Jennie struggles as a healer, frustrated with all the wounds she must tend. Alex is assisting his neighbors in an attack, but he begins to see Jennie in a different light, though he will always have a soft spot in his heart for her.
Hearing someone approach, she stood and turned, expecting to see Caralyn. She froze mid-motion. Just the person she had hoped to see stood not ten feet away from her. The large form of her brother, Laird Alexander Grant, filled the doorway, blocking anyone from moving in or out. The brother who had been like a father to her stood there shaking, sweat pouring down his brow, his hand always at the ready to grab his giant sword.
“Alex? Are you injured?” She glanced from head to toe, but saw no fresh blood.
He shook his head. “I’m fine. How many?”
“How many what?” she crossed her arms in front of her as she moved toward the door.
“How many dead, lass?”
His eyes bore into hers, his entire countenance casting the intimidating laird aura over the room. Her brother, renowned as one of the best swordsmen in all of the Highlands, renowned for fighting the Norse and sending them scurrying back to their ships at Largs, could frighten almost anyone.
Anyone but her. “Two dead, Alex. Many injured…so many I am unable to count. This must stop.” Her hands settled on her hips as she moved closer.
“Jennie, I’m exhausted. I will discuss this with you on the morrow. I need rest.”
“On the morrow?” she barked. “And how many more injured will I have to treat by then? How many more widows must I hold up after informing them of their husband’s death? This is too much. You cannot continue to do this to your clan. ‘Tis wrong.” Her fingernails bit into her palms.
Brodie’s gentle hands descended on her trembling shoulders once more. “Jennie, do not speak to our laird so rudely.”
She jerked away from Brodie’s grip. “I’ll speak to our laird any way I wish. You are no better than a murderer, Alex. A murderer! Our men are dying out there.”
Alex’s eyes narrowed. She could see the tic in his jaw, a sure sign of the fury that he usually kept controlled around her. “I did not start this fight,” he responded through clenched teeth.
“Then who did?” She glowered at her brother, wanting him to listen to her. Just once, just this once, could he not back off from being the powerful Alex Grant?
He hissed through clenched teeth. “I know not who began this foolish warring, but I refuse to leave our neighboring clans defenseless. The attackers wear no tartans and they claim no clan. They wreak havoc wherever they go, and I mean to stop them, Jennie, whether you approve or not. I will not desert our neighbors.” He gave her his back and stalked toward the great hall.
One of the men groaned, and she turned to check on him but he’d just rolled over in his pallet.
She raced to the door and held onto the two sides of the frame. “Alex! You must be the peacemaker. Stop hurting, stop fighting.” Tears slid down her cheeks as she braced herself with both hands. “Itmuststop.” Her voice dropped to almost a whisper as sobs overtook her small frame. “I cannot listen to the wailing any longer. I simply cannot. Please, Alex—” she crumpled toward the floor, “—no more.”
Brodie picked her up in his arms and settled her on the empty pallet, covering her with a worn plaid. She rolled to her side and closed her eyes, wishing the specter of death would leave her alone.
She had to make Alex stop.
Chapter Two
Jennie and Alex discuss her issues, but it does not go well.
She requests an escort to Lochluin Abbey.
As soon as they entered the great hall, the little boys went running off to the kitchens. Jennie headed for the dais, where all three of her brothers, Alex, Robbie, and Brodie, sat with their porridge, deep in conversation.
“Good morn to all,” she dipped her head before she sat on the bench.
Alex quirked an eyebrow at her. “Have your spirits improved this morn, lass?”
She took a deep breath before she continued. “Alex. I’m sorry I lost my temper with you last night, but I meant what I said. This needs to end. There are too many wounded.”
They were the only ones in the hall presently, except for the few servants cleaning the trestle tables from the early meal.Alex sat up in his chair before he answered. “I wish it were that easy. If I could end this by nightfall, I would, but every time we quell one attack, another one pops up somewhere else. I know not who is behind this offense, but ‘tis neither the usual reivers nor the typical Highland manner of overtaking land. ‘Tis a new group—and a young one, at that. Worries me.”
Jennie persisted. “Why must we get involved? ‘Tis not on our land. Why not let each clan handle their own problems? Then our men would not be dying and losing limbs.”
Robbie drilled his fingers onto the table. “And if we do that, the attackers will win our neighbors’ land. And once they are larger, they will move on to attackus. We cannot allow these marauders more power. Besides, our neighbors are good clans. And other than the Camerons, they are able fighters. We should not have to do much to send the invaders back whence they came.”
“Where do they come from?” Jennie looked at each of her brothers in turn, but naught came forward.
