17
Irvine lowered his sword as dawn approached, the weariness settling in his bones. Before him was nothing more than carnage, bodies everywhere in the snow, their blood staining the cold ground. His own breath fogged before him as he forced his aching body to move toward the slowly growing circle of those that were left—all tenants and no warriors.
He had given no more mercy to any warrior, knowing that if they were willing to cut down innocent people, then he didn’t want them representing the clan he knew and loved.
They didn’t deserve to live.
Malcolm met him as he approached the circle, looking as tired as Irvine felt. “I see ye are still standing,” his friend said in jest as Irvine tucked his sword in its scabbard on his back.
“Aye, I see that they didnae carve up yer face,” he shot back, a grin on his lips.
Malcolm shrugged, wincing as he did so. “Aye, but they carved up much more than mah face. I’m going tae struggle tae remove mahself from mah horse for a week after this.”
Irvine was inclined to agree. His entire body ached. “How many?” he asked quietly, seeing the small circle ahead of them.
“I counted fifty warriors,” Malcolm replied. “All part of the clan. They lost twenty-five tenants, mostly lads but a few lasses as well. None of them were defiled.”
Irvine let out a slow breath. Fifty warriors were paltry, considering how many they stood to lose in a battle. But the tenants, that was a blow he hadn’t anticipated.
“The rest are in the caves,” his friend continued. “Bridget sent them there with the wounded that could run away. They are going to fetch them now.”
It was a small measure of relief, he assumed, that Bridget had tried to save as many as she could and send them away. He had hoped that she would have done the same, taken herself to safety, but when she had refused, he had no grounds to tell her that she had to listen to him. This was her home, her farm, her people. He would have done the same thing in her position.
It didn’t mean, however, that he was happy about it.
Irvine spied Bridget standing near Merdia, and their eyes met briefly before she looked away. She had told him that she was grateful that he had come back, but could she look past his lineage—his mother’s last name—for their future?
He wasn’t certain she could.
“Mah da,” Bridget was saying, looking to the barn. “I havenae checked on him.”
“I will go with ye,” Irvine replied evenly. “In case there are warriors hiding in the barn.” He wanted to keep her safe and in his sights until they could sit down and discuss what had happened.
Surprisingly, Bridget gave him a nod, and he followed her down the path to the barn.
“Ye have injuries that need tending,” she said softly once they were out of earshot of the group. “And perhaps another set of clothing.”
“I’m fine,” Irvine grumbled. His wounds were starting to ache, but there would be the matter of the dead bodies to deal with before he could even think about tending to himself.
And not just the tenants. Even though the men who had attacked them were not ones he recognized, they were still part of his clan. And unless he wanted to dump them at his great-uncle’s feet, they would need to be buried.
But first, they needed to speak to the true leader of the farm to see what he wished to do next. Irvine hoped it wasn’t retaliation. The tenants were no match for the warriors that had likely stayed behind, and he would much rather see peace be discussed than more bloodshed.
For that to happen, however, he would need to best his great-uncle somehow.
Bridget opened the barn door and walked in, a gasp escaping her nearly immediately. “Da?” she called out as Irvine joined her. “Da!”
Irvine looked at where he had left Leathen, and his blood ran cold as he realized that the space was empty. A quick look in each stall told him that the leader of the farm was nowhere to be found, and when Bridget’s tear-filled eyes turned on his, he knew that Leathen was not here.
“Where is he?” she demanded, her voice breaking. “Ye left him here?”
“Aye,” Irvine replied, thrusting a hand through his hair. “I did, lass. I swear it. I only wanted to get him away from the fighting.”
“So where is he?” she pressed, hurrying to the door. “He has to be here!”
Together they checked her hut, finding it just as empty as the barn. A quick check around the farm came up empty as well. Next, Bridget raced through the wood with Irvine hot on her heels to the caves, where the rest of the tenants were filing out to head back to the farm.
“Is mah da here?” she asked as they passed, receiving the same quick shake of a head with each one she asked.
