McGillvary looked surprised. “No, milady,” he replied. “He was killed as soon as we got ontae the field o’ battle. His horse reared up, an’ he fell off an’ hit his head hard on the ground. As he lay there, an English soldier stabbed him through the heart, but it was quick. I am that sorry, milady.”
“Thank you, Samuel,” she replied quietly. “Where is his body?”
The captain drew Cora over to the cart, and had two of the other guards lift her father’s body down and place it on the floor. She knelt down beside him and put her hand on his forehead. It was still warm, and he looked more peaceful than she had ever seen him in his life before. He still wore his hardened leather jerkin, but it had not been enough to turn away the blade of a heavy broadsword. She kissed his forehead, then his lips, and looked up at Samuel.
“Take him to his chamber,” she ordered. “I will send the village ladies to lay him and all the others out for burial.” Cora felt nothing as she watched the men obey her orders, and she spent a long time tending to the wounded, ordering food to be prepared, and writing messages to allies in the area. She carried out her duties almost unconsciously, as if her mind was somewhere else and her body was moving of its own volition.
After a while, Hester, her maid, came to bring her a glass of ale, looking concerned at Cora’s white face and dry eyes. She had seen that look many times; her mistress was in shock, a state wherein she could keep on doing what had to be done without feeling anything. However, as soon as she stopped to rest, it would all come flooding out, and God help poor Cora then.
“Milady,” she said anxiously, “come an’ eat. Ye must keep yer strength up.”
“I cannot eat at the moment, Hester,” Cora replied irritably. “I am not hungry, and I have too much to do.”
“I will get ye somethin’ tae nibble,” Hester said determinedly as she walked away. She came back a few moments later with a plate of oatcakes, a wedge of cheese, and a cup of ale, then set it down at Cora’s elbow. Seeing that she was trembling, Hester brought a blanket to drape around her shoulders, then left her. Cora, still writing, hardly noticed.
When she had finished penning the last missive, Cora sat back and sighed, then took stock of all the activity around her. It was like a scene from an artist’s vision of hell. There was blood all over the floor, and she could smell vomit and hear the screams of the wounded, some of whom she had bandaged herself. Absently, she remembered Hester’s orders to eat, and stuffed the oatcakes and cheese into her mouth without tasting anything.
“Time tae rest, milady,” Hester said firmly, pinning her mistress with her bright blue-eyed stare as she tried to lead her away.
“Not yet, Hester,” Cora replied, then strode away from her maid to meet the stern-faced clan elders who had come to visit her. Cora knew that she looked dreadful; her kirtle was smeared with blood and dirt, the hem of her skirt was torn, and her hair was a leaf-strewn tangle.
“Forgive my appearance, gentlemen,” she sighed. “I have been helping the men.”
“Milady,” John Henderson, a man she had known from childhood and almost regarded as an uncle, came forward to greet her, stretching out his hands to grasp hers. “Your appearance does you honor at a time like this, since we can see that you have been tending to the wounded. I am so sorry for your loss, milady. Your father was such a good man.” His deep voice was sincere as he looked at her; Malcolm had been like a brother to him.
“Thank you, M’Laird,” she said wearily, only just realizing how tired she was. A headache was beginning to hammer her forehead, but she greeted her other guests, Lairds McKenzie and an elder of the Adamson clan, Glen Adamson, with painful courtesy. She led them into the biggest of their three parlors, where they sat down with a glass of whiskey each; then, she addressed them in a tired voice.
“I have ordered dinner for everyone,” she informed them. “I hope you will stay and enjoy my hospitality overnight. Do you have news for me?”
The men exchanged glances. “Yes, we do, milady,” John Henderson replied, his brown eyes soft with sympathy as he gazed at her. “The English have joined with a few rebels of the lowest sort and are wreaking havoc everywhere. They seem to be doing it for sport more than anything else, since very little livestock has been harmed, but they are burning houses and raping women. We need to protect you, milady. You are not safe here.”
“But I have my garrison,” Cora protested. “They were loyal to my father, and they will be loyal to me.”
Adamson sighed. He was older than the others and carried an air of wisdom and authority about with him. “Milady, you do not understand,” he said gently. “You are a woman on her own, and much of your garrison has been killed. It was small already, but it is much smaller now. You have no father and no close male relatives who can inherit this estate. Unless you marry, you have no legal status. The property could be besieged or overrun or even repossessed by the Crown. You need to wed, and quickly. You may last on your own for a few weeks at most, since you have allies to come to your aid, but we have our own lands to look after. I have several stout young men of good character in my clan who would consider it an honor to wed you, and I beg you to consider them.”
“Thank you,” Cora murmured faintly. She was saved from saying any more by the arrival of a maid who announced that dinner was served.
Cora looked at the juicy haunch of venison with accompanying vegetables, cheese, and fruit without any sense of anticipation at all. She loaded a small amount of the delicious food onto her plate and picked at it while the others ate heartily and complimented her on her excellent choice of wine. She smiled wanly and thanked them, but in truth, she would rather have been asleep, to wake up and find that this had all been a bad dream.
“Milady,” Laird McKenzie said at last as he wiped his lips, “thank you. You keep an excellent table, but that is not what we are here to discuss. You have not answered our question. May we bring the young men to meet you?”
Cora sighed heavily. “M’Lairds, as you can see, I am very, very tired. It has been one of the worst days I have ever lived through, and I need to rest and begin to mourn my father. I will have guest rooms prepared for you. Then I can sleep on this problem and we can talk further in the morning.”
“You are right, milady,” Laird McKenzie agreed. “I have seen your maid floating around looking anxiously at you. Let her tend to you, and we can talk further then.”
Cora took her leave after seeing to her guests’ comfort, then she climbed the stairs to her chamber to find Hester standing at the door. As soon as she saw her mistress, she could tell that the shock had worn off. She ushered Cora into her bedroom and wrapped her arms around her mistress, a liberty she only took when Cora was particularly upset. They had known each other since Cora was twelve, so there were no secrets between them. Hester was the one person to whom she could pour out all her secrets.
“Shhh...there, there, milady,” she said soothingly as Cora burst into tears.
Cora felt as though a huge weight had suddenly dropped on her from out of the sky. Grief, anger, hopelessness, and misery assaulted her all at once, their pressure forcing her down to the floor where she wailed, wept, and finally screamed out her pain and rage.
She felt Hester stroking her hair and saying soft words of comfort, but she hardly heard them. All she could hear was her father’s gruff voice the last time she saw him, and all she could see was his kindly face with the dark blue eyes that were so like her own. “Take care, wee one,” he had said. “Hold the fort ’til I get back!” Then he had kissed and hugged her before riding out at the head of the garrison to meet the enemy. She should have stopped him. Somehow she should have found a way to stop him from going to his death.
“This is my fault, Hester,” she whispered. “I should never have let him leave.”
“What are ye goin’ on about, milady?” Hester asked, her voice high with disbelief. She raised Cora to her feet, then shook her gently by the shoulders. “Now listen tae me, milady. There is nothin’—nothin’—at a’ that ye could have done tae stop yer da fae leavin’. He wanted tae protect ye, an’ he did. His forces killed many o’ the enemy. There is no blame on ye, hen. The blame is on the English, an’ them alone. Do ye hear me?”
“Yes, Hester, I do, but I cannot help feeling guilty.” Cora shook her head and buried her face in her hands. “I was in this fortified castle, and my father was out there giving his life for me.”
