had been old enough to carry some of it for the others, to become steady because someone had to be.

She could do this too. Duty, she told herself at once, because love felt too soft a word for what rose in her chest, too tender to bear a decision like this without breaking.

She stepped forward. “It willnae be Aileen.”

Aileen turned toward her, eyes wide. “Lorna…”

Alistair’s gaze sharpened, and there was warning there. “Lorna, lass—”

“I’ll go,” Lorna said, and the words came out clean, steady, as if she had been holding them ready for years.

Aileen made a strangled sound. “Nay.”

Lorna did not look away from her sister. “Aileen, listen.”

“Nay,” Aileen repeated, louder this time, and she shook her head hard, tears already rising. “Nay, ye cannae.”

Lorna reached for her sister’s hands, and she held them firmly, not gently, because Aileen was trying to pull away and she could not let her. “Ye are too young.”

“So are ye!” Aileen snapped, and her voice broke. “Ye’re nae old, Lorna.”

“I’m older than ye,” Lorna said, and she kept her tone calm because she could feel Aileen tipping toward panic. “And I have had time here. I’ve had time wi’ Da. I’ve had time wi’ the clan. Ye have barely begun.”

Aileen’s eyes spilled over. “That dinnae mean ye should be taken.”

“It means,” Lorna said, voice softer now, “that if someone must be taken, it should be me.”

Alistair’s face tightened, grief and anger moving under his skin. “We’ll think on it. We’ll speak tae the priest. We’ll send word tae the abbot. We’ll see if there’s another way.”

“There isnae,” Lorna said gently, and she turned her face to her father now, meeting his eyes with a steadiness she did not feel. “Da, ye kent the moment ye walked in here that the king’s mind was made.”

Alistair’s jaw clenched. “That daesnae mean I accept it.”

Lorna’s chest ached. She wanted to run to him, to be a daughter again, to beg him to fight it, to promise her it would be all right, but she had already watched him carry too much, and she could not add this to his shoulders if she could lift it herself.

“It’s nae about acceptance,” Lorna said. “It’s about choice. If ye dinnae choose, the king will.”

Aileen sobbed, the sound raw. “Lorna, please.”

Lorna turned back to her sister, and she felt her own eyes burn, but she forced herself to keep breathing, slow and steady, because she could not afford to break in front of Aileen now.

“Look at me,” she said quietly.

Aileen’s gaze lifted, blurred with tears.

Lorna smoothed Aileen’s cheek with her thumb, a small, steadying touch. “Ye’ll stay here. Ye’ll stay wi’ Da. Ye’ll grow strong in this house, and ye’ll never be alone again, nae if I can help it.”

Aileen’s breath hitched. “But ye’ll be alone.”

Lorna swallowed hard. She did not answer the truth, because the truth would make Aileen feel guilt, and guilt was a poison that would sit in her for years.

Instead, she said, “I’ll be safe.”

Aileen shook her head, tears falling faster. “Safe daesnae mean happy.”

Lorna’s lips pressed together, and for a second she almost lost her composure, almost let her face twist with the fear she had been holding back since the first hour of waiting, but she steadied herself again.

“I can manage,” she whispered.

Aileen grabbed her wrist suddenly, fierce. “Why are ye daein this?”

Lorna’s chest tightened, and for a heartbeat she could not find the right words, so she said the word she had always used to keep herself upright. “Because it’s me duty.”

Aileen stared at her, and something in her face shifted, because she was young, but she was not foolish, and she could hear what Lorna was not saying.

Alistair’s voice came low, strained. “Lorna…”

She turned to him again. “Da. Please.”

Alistair looked at her like a man watching the ground give way under his feet. “If ye insist,” he said, voice rough. “If ye truly insist, then… then it will be decided.”

Aileen let out a sound that was half sob, half protest, and she threw herself against Lorna, arms wrapping tight around her waist.

Lorna caught her at once, holding her close, pressing her cheek against the top of Aileen’s head, and she felt her sister shaking, felt the way the grief moved through her in waves that made her body tremble.

Aileen cried into her gown. “Thank ye,” she gasped, and the gratitude in her voice was so heavy and wrong that it made Lorna’s eyes sting. “Thank ye, Lorna. Thank ye.”

Lorna tightened her arms, holding her as if she could keep her from falling apart just by holding on. “Hush,” she murmured, smoothing Aileen’s hair slowly, over and over, because the motion gave her something to do with her hands, something to focus on besides the thought of Iona. “It’s all right.”

“It isnae,” Aileen whispered, muffled against her. “It isnae all right.”

Lorna swallowed hard. “It will be.”

Aileen pulled back just enough to look up at her, cheeks wet, eyes red. “How?”

Lorna’s throat tightened, but she forced the words out, soft and steady. “Because ye’ll live. Ye’ll have a life. Ye’ll have choice. And Mam would want that fer ye.”

The mention of their mother made Aileen’s face crumple again, and she clung tighter.

Lorna held her, breathing slowly, trying to press calm into her with every touch, while inside her mind ran in sharp circles, images of sea and stone and silence, and the sense of a door closing that she could not stop.

Alistair’s hand came down on Lorna’s shoulder, heavy and warm.

“I’m sorry,” he said, and his voice broke slightly on the word.

“Dinnae,” she whispered.

“I should have—”

“Ye did,” Lorna said quickly, and she finally lifted her eyes to his, forcing herself to meet him. “Ye did everything. This is the king’s daeing, nae yers.”

Alistair’s gaze held hers, and she saw the same helpless fury there that she felt, the same knowledge that power could crush you politely and call it order.

“We’ll prepare,” he said, voice low. “We’ll dae it proper. Ye’ll go with honor.”

Lorna nodded once. As if honor could warm a bed at night, as if it could replace Aileen’s weight leaning against her shoulder, as if it could soften the loneliness of stone walls far from home.

Aileen’s arms were still tight around her, and Lorna held her back, because this was the last thing she could give her right now, the certainty that someone would not let go.

She pressed a kiss to Aileen’s hair, small and fierce, and she felt the decision settle into her bones with a kind of calm that terrified her, because calm made it real.

“I would dae anything fer ye,” Lorna whispered, so quietly only Aileen could hear, and she meant it with every part of herself.

Aileen sobbed again, and Lorna held her through it, her face composed, her hands steady, while inside her chest something tender and terrified curled tight around the name of a place she had never seen.

And she did not say it aloud, because speaking it would make it true, but she already knew, once she walked away from this hall, life would never return to what it had been for any of them.

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