"Get the wounded tae the healer," Alpin said. "And I want those prisoners secured and questioned. I need tae ken if there are more soldiers comin', and I need tae ken now."
"Aye, me laird." Callum hesitated, his gaze flickering to Mhairi. "Glad tae see ye're both safe."
"Go," Alpin said, but his voice was gentler. "We'll talk after."
Callum nodded and turned away, already shouting orders to the men nearby.
Mhairi's hand was still in his, her grip almost painfully tight. He glanced down at her and saw she was watching the villagers emerge, her eyes tracking every movement.
"I need tae help," she said suddenly. "The children, I need tae..."
"Aye." He understood. She needed to do something, needed to feel useful instead of helpless. "Go. But if ye ken where tae find me. Understand?"
"I understand." She rose on her toes and kissed his cheek, quick and fierce. Then she was gone, weaving through the crowd toward where Kenina stood surrounded by a cluster of sobbing children.
Alpin watched her go, something tight and painful lodged in his chest. She was alive. She was whole. And by God, he was never letting anyone take her from him again.
"Me laird!"
One of his warriors approached, a young lad named Dougal who couldn’t have been more than nineteen. The boy's face was pale, his hands shaking as he gestured toward the far side of the square.
"There's fires," Dougal said. "Three cottages. We're tryin' tae put them out but it isnae workin’."
"Show me."
Alpin followed Dougal through the crowd, stepping over bodies and scattered weapons. The smell of smoke grew stronger with every step, mixing with the copper tang of blood and the acrid stench of fear.
Three cottages were burning, flames licking up the walls and consuming the thatched roofs. Villagers had formed a bucket line from the well, passing water hand to hand, but it wasn’t enough. The fires were spreading too fast.
"Pull back!" Alpin ordered. "Get everyone away from those buildings. Let them burn."
"But me laird, the Mackinnons live in that one, and..."
"And they're already out, I saw them earlier." Alpin grabbed a bucket from the nearest person and threw the water on a building that hadn’t caught yet, one that still had a chance. "We save what we can. The rest we let go."
It went against every instinct to watch homes burn. But sending people into those infernos wouldn’t save the cottages, it would only create more bodies to bury.
They worked for what felt like hours but was probably only minutes. Bucket after bucket, throwing water on roofs and walls, beating back flames with wet blankets.
Alpin's arms burned, his lungs filled with smoke, but he kept going. Kept moving. Kept fighting even though the battle was over.
Finally, the fires were either out or contained to buildings they'd already lost. Alpin stepped back, coughing hard, his eyes stinging from the smoke.
"Me laird." It was Peadar, limping toward him with one hand pressed to his side. Blood seeped between his fingers.
"Christ, ye're hurt."
"I've had worse." Peadar's mouth twisted in something that might've been a smile if it hadn’t been so pained. "Graham’s got away."
Alpin's hands curled into fists. "What?"
"I wounded him. Got him across the ribs, deep enough that he'll be pissin' blood fer a week. But his men pulled him out before I could finish it." Peadar's eyes were dark with frustration. "I'm sorry. I should've..."
"Nay." Alpin gripped Peadar's shoulder, careful to avoid the injury. "Ye did what ye could. And a wounded Graham is better than nay information at all. He'll need a healer, which means he'll need tae go somewhere safe. We can track him."
"If he survives the wound."
"He'll survive. Bastards like him always dae." Alpin looked around the square, takin' in the destruction. Bodies. Rubble. Smoke rising into the dawn sky.
