"That'll slow trade," Malcolm warned.
"I daenae care. Me wife's safety is worth more than trade routes." Tòrr turned slightly, his eyes finding Liliane. Somethingsoftened in his expression, just for a moment. "Is there anythin' else ye need from me before I see tae her wound?"
The men exchanged glances, clearly reading the dismissal for what it was.
"Nay, me laird," Fraser said. "We'll begin preparations immediately."
"Good. Daemon, Michael, stay. The rest of ye, go. I want those patrols doubled by nightfall."
The hall emptied quickly, warriors moving with purpose toward their assigned tasks. When only his brothers remained, Tòrr's shoulders sagged slightly, exhaustion finally showing through his armor of command.
"She needs the healer," Michael said gently, stepping forward. "That cut should be cleaned proper and dressed."
"Aye." Tòrr moved to Liliane's side, his hand finding the small of her back. "Come, lass. Let's get ye tended to."
"I can walk meself."
"I ken. But humor me." His voice dropped lower. "I need tae ken ye're safe. Need tae see it with me own eyes."
The raw honesty in his tone made her throat tight. She nodded and let him guide her toward the tower stairs.
The healer's chamber was warm, fragrant with dried herbs hanging from the rafters. The healer directed Liliane to sit on the low stool by the hearth while she prepared her materials.
"I'll need good light," the older woman murmured, lighting additional candles. "And privacy would be best. Sometimes wounds are easier tae tend without an audience."
Tòrr, who'd been hovering near the door, straightened. "I'm nae leavin'."
"Me laird."
"I said I'm nae leavin'." His tone allowed no argument. "I'll stay until I ken she's been properly cared fer."
The healer's lips twitched, almost smiling. "As ye wish. But try nae tae pace. Ye'll make me nervous."
"I dinnae pace."
"Ye're pacin' now."
He stopped mid-stride, scowling. "I'm nae."
"Whatever ye say, me laird." Moira turned her attention to Liliane, carefully removing the makeshift bandage. "Let's see what we have here."
The cut stung as Moira cleaned it with something that smelled sharp and medicinal. Liliane tried not to flinch, but her fingers curled into her skirts.
"Brave lass," Moira murmured. "Ye've seen worse than this, I'd wager."
The healer worked in silence for a moment, applying a salve that cooled the burning. "There. The cut's clean. Should heal proper in a few days, though ye'll need tae keep it covered and dry." She glanced at Tòrr. "I'll leave the dressin' with ye, me laird. Change it mornin’ and night. Use fresh salve each time. Tend her gently." The healer's eyes were knowing as she gathered her supplies. "I'll be in the main hall if ye need me."
After she left, silence settled over the chamber like snow. Tòrr stood by the window, his back to Liliane, his shoulders rigid with tension.
She stood, moving toward him carefully. "Tòrr, look at me."
He turned slowly, and the expression on his face made her breath catch. Fury and fear and something deeper, something that looked almost like anguish.
"I should have been there sooner," he said, his voice rough. "Should have followed ye intae the inn immediately instead of lettin' ye go alone."
"Ye couldnae have kent what would happen."
"I should have kent. Should have anticipated it." His hands clenched into fists at his sides. "Yer faither sent men durin’ a festival, durin’ a celebration meant tae bring the clan together. That takes plannin’. Coordination. He's been watchin' us, waitin' fer the right moment."
