“Whatever sort of wall ye prefer. Just make sure ye think of it in detail, and think of nothing else.”
She did that now, conjuring up the image of a rough stone wall. She imagined the cracks between the stones, the uneven surfaces, the tendrils of plants coiling down. She even added a small insect scurrying over the surface.
That method didn’t always work, but this time it did. The half-forgotten echoes of screams and pleas for mercy trailed away from her mind.
She glanced sideways at Finnegan, who’d made no attempt to engage her in conversation. He walked fast, head down, with a frown between his brows. He was covered in filth, and she thought that he must have hated it. Finnegan was always bathing, shaving, always keeping himself clean.
They passed a mound of bodies, already starting to stink, and a bear-like figure rose up from behind it. Una’s instincts reacted before she could think twice. She sprang back, lifting her sword, but Finnegan rushed between them.
“It’s only Janson,” he said, his voice tired and cracking.
“Oh, aye,” Una responded, feeling silly. Her vision kept blurring, and she was sure that it was due to exhaustion. She’d gone past the threshold of tiredness a little while ago, and this was something beyond.
Janson strode out from behind the bodies, his blond hair streaked red.
“Ye fought well,” he said bluntly, nodding at Una. “The first battle is always… difficult. It’s all well and good to stab at bales ofhay and shoot at tree trunks, but the real thing…” he trailed off, and nobody bothered to finish his sentence for him.
Una thought about the stone wall again. There was a ladybird perched on one rock now, instead of the insect.
Janson glanced past her at Finnegan. “Did ye tell her?”
Finnegan shook his head. “Nay.”
There was a long silence, and Una glanced warily between them both. “Tell me what?”
Janson sighed. “We found him, lass. Alive.”
Her skin prickled.
Towards the edgeof the battlefield, there were a couple of old croft cottages. The fire had taken them and burned itself out, destroying the thatched roof and burning up anything inside. All that was left now were the four stone walls, blackened and still hot to the touch.
A group of men wearing Grahame tartan—two clans, Grahame and Kenneth, had come at the last moment—circled one of the sad little structures. They faced grimly out, clutching their weapons. It was clear that they hadn’t been engaged in the fight, since their faces were clean, and so were their clothes. One of the men, a scrawny man with an axe strapped to his back, stepped towards them.
“Janson,” he said, nodding. “I cannot give ye entry, ye know that. Laird Grahame’s orders. Who is this?”
“Ye know Finnegan, of course. This lass is Una. Una Alcorn. Perhaps the name is familiar to ye?”
The man’s eyes widened in recognition. “Aye, but their land is no more. Hasn’t been for a while.”
“And yet here I am,” Una spoke up, lifting her chin. “So why don’t ye show me what’s in that croft, eh?”
She had no idea what she looked like. Filthy and bloodied, most likely. Her black hair hung in tangles down her back. She’d braided it before the battle, and now it seemed like it had solidified into a single matted patch. She had been dreaming of a warm bath and a soft bed for hours, but it seemed that sleep was still a long way away for her. She was tall and carried a longsword in her hand, the point dragging in the mud.
She complacently hoped that she made a fearsome picture with her mask of blood.
I’ll never be that terrified woman cringing in the dirt again. I’ll never beg for mercy again, for as long as I live. Never.
The man clenched his jaw, glancing between Una and Janson, then at Finnegan, and then back to Una.
“Will Laird Grahame be angry at me for letting ye see him?” he asked at last.
“Nay, lad,” Janson said, sounding more tired than ever. “He won’t.”
The man heaved a sigh and then stepped away. “Go on, then. Beware. He’s unarmed now, but dangerous still.”
Una’s feet carried her forward, although she felt as though she were suddenly moving through water, her movements restricted and uneven.
The croft consisted of one room. It wasn’t a large space, but Una knew that families, whole families, must have lived here at one time. The floor was hard-packed earth, scorched in places, and it stunk of smoke.
