By Order of the King

Eilean Donan Castle, (or the island of Donan), Scotland, 18 July 1309     Skye realized it was a new groom-to-be as soon as the door opened, and she saw him standing tall, his long black hair neatly combed and groomed in his formal clothes. His kilt looked new, vividly highlighting the blue and yellow colors of the clan he belonged to, but Skye couldn't identify which that clan was, and besides, she didn't care at all. She couldn't remember seeing before in her life a whiter white shirt than the one this unknown young man was wearing. On the other hand, her uncle seemed to know him very well as he welcomed him warmly with intimacy, which was something Skye knew well he didn't usually do. Skye headed somewhere out of the way and sighed out of boredom. Another dull and meaningless night awaited her, enduring her uncle and the guest talking about business. She watched them from her corner until she saw her uncle searching the place. Once he tracked her down, he beckoned her over, and Skye had no choice but to obey. Without any rush, she walked over to where they were standing. "I want to introduce you to Lennox, the son of Duke Cameron," her uncle informed her proudly as soon as she reached them. "Welcome, lord Lennox," Skye told him in a cold, indifferent tone of her voice, while at the same time, she lifted her green dress slightly, bowed to him, and walked away before her uncle could stop her. Skye went back to her corner and waited to watch them talk and laugh. Skye snorted in disgust at her uncle's hypocrisy. When she saw them moving towards the dining room, Skye dutifully followed them there and took her place at the table, which was laid with deliciously inviting delicacies. She has decided to behave as she should until the right opportunity comes.    It had been fifteen minutes since dinner began, and no one had said a word. All of them were devoted to eating the huge portions of food on their plates. Skye was nibbling on her food until she decided to raise her eyes from her plate and peek at them. First, she looked at her uncle on top of the table, chewing blissfully, then at her aunt sitting next to her uncle, holding her cutlery, trying hard to look as elegant and delicate as possible. She left the newcomer for the end. Lennox was sitting next to Skye's uncle, opposite her aunt. Skye looked at him without any enthusiasm. Unfortunately, her gaze caught him just as he cut off a large mouthful of roast piglet and thrust it into his mouth with overmuch relish and eagerness. The move repulsed Skye, causing her nose to wrinkle slightly. She left the silver cutlery on her plate and pushed the plate somewhat in front of her. "What is the matter, Skye? Have you already finished with your food? But you hardly ate anything." her aunt, sitting next to her at the table, commented in a sweet voice. Skye's stomach churned as she knew full well that the sweet voice was nothing more than hypocrisy to make a good impression on the prospective groom. "Yes, I have finished," she replied without turning to look at her. The two women had not observed that their guest was watching their conversation. "Too bad because the food is great; I can't stop eating," the young man got into the conversation. Skye and her aunt turned and looked at him. Skye fixed him with icy eyes while her aunt gave him a humble smile. With a broad smile, Lennox raised his cup. "Here's to the lovely lady Fiona and to the wonderful food she prepared for tonight's dinner," he said. "Oh, you flatter me. I think you're exaggerating a little," replied the aunt, giggling, raising her cup as well. "But thank you for your kind words, dear Lennox. I did my best to please you." "And you have succeeded, my Lady, I assure you," Lennox continued, and took a sip of his scotch. "How's your scotch, dear Lennox?" the uncle asked as he wiped the leftover food from his lips on his towel. "Ah! It is amazing - light with notes of butter and citrus. It left me breathless, Lord Malcolm. Excellent!" he replied, lifting his cup and taking another sip. Uncle's eyes sparkled. "I am glad you like it. It is of my production. I make it with my own hands," he boasted. "Did you fire the workers who did this work, uncle?" Skye asked, feigning surprise because she knew no way would ever happen. Her uncle looked at her and smiled as his hand gripped his cup. He cleared his throat. "No, but I give them step-by-step instructions on exactly what to do." Skye returned the fake smile. "Don't you have Graham for this job?" Her uncle's eyes twinkled, and he pursed his lips. Skye felt a sting in her hip but didn't lose her calm. Her aunt had slipped her hand under the table and given her a warning pinch. "However, I supervise the barley fields. I say what they need and when they need it. That's why my scotch is so good." "And where exactly do you have these barley fields? In the sea that surrounds us?' Skye asked him, raising her eyebrows and waiting for an answer. Her uncle snorted, shaking his head. "You are so ignorant, Skye. Everyone knows, but obviously, you are not among them, that the wheat and barley fields are in the lowlands. I have mine there too." "No, you don't, uncle". She emphasized each word and then continued in a normal tone. "You renounced the Lowlands years ago, don't you remember?" Her uncle looked at his plate, taking deep breaths. His nostrils flared incessantly, and his face began to take on a reddish color. Skye leaned back in her chair. She picked up her glass and took a sip of the whiskey to push away the smile that threatened to curl up her lips. "Indeed, the scotch is delicious," she declared, and received another pinch on her hip from her aunt.