“I want ye beside me the whole time.”
“Aye,” she nodded with a smile.
Domhnall shook his head. “God help me.”
Margaret’s smile widened. Moments later, they were descending toward the courtyard together, where a small group of mounted guards already waited beneath the gatehouse.
Beyond the castle walls the thin line of smoke still rose from the distant cliffs.
The boats lay like wounded creatures upon the shore. Where once there had been the steady rhythm of work, the mending of nets, the low murmur of men and the gulls crying overhead, there was now only ruin. Blackened beams jutted toward the grey sky like accusing fingers. Cottages were reduced to smoldering skeletons, their thatch long since devoured. The scent of salt and smoke clung heavily to the air, oppressive and inescapable.
Domhnall did not at first speak.
He stood a little apart from the others, with his hands clasped behind his back. His posture was rigid in that particular stillness which, among his men, was known to precede decisive action. His gaze moved slowly over the devastation, as he was taking account, measuring loss and committing each detail to memory as though it were a ledger he would later balance in blood or recompense.
The boats had not merely been damaged. They had been rendered useless with deliberate care. Hulls split along their seams, rudders hacked through, and masts weakened so that even a fair wind would betray them. Nets lay strewn across the sand, their cords severed in neat, ruthless lines.
“This was nae act of hunger,” he mused. “It was intention.”
A murmur of agreement followed, the sound of it low and grim.
One of the older fishermen stepped forward. His face was drawn with exhaustion and smoke.
“They came in the night, me laird,” he said, bowing his head, while he was wringing his hat in his hands. “Ships without lanterns. Nay banners. We heard naething until they were already upon us.”
Domhnall turned his attention to him fully then. His sharp gaze fixed the man in place.
“How many?” he asked.
“Two… perhaps three vessels,” the man replied after a moment’s hesitation. “They kept tae the dark, but there were many. Masked, every one of them. They spoke little, what words there were, none I ken.”
Another voice joined in. “They did nae come tae take, me laird. They came tae break and destroy. That much was obvious.”
Domhnall inclined his head slightly, as though the statement confirmed what he had already determined.
“Aye,” he told him. “They’ll nae return tae find it undone.”
He stepped forward, descending the slope without waiting to be followed.
“Cameron, shoreline patrols. I want eyes on every inlet from here tae the western pass. Rotate men in pairs, nae less. If a boat so much as cuts the horizon, I hear of it before it touches land.”
Cameron nodded once, already turning. “Aye.”
“Take the fast riders. Signal fires at dusk. I want this coast lit like judgment itself.”
There was no flourish in the command and no wasted words. Cameron began issuing orders before Domhnall had even reached the sand, the men falling into motion with practiced precision.
Domhnall continued forward. A fisherman struggled with the remains of a hull, trying in vain to right what had been deliberately split. Without pause, Domhnall seized the beam himself, bracing it with his shoulder and lifting until the man could secure it.
“Repairs begin now,” he said, not releasing his hold. “Anything that floats, we salvage. Anything that daes nae, we rebuild.”
“Me laird,” the man stammered, breathless from the exertion, “we’ve lost near half?—”
“Then ye will nae lose the rest.”
The man nodded, looking reassured. Domhnall released the beam only once it was secured, already turning to the next ruin, the next task, the next necessary correction of disorder.
He did not notice at first that Margaret had come down among them, or perhaps he did and simply did not mark it as something requiring attention. She moved with purpose, with her skirts gathered in her hands. Her fine gown was already marked with ash and damp from the shore. There was no hesitation in her step and no recoil from the smell of smoke or the sight of blood.
