Page 123 of Under the Laird’s Promise

"Aye. Keep it simple. Porridge and bread. People will need their strength."

The girl scurried away. Kathleen appeared with a blanket and draped it around Maighread's shoulders without comment. Only then did Maighread notice the cold seeping into her bones, the way her hands trembled slightly.

"How long has it been?" she asked.

"About seven hours."

"Too long. The villages are less than three hours' ride."

"Fighting takes time. So daes organizing survivors."

"Or he's injured. Or captured. Or⁠—"

"Or he's doing exactly what ye'd expect him tae dae: saving everyone he can before returning." Kathleen's voice was firm. "Have faith."

Maighread wanted to. Desperately. But fear gnawed at her, whispering terrible possibilities. Around them, the castle slowly woke. More servants appeared, more guards took their positions. The healers checked their supplies again. Everything was ready. All they could do was wait.

The sun had fully risen when the shout came from the gates. "Riders approaching!"

Maighread's heart leaped. She ran to the courtyard, Kathleen close behind. The gates swung open and horses poured through, some carrying double, others pulling makeshift litters. Tavish rode at the front, his face streaked with soot and blood. But he was upright. Alive. Relief hit her so hard she swayed.

Behind him came the wounded. Men, women, children. Some walking, some carried. Burns, cuts, broken bones. The smell of smoke clung to everything.

"Get them inside!" Maighread called, her voice cutting through the chaos. "Healers, tae yer stations!"

The courtyard erupted into organized movement. Maighread directed traffic, pointing injured toward the Great Hall, sending others to secondary locations. Her voice stayed steady even as her hands shook. Tavish dismounted and immediately turned to help others. He lifted a woman carefully from her horse, speaking quietly to her as he carried her toward the doors. Then he returned for more.

Maighread moved among the survivors, checking injuries, offering reassurance, guiding them inside. A young boy clutched his mother's hand, eyes wide with terror. An old man limped past, his leg crudely bandaged. A woman sobbed into her hands. This was what Keir had done. This suffering. This fear. Rage burned through Maighread's grief, but she pushed it down and kept working.

Tavish reappeared, this time carrying a small child. A girl, maybe three years old, clinging to his neck. Her face was tear-stained, her clothes filthy.

"Her maither's injured," Tavish said quietly as Maighread approached. "Badly. She's being brought in now."

"Where's the injury?"

"Burns on her arms and side. She tried tae shield the bairn when their cottage caught fire."

Maighread's throat tightened. "Bring them both tae the healer's station. I'll help."

They moved inside together, navigating through the crowd of wounded filling the space. Healers moved efficiently between pallets, and Tavish carried the girl to a quieter corner, setting her down gently. The child immediately began crying, her small voice piercing.

"Maither! I want me maither!"

"She's coming, wee one," Tavish said softly, kneeling beside her. "I promise. She's coming."

Two men carried the mother in on a litter moments later. She was conscious but clearly in agony, her arms wrapped in bloody cloth. When she saw her daughter, she tried to sit up.

"Nay, dinnae move," the healer commanded, rushing over. "Let us tend ye first."

"Me bairn⁠—"

"Is safe," Maighread said, kneeling beside the pallet. "See? Right here. Unhurt."

The woman's eyes found her daughter and relief broke across her face. "Aisling. Oh, me sweet lass."

The girl scrambled toward her mother. Maighread caught her gently, feeling the child's desperation. "Easy, love. Yer maither is hurt. We need tae be careful."

"I want tae hold her," the woman whispered, tears streaming down her soot-stained face.