He barely recognized the woman moaning in her sleep. Most of her skin was charred and acrid smelling. Her eyes remained closed as her moans subsided.
He looked up at Gillis. “Get as many carts as you can. Finley, you take a couple of men with you and gather horses. Help the villagers bring what they can and be along by nightfall. They will be safer inside castle walls than out here. I will have James prepare the infirmary for your return. The rest of you, spread the word. All are to come into the castle by the time the moon rises.”
“My laird.” The men got to work.
He frowned, looking down at the injured woman on the ground. “It’s Mary, isn’t it?”
The woman moaned in response, trying to speak.
“Save your strength. Help is coming.” He stood up. “Make haste, Gillis before it is too late.”
With that he marched over to his horse and leapt onto its back. The MacLeish woman was standing next to it, looking unsure of herself. He reached out a hand. “Come with me lassie.”
“You’ll take me to my mom?”
“Aye, I swear.
She nodded, accepting his outstretched hand. As their fingers touched he looked into her eyes, lost in that deep ocean once more. She looked away and only then did he come back to himself, lifting her effortlessly onto the horse.
He kicked the sides of the beast. Slowly, they began to trot out of the village.
He didn’t look back. He didn’t need to. What was left of the fire was already burning itself out. All that was left was for the ruins to crumble. He was already thinking about rebuilding.
The hall had stood fifty years, not bad considering it had a kitchen inside. Next time they would have the kitchen as a separate building like at the castle. That way when it burned as they all did sooner or later, the hall itself would be safe. If only there were a way to fireproof it better.
In many ways the MacLeishes had done him a favor. He had been thinking of rebuilding for some time but something else always came up. Finishing the castle took up so much of his time he had neglected the maintenance of the hall. It had been crumbling for years.
He really needed to hire a master mason, stop trying to do everything himself. But who could he trust to do it right?
All of the masons in the highlands were working for the MacLeishes on their new fangled hexagonal keep. It would cost a fortune to poach one from them and knowing old Duff, he’d probably interpret even that as motion to war.
He did not relish the idea of clan war at all. All he’d ever wanted was peace. His father had managed it but somehow it had eluded him no matter what he did. Could he ignore such antagonism though?
There was always someone wanting MacIntyre land for themselves. Either that or broaching his territory to steal livestock and grain. He had no idea how his father hadn’t gone mad trying to keep on top of everything.
He looked at the men riding with him. He wished he could ask their counsel but he already knew what they would say. Gillis, his loyal deputy, by his side since childhood. He would tell him clan war was the only option. Derek would tell him the opposite, he would not want war with his own kin.
Derek was still technically a MacLeish. He’d been brought to MacIntyre castle by Duff MacLeish himself as a gesture of peace at the age of fifteen, marking the end of the last war.
Derek had changed a lot since then. A mere child when handed over, he’d sobbed and begged to be allowed to go home, promising his father he would behave.
“You’ll stay here and do as you’re told,” Duff had replied, pushing him away, ignoring his tears. “You should have thought of repentance when you were gambling with my money. Perhaps you’ll learn some courtly manners while you’re at it. God knows, you never learned any from me. Twenty marks gone in a day and for what? Because you thought you had a decent dice roll coming up.”
“Please, father. Don’t make me stay here. I’m no MacIntyre. I’m a MacLeish like you.”
“No MacLeish would act like you have. Look at you crying like a wee bairn. You shame me in front of another clan with your blather. You’ll do this or you’ll take monastic vows, I swear by God. I’ve had enough of your errant ways, my boy.”
Andrew had watched the dynamic play out in front of him. He hoped if he ever had children they would get on better with him than the MacLeish boy did with his father.
Fifteen years had passed since then. He had no children, nor even the hint of a wife. Looking after the clan took up all his time. He had none spare to go courting. When younger he’d thought he would have all the time in the world to find a woman. He’d had to grow up fast when he inherited the lairdship upon his father’s untimely death. Then all his free time vanished.
Derek had become a man too over the years though he still held stubbornly onto his refusal to wear the MacIntyre tartan. In the intervening years he’d become a surprisingly solid part of the clan, even if he was sometimes prone to acting higher than his position warranted.
“Do you need any help holding her?” Derek asked, nodding across at him. “She can sit on my lap if she wants.”
The other men laughed but Andrew was in no mood for humor. “You think this is a time for jests? You keep your mouth shut and pray for those who are dying back there.”
Derek turned away without another word, facing the front.
