Page 66 of Bound to Her Highland Lord
“There is no reason for any more bloodshed. This was never your battle to fight. This was not a battle you could win. Andyou certainly cannot now. So do not waste your time and efforts to try. Go home,” he said with a bit more force. “Return to your families. Stay out of clan business. Go.”
With a flourish of his hands, Oliver dismissed the English so succinctly, so effectively, that they all began to move at once. A raucous cheer went up from the Scots as they watched their enemy collect their weapons and retreat into the back corner of the field.
Once their retreat was made clear, both sides began the slow, tedious, and heartbreaking work of cleaning the battlefield. Men went from body to body, checking for a pulse. When none was found, warrior was reunited with his sword, the long blade laid across his chest and hands folded over it. Others would follow behind and place swaths of their tartan over the body, signaling to the next group which men to collect for burial.
For those found alive, their injuries were examined, Taryn flitting from one man to the next, regardless of what they wore or whose side they were on. She ordered men about, James standing over her shoulder, lending the air of authority needed to make the soldiers jump to carry out her demands. Groans filled the air once more as men were rolled onto stretches of sheets held between two posts and carried inside.
Sorcha watched it all unfold, scarcely believing it was truly well and over. It was the fourth or fifth man disappearing into the castle walls that made her suck in a breath. Twisting over her shoulder, she looked worriedly at Oliver.
“Aila,” she breathed. “I have to find Aila. I have to ken if her injuries are nae too serious. We may have to send for a more practiced healer.”
“Go,” Oliver told her, understanding her sudden panic. “And if she needs more care, I will send for my mother within the hour. There is nae a better healer in either country. At least, nae that I ken of.”
Sliding from the saddle, Sorcha took off for the castle. As she disappeared inside, Oliver didn’t bother hiding his stare. The din of the courtyard faded in his mind, counting the seconds for her to reappear. He would make good on his promise to fetch his mother, even if that meant going for the woman himself. Anything to ease the worry he saw sitting on Sorcha’s shoulders. James and Taryn had the rest of the soldiers well in hand, and Oliver’s energy was beginning to flag.
Letting his eyes drift shut, he tipped his head back, the sun warming his face as it peaked out from behind the clouds. Taking a long, slow, deep breath, Oliver began the long work of coming to terms with everything the Baron had said. Some of the more absurd remarks were easy to filter out. But the violent descriptions of his father’s death, the reason Dudley gave for killing the man, those would take time to process. Still, as he let out the air from his lungs in a slow stream from his lips, Oliver could feel a weight lifting from his shoulders, a chain from around his heart loosening.
“She’s going to be all right!” Sorcha called, giving him the news as much as she was telling Taryn. “‘Tis but a scratch. She is having it cleaned and stitched now.”
Oliver smiled, looking down at Sorcha once more, glad to see the relief written across her beautiful features. She strode towards him, her leather breeches and bloodstained tunic seemingly out of place next to her red, luscious curls billowing behind her. But to him, every part of her made sense. He understood and admired the way she carried her sword just as much as the swing of her hips when she walked.
When she made it to his horse, rather than climbing back in the saddle, she held a hand up to him, an offer for him to dismount. The smile she wore made Oliver’s face break out into a smile all of his own.
Her heart had yet to settle from the thrill and excitement and danger of the battle. Looking up at his handsomely cut face did nothing to calm the pounding in her chest. Still, she kept her hand outstretched to him, thrilled when he folded it inside his own.
“Walk with me?” she asked softly, suddenly no longer feeling like the brave fighter she had been minutes before, having been completely replaced by a shy woman on the verge of love.
“Aye,” he murmured.
She blushed hearing his brogue, knowing he had intentionally kept it hidden all this time, sharing it only with her. It gave her cause to hope. It gave her courage to try to voice the feelings she had wanted to communicate in the stables, those long hours ago.
Side by side, they walked along the water’s edge, the lake lapping onto the gravel rocks that crunched underfoot. Behind her, the reflection of Kincaid Castle and the bustling of the courtyard danced on the surface of the water. In front, lay the stoic stone mountains that colored the blue water with gray streaks. Peace, slow and deep cloaked around her shoulders as Oliver’s warmth seeped into her hand and up her arms, eventually making its way to her cheeks.
“I dinnae ken where to begin,” she said earnestly, if not a little bashfully. “I dinnae ken how I will ever be able to say thank ye enough.”
“Ye dinnae have to say anything, Sorcha,” he answered in a low voice.
“Och, but I do. Ye risked everything by staying here and fighting for us. This was nae yer battle to fight, but ye fought anyways. If we had lost, it would have devastated ye. Dudley might have made claims that ye were a traitor. It could have cost ye yer estate. Ye could have lost yer title. Ye could have lost yer life!”
The thought of which made her shudder, even though she knew the threat was well and gone. Oliver stopped their walk and turned towards her with a tender look in his golden, glowing eyes. He rubbed his hands up and down her arms, squeezing the muscles gently, calming her.
“Och, lass. Ye worry too much. I am all right. Everything is fine. I did nae lose anything.”
She nodded, taking in a breath.
“Still, ye did nae have to stay,” she pressed, her voice soft.
To some degree, she still didn’t understand why he had. In the stables, he had promised her that wasn’t going to leave her side, that he wasn’t going to walk away from her now. But she didn’t know why.
“Aye, Sorcha,” he answered firmly. “I did.”
“For yer father?”
He let out a chuckle, breathy and warm.
“While I am glad to finally have answers about his death, I did nae ken that Dudley was in any way involved. So, no, he is not the reason I stayed. Ye are.”
Sorcha blinked, not yet letting herself believe what she thought he was trying to say.
