Margaret’s heart jumped as her gaze found Eoin’s. “Eachann?”
He nodded and explained to the obviously impatient king. “We couldn’t open either of the gates. The keys had been removed, as were the ropes to raise the portcullis. MacDowell anticipated a sneak attack and knew that even if we managed to get a few men inside, we wouldn’t be able to get the rest of the army in fast enough to take the castle. It was a simple but effective defense.” The note of pride in Eoin’s voice warmed some of the chill from her bones. “It was my son’s idea,” he added.
Bruce was incredulous. “You must be jesting? You said the lad is only five.”
“He’s not jesting,” one of the men holding Eoin said. She recognized the voice as Lamont’s. “We all heard the boy.”
Margaret felt the king’s gaze on her; he was looking at her as if it were her fault.
She smiled sweetly back at him. “My son knows how to play chess as well, my lord.”
For a moment no one said anything, and then all of a sudden Bruce let out a sharp bark of laughter. “I’ll remember that.”
Margaret turned back to Eoin, whose mouth was twitching suspiciously. It was the first glimpse of lightheartedness she’d seen in him since he’d returned from the dead. Those hard-wrought smiles had always been her weakness. Turned out they still were.
Unfurling the fist that had wound its way around her heart, she forced the emotions away and asked, “But why is Eachann not with you, if you spoke to him?”
A shadow of pain crossed his face. “He ran away from me.”
One of the other men hastened to cover the awkward pause. “We had to get out of there the same way we went in. MacLean hurt his leg having to drop from the wall, and Randolph was grazed in the shoulder with an arrow, but we were lucky.”
The man who’d mentioned the healer grunted and readjusted his hold on Eoin. “We need to put him down, sire. Chief can fill you in on the rest.”
“Helen is nearby?” the king asked.
“Near enough. I will fetch her tonight.”
Bruce looked to Margaret. “I assume you can tend to him until the healer arrives?”
“I’m fine, damn it,” Eoin complained.
Both she and the king ignored him. She nodded. “Aye.”
“Good.” To Lamont, the king added, “See that she has what she needs.”
Bruce turned his attention to one of the most imposing of the warriors standing next to them, as the two men carried Eoin toward his tent.
They were all drenched, she realized, and smelled faintly of a bog. She wrinkled her nose. They must have swum the ditch.
They were about to put him down on the bed when she stopped them. “Wait!” She grabbed an old plaid and spread it over the bed to protect the bed coverings. Realizing they were all staring at her with amusement—they weren’t exactly fine linens—she thrust up her chin. “He’ll catch a chill.”
Peter, the lad who helped Eoin, had rushed into the tent, and Lamont sent him out for fresh clothes and water.
It quickly became clear that her husband was not going to be an easy patient. The complaining started as soon as they had him down on the bed. He didn’t need a healer, Eoin cursed, but the unnamed warrior left anyway to fetch her. When Lamont asked him if he wanted help with his armor, Eoin’s blistering reply made her ears burn. And she was used to foul language from her brothers!
After a few minutes trying to make him comfortable, Lamont gave up. “Have fun, my lady. I’ll have the lad bring you some whisky for the pain.”
“I don’t need any blasted whisky,” Eoin said.
“It’s not for you, it’s for her,” Lamont responded.
Margaret laughed. “Thank you, but that won’t be necessary. I’ll manage just fine.”
Lamont looked at her as if he wasn’t so sure, but left with a short bow a few moments later.
Peter must have been warned by Lamont about Eoin’s foul temper, because the lad rushed in shortly afterward with a bucket of water and change of clothing, and then rushed back out.
Eoin had sat up a little to start jerking off his weapons and armor, and she silently moved over to help him. He stopped her when she tried to help him remove his tunic.
