“Understood, Laird. Thank ye.”
The men began gathering their dead, moving with quiet efficiency. Murdock watched them work, ensuring no one tried anything foolish. Around him, his own men did the same, seeing to the wounded, securing weapons, beginning the grim cleanup that followed every battle.
Killian approached, wiping blood from his blade. “That was well done, Brother.”
“Was it?” Murdock looked down at his hands, at the blood coating them. “How many men died today because of me?”
“Because ofhim,” Neil corrected, joining them. “Kerr brought this violence. Ye only ended it.”
Murdock wanted to believe that. Wanted to think he’d done the right thing. But all he could see was his father’s legacy written in blood across his courtyard.
“Murdock.” Ailis’s voice, soft and urgent, cut through his thoughts.
He turned to find his sister pointing toward the far side of the courtyard. Where Leona sat on the grass, with Skye and Nyx in her arms.
He vaguely remembered his sisters leading them inside, Rufus standing guard. But of course they wouldn’t listen. They’d find a way to get out.
Now Leona was covering the child’s eyes with one hand and pressing Skye’s face against her shoulder with the other. And she was singing.
Horribly. So off-key it was almost painful to hear, but she kept going, her voice steady despite the tears streaming down her face. Some Highland lullaby he vaguely recognized, though she was murdering the melody with spectacular thoroughness.
Skye giggled against her shoulder, the sound bright and innocent and so achingly normal that Murdock felt something crack open in his chest.
“Ye’re terrible at singin', Leona,” Skye said, her voice muffled but amused.
“I ken,” Leona replied, her own voice shaking. “But it helps me when I’m scared.”
Murdock crossed the courtyard slowly, his legs suddenly feeling like they might not hold him up. His sword hung loose in his hand, forgotten, dragging against the stones.
When Leona looked up and saw him, her whole face transformed. Relief and joy and something deeper, something he didn’t dare name, flooded her features.
She said something to Skye, then gently released the girl. Skye immediately ran to Rufus, who’d appeared at the edge of the courtyard, Nyx still perched on his shoulder. They embraced, the cat tolerating the squeeze with patience.
Then Leona stood and crossed to Murdock, her eyes scanning him for injuries.
“Ye’re hurt,” she said, her hands hovering over a cut on his arm he hadn’t noticed. “And here, yer side…”
“I’m fine.” His voice came out rough, raw. “Just scratches.”
“Scratches,” she repeated incredulously. “Murdock, ye’re covered in blood.”
“Nae all of it is mine.” He looked down at himself, at the evidence of what he’d done painted across his skin and clothes. “Leona, I?—”
She threw her arms around him, cutting off whatever he’d been about to say. She pressed herself against him, heedless of the blood, the gore, the violence that still clung to him. She buried her face in his chest and held on like she’d never let go.
“Thank ye,” she whispered. “Thank ye for savin' her. For savin' all of us.”
Murdock’ dropped his sword and his arms came up slowly, carefully, wrapping around her. Holding her. Letting himself take comfort in her warmth, her presence, her absolute trust in him despite everything she’d just witnessed.
“I would have killed them all,” he admitted quietly. “Every last one of them. If they’d hurt ye or Skye, I would have painted these walls red.”
“I ken.” Leona pulled back enough to look up at him, her eyes fierce. “But ye didnae have to. They surrendered, and ye showed mercy. That’s what makes ye different from yer faither, Murdock. That’s what makes ye the man I—” She broke off.
Murdock’s heart stuttered. “The man ye what?”
Leona stepped out of his arms, and he felt the loss immediately. She wrapped her arms around herself, suddenly unable to meet his eyes.
“The man I…” She took a shaky breath. “It doesnae matter.”
