Page 36 of The Highlander’s Dangerous Desire

“Spirits above, nae a bit, though ‘tis nae me first either. Still, there’s more than one whose contributed the contents o’ their stomach tae the midden heap this eventide, an’ me among them.” Anne said the words so calmly, so matter-of-factly, that Grace couldn’t help but feel a bit better.

The water helped as well. She sipped it, and listened to the sounds of fighting outside. “Are we…”

“’Tis nae ended, but will be soon, I think. M’laird is a strong warrior, an’ well respected by the men he commands. Between him an’ Master Devlin, we’ll be safe soon enough, I’m thinkin’.”

“I should…” She wasn’t sure what she should be doing, only that sitting in the chair seemed intolerable, now that she’d had a moment to drink some water and rinse away the taste of bile.

“Rest first. Drink the water. Come back when ye feel steadier.” Anne blushed. “Nae that I mean tae be so forward as tae give ye commands, m’lady…”

“No. You are right. It is better if I rest for a moment.” Grace nodded. “Go back to help the others. I shall rejoin you once I have finished the water.” Anne looked uncertain, and Grace shook her head. “I am all right. Go and help the others. I may not be of any help at the moment, but I am certain that someone with your good sense can be.”

“M’laird…”

“If he does not approve, then I shall deal with him.” Grace smiled at the maid, though it was a poor and weary effort for a smile. “Go. Consider it an order, if you must.”

“Aye, m’lady.” The maid dipped her head, then turned and left the room at a fast walk.

The smell of smoke and burning lingered. Grace took another gulp of water to wash away the taste and feel of smoke and charring on her tongue. The water had a flavor she didn’t recognize - slightly herbal and sweet. She wondered, idly, what had been used to provide the taste, and if it was medicinal, or something she could request be served with her meals. It was wonderfully refreshing.

Without Anne to focus her mind, her weariness seemed to magnify. The glass felt heavy, and her body ached. She wanted to help, but could not seem to find the strength. She felt, suddenly, embarrassingly helpless. She gulped more of the water, attempting to find energy within the glass, but she felt leaden and light-headed at the same time.

I wonder where Ewan is, and if he is safe.

Fire on the stable roof. Fire on the doors to the keep proper. Fire in the Great Hall, through a broken window. And he had no time to attend to any of it. All his energy was focused on the ragged band of warriors who had slammed through the gates in the first moments after the fire arrows had crossed the wall.

The warriors of Clan MacTavish had, of course, been distracted by the fires. The attack had been well planned. And the men were too well-trained for brigands, no matter that none of them wore clan colors. They were out-clan, or else, hired soldiers.

The second possibility was by far the most worrisome, for then he had to wonder who had hired them and why. But that was a concern for another time. For now, he had to drive them away. He would worry about why they had attacked MacTavish Keep later.

Devlin and Malcolm were at his side by the time he reached the center of the courtyard and the first of the intruders. Ewan slammed him in the face with the pommel of his sword, then cut him down as he staggered. The second man blocked two blows, then fell to a knife in his heart. Ewan had always favored a sword and knife style, and he used every trick he had ever learned. Disabling strikes, fatal blows with either hand, blocking with either hand.

The battle was a chaos of flickering firelight, flashing steel, smoke and blood and bodies mingling together like a fever dream. The air was thick with the crackle of flames, the clang of steel on steel, or the deeper thwack of blade on shield, and the screams of the wounded and dying. The smoke made it difficult to breathe, and sweat poured down his frame, making his grip uncertain. He paused and wrapped a leather strip torn from some fallen man’s clothing around his hand to stabilize the grip, then fell back into the fray.

At some point, Ewan realized his ribs were burning from a cut to his side that was bleeding freely. Something, an arrow perhaps, clipped his face and made his head ache, though if it was an arrow, the force had been spent and it didn’t penetrate the skin. Perhaps it was another weapon.

He almost dropped his dirk at one point, when a stab got through his guard and hit his shoulder, but managed to retain hold of the blade and return the blow, with much greater effect.

He stabbed, cut, slashed and shouted orders until his shoulders ached and his throat was raw. Smoke stung his face and eyes - smoke and sweat and blood. The world narrowed to the next attack, the next fight, the next task.

Then, all at once, there were no more attackers, and Ewan found himself standing at the gate, surrounded by his own men, with Devlin and Malcolm at his side, both of them stained with blood and soot to the point that they might have been mistaken for demons straight from hell.

Not that he was much better. Ewan cleared his throat, coughed harshly, and rasped out a single word. “Report.”

“Attackers have fled. Servants are dealin’ with the fire. Someone got the idea tae pour dirt an’ water both on the flames, an’ it served well. Might have lost the stable otherwise. Door an’ dining tables are charred, as are the floor rushes, but the fires are almost out.” Malcolm’s voice was hoarse, but there was a note of pride in it that Ewan shared.

“Good.” Ewan coughed harshly. “Wounded and dead?”

“O’ our own? A good score or two wounded. We’ve nae counted the dead, and willnae ken til’ morn, when we can check the bodies fer friend and foe. An’ seen who might be felled by scorched lungs and burns… fer there’s more than one who risked harm tae put out the blaze.”

Devlin’s voice was grim. “Fire inside the keep… folk are likely tae be nervous as cats in a hound’s kennel fer some days.”

Fire in the keep. People had been hurt!

“Grace.” Ewan felt a sudden pulse of fear constrict his heart.

“I heard she was assistin’...”

Ewan didn’t wait to hear more. He turned and raced toward the doors of the keep, scattering men left and right as he bounded up the stairs. Dimly, he was aware of Devlin swearing at his back as the two men moved to keep up with him, but he hardly cared.