Page 50 of Twelfth Knight’s Bride

The cannon on the walls blasted. The report echoed.

Aileana closed her eyes and swallowed hard as the outbuildings tremored.

The second injured man, still waiting to be treated, groaned, sitting up. “I must rejoin the others.”

“Sakes, nay. Lie down. Ye’re in no condition to stand,” she snapped, realizing he was the one they called Sir Lewis. “Harris, reheat the iron so I might burn shut his injury. Then, good sir,” she said to the stubborn MacDonald archer, bracing his good shoulder to force him back down, “ye may rejoin the skirmish, if ye choose. But I warn ye, ye’ll do Sir Angus no good by permanently crippling a wound that could heal easily with rest.”

The archer grudgingly complied as he picked up her hand and swiftly kissed it.

“Mi lady, I owe ye my gratitude. I was among the laird’s contingent that attacked Urquhart Castle two years ago. I nay deserve yer kindness.”

She froze, felt her stomach plummet, then forced a smile, unable to spare the time such a declaration was owed.

The boy returned, the iron hot and ready.

Patting Lewis’s arm gently, she said, “Rest, and I will help ye with haste.”

He nodded, wincing at the pain, and settled backward.

Blood marred her apron. She cauterized the first man’s wound, and as he screamed in pain, she smeared a salve upon it and wrapped it in bandaging. She moved on to Lewis, taking the same swift care, as her hair, styled fetchingly in her netting and beaded band, fell loose in wisps around her face, sticking to her sweaty skin, as another injured man was brought groaning into the shelter. Yet still, she worked. Never ceasing as the injuries mounted.

…

Fury, roaring through James’s blood at the sight of Aileana under attack, had long since turned to distress. Had she been shot? Would Seamus ever forgive him if she had? How did a man focus on thwarting an enemy when all he could do was worry about his woman? How dare Laird Tormund MacLeod launch an attack while he was away and his bride was vulnerable out of doors? And for what purpose?

Affronted in a way he’d never felt before, he kicked up powder, his poor mount already weary from the three-day trek and now wet from the loch, oblivious to his men’s victorious cheering, for the skirmish had been quelled and the enemy sent fleeing.

“Raise the gate! The laird approaches!” a sentry called as James thundered upon the causeway headed toward the portcullis.

He stampeded beneath the prongs, ducking, for the metal was still being lifted, and threw himself down from the saddle as his contingent straggled in behind him. One of his grooms raced out to take the stallion.

“He’s been in the loch, lad. Make sure ye rub down his muscles good and hard and drape him in a coat.”

“Aye, mi laird,” the boy said, leading away the panting horse.

Angus hopped off a ladder to the wall walk, striding over to him.

“We’ve driven them back, cousin. A good day to celebrate—”

“Where are the bairns and womenfolk?” he demanded, undeterred, as he wiped a smear of blood oozing down his ear. He had to ensure that Aileana was well. He had to vanquish the images that had swirled to life and tormented him since the moment he’d seen her cowering behind the currachs, of Aileana hiding in a trunk, a wee child afraid for her life.

“In the buttery, safe and sound, thanks to Lady Aileana.”

A wave of relief rolled over him. He dashed into the castle and across the great hall, jingling down the corridor, and descended the stairway to the buttery, testing the door. Barred.

“’Tis me! Yer laird returned!” he called, banging it with his fist, and the bar within slid away.

The door opened. “Oh, brother! Why do they continue to do this?” Brighde threw herself against him, and he wrapped her in an embrace.

He frowned. The MacLeods claimed to dominate all of these waters and vied to steal this land to secure their holdings of the Hebrides…just as he’d sought over the years to unify his own birthright from the Grants. Blast it all. That, and the MacLeods had never forgiven him for exacting revenge against Marjorie’s husband.

His gaze darted over the women, alarm reigniting his blood. “Where’s my wife?”

Brighde pulled back. “James, she wouldnae hear reason. I’ve no idea where she is, other than that she was setting up a surgery for the wounded.”

James pulled back. A surgery? Of course, her family had made mention that she was a skilled healer. “But was she injured?”

Brighde shook her head and shrugged. “I do nay think so. Yet I ken no’ if it would have deterred her if she was. She was determined.”