Page 89 of Laird of Wrath

Hudson hesitated, then gave her a nod. “Come,” he said. “They’re in Sienna’s rooms.”

The two of them pushed through the crowd in the courtyard, walking past the servants who were carrying the wounded to the Great Hall, where they had set up a makeshift infirmary for the night. There were so many wounded, and just as many who had lost their lives.

Rhea watched Hudson out of the corner of her eye—his pinched expression, the way he carried himself rigidly, the hard line of his shoulders as he walked. He looked devastated. His eyes tracked everything, as if he was tallying the survivors, the dead, and those who wouldn’t make it through the night.

When they reached Sienna’s chambers, Rhea flung the door open and rushed inside to find Sienna, Mabel, and Lara there, huddled near the window and watching the courtyard below. When they saw her, they all rushed to her, pulling her into their arms, their faces pale, their hands trembling with fear.

“Where have ye been?” Mabel demanded, her voice carrying all the worry her hands couldn’t quell as she touched Rhea’s shoulders, arms, and face, as if she was trying to reassure herself that her sister was alive and whole. “We were so worried about ye, Rhea. Where… What happened to ye?”

She grabbed Rhea’s chin between two fingers and turned her face to the light, her eyes narrowing on the large bruise on her jaw.

Rhea could only imagine what she looked like now, how far the bruise had spread. Judging from the dull pain, she could only imagine that it looked frightening.

“It’s only a bruise, Mabel,” she assured. “Daenae fash, any of ye. I’m fine.”

“What happened?” Mabel pressed. “Were ye out there? Who hurt ye?”

“Laird Barclay,” Rhea said calmly.

Sienna let out a loud gasp, her hand flying up to her mouth, all the color draining from her face.

“But he’s gone now. It’s over, I promise.”

Rhea extricated herself from their arms and made her way to the window where they had been huddling. She stared straight ahead, into the night, into the dark, starless sky. She hadn’t noticed how many clouds there were before.

No one spoke to her for what felt like several minutes. No one even moved. It was only when she finally turned around, her gaze finding Hudson, that the women leaned forward, as if waiting to hear what she had to say, their concern etched plainly on their delicate features.

“I must go find Callum,” Hudson declared before she could speak.

He sounded careful when saying his name, as if he wasn’t quite certain whether he should mention him at all, but Rhea only nodded.

“We’ll go to the Great Hall,” she said. “There is much to do, and they will need all the help they can get.”

“A wise choice,” he agreed. “It will be a long night.”

A part of Rhea was reluctant to take Mabel there. She didn’t want her sister to see all the devastation up close. She didn’t want her to plunge her hands in blood, to see the wounds, to hear the men’s cries.

But then, she reminded herself that her sister was no longer a child, that she was the lady of the clan back home. If she were to keep that title, she had to learn about these things, no matter how much Rhea wished she could shield her from them.

But what if she couldn’t stand it?

“Mabel, if what ye see down there frightens ye?—”

“I’ve seen more blood than most men have,” Mabel cut in, tilting her chin defiantly. “I can do this, Rhea.”

Rhea glanced at the three women, at the smirks on their faces as they prepared themselves, shedding the layers that would hinder them from doing the hard work required of them. She looked at her sister and saw their mother in her, the woman who had ruled Clan McAllister alongside their father.

“Aye,” she said. “I daenae doubt it for a minute.”

30

It had been three days since Callum had last slept for more than a few hours. Time seemed to have slowed down, his body moving languidly as if through a sea of molasses.

Once again, he had lost loyal men, good men. Those who had been gravely injured were in the healer’s quarters, closely looked after, but there was only so much that could be done. While many were well on their way to recovery, others were less lucky, fighting death in a losing battle.

Fatigue weighed heavily on him, and so did the souls of those they had lost. Now that he had a moment of peace in his study, alone with nothing but a tumbler of whisky for company, he could finally take a few moments to doze off, to let sweet sleep pull him under and make him forget.

But every time he closed his eyes, he saw the same face before him.