“Thank goodness,” Eleanor gently shimmied her brother to the side and off her lap. “Lay still, help is on the way.” She jumped to her feet and ran to Callum’s side, slipping her arm beneath his head before gently falling to her knees. “Callum, are ye hurt?” She lifted her free hand and wiped some of the blood and debris from his face.
Callum swore under his breath before reaching for her hand and stilling her movements. “Aye, but I will live.” He turned his head to the side, where Donald lay as still as could be.
Daring to look up, Eleanor noticed the dull look in the man’s blank eyes as he lay staring at the gray sky above their heads.
He is gone.
Eleanor bowed her head in respect, struggling to find sympathy with the man who had almost taken two of the three most important men from her life.
Startled by her own thought, Eleanor looked down at Callum, who lay deathly still in her arms. “Where does it hurt?” She gently moved her hand over his, allowing their palms to meet as she intertwined their fingers.
Callum winced again, but kept his hand where it was. “Me leg, the bastard got me in the leg…” His words trailed off in agony as he attempted to sit up and gesture toward his right leg.
Looking down, Eleanor noticed the large gash on his shin before tearing off another piece of her dress and leaning down to dress the wound.
“Where is Bran?” Callum asked through gritted teeth.
Looking up again, Eleanor caught sight of the dog in the distance, hobbling toward the castle with one leg in the air. “Bran will be fine; he has gone for help.” Her heart flooded with gratitude as she watched the animal hobble away.
“Aye, but who called for me when Donald was distracted?” Callum stopped trying to sit up as he lay in her arms.
“I daenae ken,” Eleanor moved the tips of her fingers over his face just as Iain emerged from the line of trees.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
The gates of the castle loomed closer and closer as Eleanor rode on the back of a horse. Help had come soon after Iain and the men with horses came and pulled them apart, placing Eleanor on one horse while Andrew and Callum were carefully laid over the others. She had prayed for help to come.
We are all still alive.
Eleanor finally took a deep breath as she went over all of the events from the past few weeks.
It had been Donald Kincaid all along. She could not believe that the man had been using so many aliases to hide his identity. Stewart was his father’s name, and Duncan Fraser had never existed at all. She briefly wondered if the name had belonged to a fallen laird, but even if it had, it no longer mattered. The matter was settled and done with nothing left to be done.
Every muscle in her body ached as she fought against the exhaustion that was threatening to claim her with every breath. She had not been physically wounded, but her mind hurt as if she had taken a few blows.
At least we are all still alive.
The horse’s hooves soon clattered over the cobbled entryway to the castle, yet the moment of relief was short-lived as Eleanor’s eyes were met with a sad sight.
Servants and clansmen moved quickly about the courtyard, tending to the wounded, carrying buckets of water, speaking in hushed, urgent tones. The air itself felt strained, stretched thin between relief and grief. The heavy scent of blood still hung in the air, and nobody seemed to even notice their presence as they hurried about.
Eleanor’s heart ached for those around her as she dismounted, her boots hitting the ground harder than she intended. Her hands trembled as she released the reins, her gaze scanning the chaos instinctively. The soldier who had been riding in front of her quickly clambered to the ground at her side.
“Mistress, ye should be more careful,” he pleaded with her and offered his hand.
But Eleanor looked away as he waited for the other horses to come in as well.
Andrew.
The memory of him pale and bleeding in her arms struck her anew, and her chest tightened painfully. She had thought he had been dead, and the memory of uncertainty still struck her as she gripped the reins a little tighter.
The other horse quickly followed suit, and Eleanor watched as first Callum, and then Andrew, were helped from their horses. The bleeding in Andrew’s neck had stopped, but the blood still seeped through the makeshift bandages that Eleanor had tied around Callum’s leg.
Her heart clenched at the sight, but both Andrew and Callum seemed to be in far too much pain to take notice of where she was.
Servants rushed forward, helping the men as they hurried to secure the laird and his companion.
Eleanor was just about to turn and go in search of Bran when a maid came rushing forward.
