Chapter Eleven
Abloodbath. It had turned into a damned bloodbath.
Once ready, they had sent word to Grigor that they waited. Then, using the secret tunnel, Brodie had met with a few men still loyal to him and got Magnus out of the lowest level of the keep. Brodie’s men had expected a trap so they were prepared to face opposition and thought themselves ready. Upon exiting the tunnel in the same place he had when he’d kidnapped Arabella, the trap was sprung and then were exposed in the yard.
Luckily, his men had their horses there and they rode to safety just as the alarm was called. Everything was going as he’d planned.
He had thought.
Even with the precautions they’d taken approaching Drumlui, the attack had come when they had not expected it and in a way they could not have imagined: from the village as they passed through it. Once surprised by the people with their pitchforks and other homemade weapons, it had not been long before Caelan’s warriors had caught up with them from behind and attacked.
Worse, the Mackintoshes who fought for Caelan had dragged the villagers into the middle of the chaos.
Brodie wiped the blood from his face as they reached the final pathway to their camp and looked over the group who’d survived. In saving Magnus, they’d lost two other men and several more were seriously wounded. If he added in the number of villagers—innocents caught in the battle—it rose to seven dead. At least four of Caelan’s warriors lay dead behind them.
Mackintoshes all.
And that was the thing that tormented him the most. All those injured or dead were his clan. This escalation in hostility had cost a terrible price. Brodie stopped and waited for the others to pass him on the path, meeting each gaze as they did.
‘Rob, get Magnus to Margaret first. Then the others can be seen to,’ he ordered softly.
He’d sent a man ahead to warn of their arrival and to put additional guards in place along the lower approaches to the camp. By the time he rode in, the wounded were being carried to Margaret’s tent and Magnus was already within. Brodie was going to wash off the blood that streamed from his head and his side when Margaret called to him.
‘Bring the lady, Brodie. I need her help here.’ She ducked back inside before he could refuse.
Would Arabella help their wounded? She was a prisoner here and a Cameron, so she had no reason to do so. The few women in the camp were already at work, so the more hands, the better. If she would consider helping them?
‘Now!’ Margaret’s voice carried over the chaos.
He ran to his cave and entered. She backed away from the entrance and stood there, her arms tucked tightly at her waist and her eyes wide with fear.
‘Is there an attack?’ she asked. ‘I heard many voices and yelling about horses approaching.’ Then she looked at him, her gaze moving from the blood on his head, face and neck down to his tunic that was soaked through with it. ‘You are wounded.’
‘Aye, I am. But...’ He was going to ask her and realised that their last leave-taking had been less than affable. If the request came from him, she might refuse. ‘Margaret has asked if you would help her.’
First her gaze glanced at the entrance, then at him. Would she refuse?
‘’Tis daylight out,’ she said, pointing to the sunlight’s play on the ground near the opening in the rocks.
In the confusion, he did not understand her meaning at first. Then he did—she had only been outside during the night or the dark, at his orders, so she could not identify the people here or their location. Now, that mattered not.
‘Will you help?’ he asked again.
‘Aye. Of course I will,’ she said. She looked around the cave as though searching for something. Arabella went to the pallet and picked up a pile of clothing there. ‘We...she might have need of these.’
He took her arm and led her out of the cave. She threw her hand up to block the sun from her eyes as they walked quickly away from the cave and towards the turmoil in the centre of the camp. He nodded and answered questions as they walked, never stopping in their progress towards Margaret’s tent. The woman herself opened the flap and stuck her head outside as they arrived there.
‘I was about to send someone for you, lady.’ She nodded at Arabella. ‘Your skill with stitching would be most helpful inside. Now.’
He released Arabella and she followed Margaret back inside. Brodie could hear only some whispered words. Leaving the lady to Margaret, he went about his own duties and the next hours passed quickly as he organised the others in the camp for a quick escape if one was needed. He saw to gathering what supplies the women would need to treat the injured. He summoned his friends and set up plans for more defence around the camp and in case they needed to move.
* * *
Night had begun to fall as he finished his work and stood outside Margaret’s tent, awaiting word of Magnus’s survival or passing. Rob walked to his side and handed him a cup of ale and an oatcake. He answered Rob’s raised brow with a shrug. No word had been given or asked about the man’s condition.
In a way, Brodie did not want to ask, for in the absence of an answer, he could continue to believe his friend was alive. The birds of night, the ones who roosted on the mountainside, sang their songs. The winds, dry all day, now carried a hint of moisture, of storms coming on the morrow.
‘I think the burden of trying to appear friendly towards the Camerons is wearing on my cousin,’ he said. ‘He expected his plans to be further along by now and is running out of patience.’
