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Some were stoic about it, like Cailean, but they’d all watched her feed.

“Good.” Darach squeezed her shoulder. “It’s part of you … everyone just has to get used to it.” He paused then. “I’ve just had a few words with Tadhg mac Cormac.”

Ailsa frowned. “The Circines chieftain from Craeg Aonaranach?”

“The same. He took a nasty wound to the flank … he’s with the healers now. They think he’ll make it though.” He glanced around then, at the tangled sea of corpses that littered the road, his own brow furrowing. “He told me Niall made his first trip up to The Goatfells nearly three years ago. He brought stonemasons and builders with him and offered to help construct them a magnificent fort. He warned them that the Circines would never have the respect of the Elk King or the High Queen if they didn’t have their own seat of power.”

Ailsa snorted. “I can’t believe they listened to him.”

“Aye, well, he offered Tadhg and his people something tempting. All he asked in return was that they fight for him if he ever asked. He told them the tattoo was merely a loyalty mark … a reminder of the vow they’d made him.” Darach halted there, pulling a face. “But when the fort was complete, and they were ready to see my brother off, they discovered themselves bound to him … or so they thought. From that point, Gregor started giving them enhanced tattoos, so they’d serve Niall better … and the rest is history.”

Ailsa exhaled sharply. “I bet Tadhg is bitter over his choice.”

“Aye. It’s a mistake that’ll likely haunt him for the rest of his days.”

Ailsa’s gaze roamed over Darach’s face. Of course, he was someone who understood just what a poor decision could cost a man.

He met her eye for a long moment before jerking his chin west then. “Come on … Lara’s going to make a speech soon. We’d best join the others.”

Together, they limped off the battlefield.

Darach kept his arm slung around her shoulders, and Ailsa leaned into him as they wove their way in and out of the dead and then climbed the hill. He steered her around corpses and steadied her over churned ground.

Ahead, the remnants of Lara’s army gathered just a couple of furlongs from the encampment.

There were still a good number of warriors standing, although many were bloodied and bruised. Even more long tents had gone up on the edge of the camp, where healers were working feverishly to save lives.

Ailsa had no idea how many of this army had fallen, but she would have guessed a couple of hundred at least.

Ailsa and Darach joined the gathering crowd, watching as Lara stepped up onto a wooden platform. Alar stepped up beside her. He bore a deep-purple bruise upon one cheekbone, and his leather armor was splattered with blood, yet he held himself proudly.

“You all fought like wolves today.” Lara’s voice carried across the now silent crowd.

She paused, her gaze sweeping the assembled warriors before it cut briefly to the healing tents behind them.

“I won’t pretend this cost us nothing. Good warriors are dead on that road, and more will die of their wounds in the days to come … and we will grieve them all.” Her jaw tightened. “But because of what you did, an army of enslaved warriors has walked free, and a tyrant will never reach our gates. You did me proud … you did yourselves proud.”

Cries went up at this, swelling into raw cheering.

Ailsa noticed that the eyes of those surrounding her gleamed.

Lara’s gaze then searched the crowd. “Darach mac Lachlan … come forward.”

Darach and Ailsa shared a long look. She smiled and gave him a gentle shove. “Go on.”

His lips quirked. “All right.”

He went, threading his way through the throng. It parted before him respectfully, a little warily. Nonetheless, Ailsa marked how some of the men nodded to him. The loyal southerners who’d followed him into battle. They’d seen what he’d turned into, but they didn’t shrink away.

That was good to see.

Someone stepped up next to Ailsa, an arm slipping through hers. Without even glancing her way, she knew who it was.

Kayla.

She did look at her then, noting the haggard lines on her mentor’s face, the cuts, the bruises. After Ailsa’s bloodlust deserted her, she’d feared Kayla had fallen, yet she’d proved just how tough she was.

“He’s waited years for this moment,” Kayla whispered, squeezing her arm.