Moving towards the two sprawled forms, Iain stumbled and fell to his knees. After trying several times to get up, he started to crawl towards Islaen. Despite his growing fear for her he paused by MacLennon. He knew he should make sure that the man could not rise up to threaten them again.
Looking closely at MacLennon Iain knew the man was dead even before he checked for a heartbeat. He did not need perfect vision to know that such a head wound had to be fatal. Iain was amazed that the man had not immediately died or at least collapsed.
"Islaen,” he rasped as he reached her side and her stillness began to terrify him. “Islaen, can ye hear me?"
Never had he felt so helpless. He could barely see and he knew he was very close to blacking out. Islaen needed his help but he could not even keep himself upright. All he could do was pray that she was alive, that someone had heard her call for aid and would be there to keep her alive.
When his shaking hand could locate no pulse he nearly wept. In trying to put an ear to her chest to find a heartbeat he collapsed on top of her. Beneath his ear, however, he heard the steady beat of her heart. With a deep sigh of relief he gave into unconsciousness knowing that, even if Muircraig had not heard the call, someone would come when they were absent for too long.
"Sweet Jesu,” Alexander breathed as he came upon the scene. “They are all dead."
"Nay,” Robert cried as he dismounted and raced over to his sister.
He gently moved Iain off of Islaen. She was bruised on her face and her shift was splattered with blood. Once he was sure that she was alive it took him several moments before he was sure that her only wound was a bad bump on the back of her head.
"Iain lives as weel,” Alexander reported, “but he has a bad head wound."
"So does Islaen,” Robert said as he moved to get the blanket so that he could wrap her in it.
"How fares MacLennon?” Alexander asked Phelan.
"Quite dead.” Phelan rose from where he knelt by the man. “Someone caved in his head."
"Good. The bastard has been a plague for too long. Help me get Iain's braes on. I am certain he wouldnae wish to be taken back home naked."
Alexander and Phelan had just finished covering Iain's nakedness when the men from Muircraig arrived. While Phelan and Murdo bathed Iain's wounds, Alexander saw to the making of a litter for Iain. Islaen could easily be carried safely by a man on a horse but Iain would be far too great a burden. Once satisfied that matters were seen to, he knelt by Robert who sat holding Islaen, gently pressing a cool damp cloth to her forehead and vainly trying to rouse her.
"What do we do with MacLennon's body? Do we leave it to the carrion?"
"T'would please me to do so,” Robert growled.
"Me as weel,” Alexander said coldly, “but we best take him with us."
"Why? The mon deserves no Christian rights. He was mad and tormented twa people that had done him no wrong."
"Aye, Robert, but he has haunted Iain for o'er twa years.” Alexander sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “I cannae say for such has ne'er happened to me but in his place I think I should like to ken that my tormenter is indeed dead."
"He killed the mon. He must ken that he is dead."
"Aye, he killed the mon but he may have fallen himself ere he was certain that the mon was dead. Best we take the body so there can be no doubt in Iain's mind that he has finally won."
Looking from his unconscious sister to the equally unconscious Iain, Robert met Alexander's worried gaze and asked softly, “But has he?"
