“Ye need tae get yer wounds tended to,” she said after a moment, “before ye bleed out all over the place.”
Irvine looked down at his bloodied shirt, knowing that most of the blood on it was not his but that of his brethren that had decided to follow the wrong laird. That was why he needed for this to work. He didn’t want to lose any more.
“I need tae bury yer dead first,” he told her softly, reaching up to tuck her hair behind her ear.
Her eyes softened. “Irvine.”
“I need tae do this,” he told her, pressing his forehead to hers. “Mah clan is the reason ye have dead tae begin with. This can be part of mah atonement. Tend tae yer wounded, Bridget, and call the meeting. I will be fine until then.”
Pulling back, he found her hand on his upper arm. “Irvine,” she whispered, “I’m vera sorry for the things I said tae ye.”
“I deserved every bit of it and more, lass,” he answered, giving her a half smile as he turned to go. “But I’m gladdened tae hear that ye may be able tae forgive me.”
“Perhaps,” Bridget answered, lifting her chin.
Irvine stared at her for a long moment before he quit the barn, his smile fading and his jaw clenching instead.
It was time to honor the dead.
18
Bridget smoothed her hands down the front of her skirt nervously, watching the wary gazes of the remaining tenants before her. There were twenty-five missing this evening. Well, twenty-six if she counted her father, but twenty-five that would not return back to the farm they loved.
Instead, they would be buried in the ground, never to smile about the crops or enjoy a gathering again. Irvine had seen to their burials, taking the able-bodied Scots that hadn’t been injured and burying them on the hill overlooking the pastures, choosing to burn the bodies of the warriors that were left behind to rot in the snow.
While Bridget would rather have had them rot, she knew that he was also trying to do what was right by his clan and give them a proper burial as well.
That was another reason why she liked him.
Now, however, they were about to embark on a crazed scheme to rescue her father and ensure that their farm was never attacked by the McPearsons again.
Bridget stood and held up her hands, quieting the smaller crowd. “I knew ye expected tae see mah da here this evening,” she started out, emotion building in her throat. “But he has been taken tae the McPearson castle and held prisoner there.”
A murmur went up in the crowd, with a few cries of outrage.
“I know how ye feel,” she continued, “but we will get him back unharmed. In order tae do so, we must ensure that the farm is taken care of against retaliation.”
“How is that?” someone called out.
Bridget swallowed, glancing at Irvine before she started. He had cleaned up, the cuts on his face not as menacing as they had been. His hair was still wet, but his eyes were softened by emotions that she couldn’t think about right now.
“We must remove Kenneth McPearson from his lairdship. He’s not the one that is meant tae be there, and if he remains, he will burn this farm tae the ground tae get his hand on our coin. ’Tis all that he is after.” She didn’t want to believe it, but Irvine was right. Kenneth wasn’t going to stop until he had full control over the farm and the tenants, forcing them into a life of servitude regardless if they wanted it or not. “We have tae give the true laird something that will make him be chosen over his great-uncle.”
There was a rustle in the crowd before Irvine stood, and Bridget felt the small measure of pride in her chest. “Irvine McMillian is the true laird of the McPearson clan. His great-aunt, the lady Edna, appointed him as her successor, but his great-uncle decided tae contest it. He was sent here tae negotiate on behalf of the McPearson clan.”
“Traitor!” someone shouted.
“Aye, I am,” Irvine replied, a sorrowful expression on his face. “But I came back tae protect ye from mah own great-uncle. I dinnae want yer coin. I want tae protect this farm, the people, yer future. ’Tis all I wish tae do.”
“In order for him tae do so,” Bridget continued, “we have tae give him something in return. I propose that we give revenue tae the McPearson clan in exchange for their protection.” Not their rule. They had discussed it briefly that the farm would remain independent from any laird ruling, and Irvine wouldn’t step in unless he was specifically asked by the tenants themselves.
“Bah!” another called out, waving his arm at them. “’Tis just another way tae get him tae rule.”
“Nay,” Irvine replied before Bridget could. “I have no interest tae change yer rule here. I have mah own clan tae rule. ’Tis enough power for me. I only wish tae provide protection, if ye ever need it, and I’m willing tae put it intae parchment for ye tae believe me.”
“Either way,” Bridget supplied, “if we cannae overthrow the current laird, we are doomed from the start.” She had given it great thought, just like her father would, and in the end, it had been a solid plan. God help her, she trusted Irvine and the fact that he wouldn’t betray them.
He was a good man—a man that despite the lies he had told her, her feelings for him hadn’t changed.
