At The Laird's Command (Sword and Thistle 3)

“Davy’s dead,” Arabella sobbed. “That’s what that little bitch said. And she tried to kill my sister, too.”

From the far away place I was drifting in the cold, I had the absurd thought to scold Arabella for using such language. It wasn’t ladylike. But my senses returned a bit as I heard Malcolm say, “Davy’s not dead.”

“You can’t know that,” Arabella cried, her tears wetting my cheeks as she tried to staunch the bleeding from my wound.

“I think I do,” Malcolm said, as we heard horns sound in the distance.

Ian braced himself against the sea wall, peering in the direction of the sound. “There are ships coming. The shields are MacLennans.”

And Malcolm actually smiled.

“That’ll be Davy on the prow, then,” the laird said. “He snuck out of the castle and went for reinforcements. He got them.”

“It’ll be a real fight now,” Malcolm said. “And one we can win, laird. Sgurr Uaran!”

That was the Macrae battle cry.

And it was the last thing I heard before my world went black.

Chapter Eleven

Never leave my side.

Stay with me and be mine for all your days.

These were the words I heard whispered over me as I came in and out of consciousness. At some point, I became aware of bandages around my ribcage, and an intense pain whenever I shifted.

“She couldn’t have been luckier in the placement of the wound,” came the voice of the physicker above me, instructing Arabella. “It was deep enough to penetrate the muscle, but managed to merely graze all the most vital things inside.”

Given the throbbing agony, I didn’t feel especially lucky. But I was alive, and in the laird’s bed, I saw, when I finally opened my eyes. It seemed as if half the castle was crammed into his quarters. The laird was in an armchair at the side of the bed, holding my hand. My sister was there, too, hurrying to fetch me something to drink. And Ian was at the window, staring out over the loch with a faraway gaze.

“What happened?” I asked, though my voice was a scratchy, throaty sound.

“The siege is ended,” Arabella said, excitedly. “Davy did it! Clan MacLennan broke the blockade and sent Donald ships to the bottom of the loch. What remained that were fool enough to attack the castle walls were shot down or cut down and sent to a watery grave.”

The siege was ended. I could scarcely make sense of that, and how it changed our circumstances. For so many months we had lived as prisoners in these castle walls, suspicious of one another, unsure of the future. But now it was over…

“What of the laird’s marriage to the Donald girl?” I asked, for I was sure that must have been part of the negotiation to end the battle. “Or will it be a MacLennan bride, now?”

“It will be a MacLennan bride,” our chieftain said, exchanging a tense glance with his second-in-command. Ian crossed his arms over himself—a gesture I now knew was one of self-protection rather than defiance.

Ian was in pain. Terrible pain. I could guess why. And it did not all have to do with me—or even that Brenna had schemed against us for his sake. The last time I saw him, I had confessed to him the laird’s command that I win his affections. That I was supposed to lure him into loving me so that he might take me as his own once the laird was dead and gone. And Ian had exploded into a temper of both wounded pride at being manipulated, and the deepest hurt at being so mistrusted by the man he had dedicated his life to.

“Fetch some more water for your sister,” the laird commanded Arabella, taking the cup from her hand.

“There’s a whole jug right here by the bed,” she said.

“Go get another one,” the laird snapped, with a hard stare, making it plain that he wished for her to go. “Or do whatever it is that you must do to prepare for your own wedding, which you can have on the first day Heather is strong enough to see you respectfully married.”

Arabella glanced at me as if she would argue, but I nodded.

So she kissed my cheek and reluctantly went to the door. “Do not tax her, my laird. And if you make her cry again…”

The laird raised an eyebrow to see what Arabella would threaten.

She should have cowered but she stood her ground, her nostrils flaring, and letting him guess what revenge she might take upon him.

“Her heart is as precious to me as it is to you,” the laird finally said.