“Don’t listen—” Ewan began again, but Ailsa shook her head, interrupting him.
“I’m not,” she said, her voice unconvincing.
She watched as a still laughing Gordon raised his fist to signal to his men. As one, the band of brigands turned their horses and rode back over the ridge and out of sight, leaving others to clean up the mess they had made.
“I’m not,” Ailsa repeated, and Ewan wondered if she was trying to convince him or herself.
He wanted to gather her in his arms, to take her back to bed, to tuck her away safely where nobody could ever harm her.
But there was still a fire to fight, and he would not leave his men to handle it alone. He would be the Laird one day, and a good leader could not be afraid to get down in the muck with those who followed him. That was no way to earn respect.
So he ignored the instinct that told him to tend to his wife first, even if that left the world to burn. Instead, he dismounted from his horse and handed the reins to Ailsa. It was a cheap trick, perhaps, to play on her tender heart, but he knew she would never put a horse in danger. And if that kept her here out of danger, too? So be it.
“Keep the mounts safe, aye?” he asked, pausing only to clasp a hand over her knee.
She looked down at him, then nodded and took the reins he offered. She hesitated before putting her hand atop his, squeezing briefly, offering comfort even as she received it. Her back was straight and sure despite the turmoil in her eyes.
His brave wife. His bonny, brilliant lass.
“Aye,” she agreed.
There was more to say; there was ever so much more to say. But there was no time.
He squeezed her knee one last time before surrendering himself to a world of flame and ash and toil.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
It was lessthan an hour after the sun had finally peeked over the horizon when Ailsa found herself in the front parlor with her sisters and Mairi—who was also her sister now, she reminded herself. That information felt strangely familiar and yet alien. It seemed to have been an age since her wedding, not a mere day.
But then again, this day also felt like it had been going on forever, and they were scarcely past a decent hour for breakfast.
The assembled women were in varying states of disarray, though Ailsa was by far the most battered. Her clothes were streaked with soot and mud, and she flinched at the very idea of looking in a mirror. She’d wiped her face and hands with a damp cloth, provided wordlessly by a maid, when she’d returned to the main house, but she hadn’t yet summoned the energy to make it all the way upstairs for a proper wash.
Vaila, too, was looking rather grimy. She had arrived on the scene of the burning distillery sometime in the wee hours of the morning, an enormous crate full of clean cloths and hastily packaged food and drink lashed to her saddle. James McGregor had clearly been furious at her, but Ailsa had considered Vaila’s approach to be rather muted, given her sister’s tendency to throw herself into action. All she’d done this time was bringprovisions to aid those who were hauling bucket after endless bucket of water as they oh-so-gradually diminished the flames.
Davina, Eilidh, and Mairi were mostly clean, though Davina had a smattering of flour in her hair that suggested that she had pitched in to make the food that Vaila had brought to the scene. All three, however, wore the exhausted look of those who spent hours plagued by worry.
“It was really Finlay Gordon, then?” Eilidh asked quietly, worrying a pleat of her skirts between her fingers.
Never had Ailsa been so tempted to lie to her sisters. She knew, though, that doing so might seem easier for now, but would do more harm than good in the long term.
“It was,” she said. “He’s… angry that I wed Ewan.”
Vaila’s expression was grim. “I assume this means he’ll be coming for me next.” Her words were measured, carefully controlled, but Ailsa could see that beneath there was fury—and just a touch of fear. “Well. He is welcome to try. If he comes within reach of me, I shall gut him where he stands.”
Ailsa was glad that Vaila wasn’t cowering in terror, but she still needed to impress caution on her sister.
“Promise me you’ll be careful, Vaila,” she urged.
Vaila surged to her feet. “I don’t think weshouldbe careful,” she said, beginning to pace. “What has being careful gotten us? Father was careful, and he still got killed in his own home. And what have we done about it? Run away and hide? Let the madman take over our home? Let him come here and try to destroy this place, too? No.”
She whirled, heading back in the direction she’d come.
“No,” she repeated. “We need tofight back. We need to make sure he knows that the Donaghey sisters are not to be dismissed just because we are women. We need to go reclaim our home!”
Eilidh was nodding, clearly swept away by Vaila’s passion. Davina just looked worried.
Ailsa sighed. She paused before she spoke, her gaze drifting over to where the men were sitting, scarcely speaking as they made steady progress on the mountain of food in front of them. Even the ones that weren’t exhausted from the work of the night—the very young, the very old, and those who had been stationed on patrol on different parts of the territory and hadn’t arrived in time—were visibly weighed down by the loss of the distillery.
