Ach. This was no good. He pushed his platter aside, untouched.
“Domnall, Ewan,” he called. “Attend me.”
The men—two of his closest advisors—left their spots where they’d been talking by the fire and seated themselves across from him at the high table.
“Well?” Cailean said, placing his hands flat on the scarred tabletop. “Give me the worst of it.”
Domnall rubbed his stubbled chin. Older than Cailean, he had skin like tanned leather and a shock of gray hair like some unruly bird’s nest. “We’re still waiting for reports to come from the more outlying crofts, but it seems the southern crofts were the worst affected, exposed as they are. We know of three longhouses completely down. A lot of livestock has been scattered. I’ve sent a contingent of warriors down there to help, and they’ll do what they can.”
Cailean nodded. “And here in the village?”
“Got away lightly, all things considered,” Ewan replied, leaning his considerable bulk back in his chair and spreading his arms. “Old Seamus’s house was the worst hit as ye know, but I’m wondering whether it’s even worth trying to repair it since ye and Rose took him to stay with his daughter. It will only encourage the old complainer to try and move back in when we all know he’s better off with Brina.”
Cailean nodded. “Are the stores intact?”
“Mostly,” Domnall replied. “We dinna seem to have lost any grain, but the thatch on the outer granary is damaged and will need replacing. The path out to the north road is a mire and will need clearing before any grain deliveries from the crofts in that direction can get through.”
Cailean ran his hand down the side of his face. “Set any of the unoccupied youths to hauling timber for repairs. I’ll have Beatrice organize the women to inventory what was lost and what’s worth saving.” He met the eyes of his two advisors. “Make sure the word goes out that any who have lost their homes are to come here. Nobody will go without food and shelter while I sit in this hall.”
They nodded. “Aye, laird.”
Cailean let out a slow breath. It felt strangely grounding, falling back into the routines of duty, of being the laird of his people.Thishe could do.Thishe’d been trained his whole life for. Give him storms or raiders or poor harvests any day of the week. This enemy, at least, he knew how to face, unlike the sickness, the faceless, nameless enemy that stalked his people and struck without warning.
He took a swig from his tankard, barely tasting the ale. Ewan and Domnall, perhaps sensing his mood, excused themselves, and he was left alone at the high table, Catriona and Maisie having disappeared elsewhere.
He swirled the ale in its cup, staring down into the depths as though he might find some answers written there. He was bone weary and longed for nothing more than retiring to his chamber to sleep. But he knew sleep wouldn’t come. He was too wound up for that. Thoughts swirled around in his head just like the liquid in his cup, stirring up feelings he’d rather not examine too closely. The storm. The sickness.
Rose MacFinnan.
He sighed, resting his head against the back of his chair. When had he come to rely on her so much? And what would he do if she couldn’t help them?
He closed his eyes. He dared not think about that.
*
Rose sank intothe deliciously hot water, letting it lap all the way to her chin. She sighed in contentment, feeling the heat slowly unknot her tired muscles and chase away the cold that seemed to have settled into her bones. She ached all over, but it was a pleasant sort of ache, born from the knowledge that she’d done some good today.
And what a day it had been.
First there had been the village and its inhabitants, half wrecked by last night’s storm, but pulling together all the same. The teamwork. The camaraderie, the determination to put right what nature had so casually ransacked. It had made Rose warm inside to see the way they had all worked together, and she had begun to understand the fierce loyalty these people held to each other and why Cailean loved them so much.
Ah, Cailean. She shouldnotbe thinking about him.
Yanking her thoughts away, she rested her arms along the rim of the metal bathtub and leaned her head back, allowing her eyes to slide closed. She owed Mable a debt of gratitude for arranging this. Hauling hot water up here was no mean feat, even though she’d roped in some of the stable lads to help her.
As Rose lay back, she listened to the faint sounds of the castle: voices down in the great hall, shouts from the battlements, the clop of a horse’s hooves from the courtyard, the whine of the wind in the roof. Those sounds were starting to feel normal, which was something she never would have believed possible.
It was startling, she thought, how this place, these people, this time, was losing its strangeness and was starting to feel like… well, not home exactly, but something like it, even if there were no coffee, indoor plumbing, or hair straighteners.
Imagine that. She smiled wryly. Elise would be shocked.
She stretched out her toes, resting them on the far edge of the tub. The water was starting to cool a little, and she should probably have a scrub, wash her hair, and get out before it grew tepid, but she couldn’t bring herself to move.
Just a bit longer.
She found her thoughts skimming over the events of the day. She could still hear Brina’s voice as she asked them if they’d seen the stormlights over the ocean and she’d seen Seamus’s serious expression as he’d told her of the child’s tale of the sea gods.
It was nonsense. Or at least itshouldhave been nonsense. But something inside her, some instinct, suggested that it wasn’t. Old tales, she knew, often held a truth buried deep within them.
