Page 39 of The Guardian

Chapter Fourteen

By the time the night came this particular day, Hendry was barely able to trudge to his cottage. Had it been two or three days since he last slept? It didn’t matter, he was still upright, which was better than others.

While mourning the loss of their comrades, men whom they’d trained with, worked with, and lived with, they still had duties to perform.

They’d spent days bringing bodies along with horrible news to mothers, wives, and children. The laird’s guards helped to dig graves, helpless against the wails of breaking hearts and devastation.

Villagers had come and helped to bury the dead MacLeods. Although some had managed to escape during the chaos of battle, those captured were executed. Their bodies joining those already lining the mass grave.

It was a dark time for Clan Ross, an occurrence that would linger for days to come as the injured began to heal physically, though there were some who’d never return to battle.

Once inside his cottage, Hendry stripped off all his dirty clothes and threw the offensive items into a corner. Then using water his squire had brought, he washed the lingering smells of death and blood from his body. A proper bath would have to wait. He was much too exhausted to make his way to the loch or wait his turn at the bathing area near the kitchens.

Still fully naked, he fell onto the bed, praying for a dreamless slumber.

Raps on the door woke Hendry and he pushed up from his bed, groggy and unsure of how long he’d slept. The door opened and Tobin walked in followed by two lads, each carrying a bucket of water.

Without a word, the squire went back out and with the same lads, rolled in a wooden tub.

“Sir, the water is warm. I brought it from the kitchens upon noting there was nae a line for bathing.”

Looking to the window, it seemed the sun was either rising or falling. “Is it morning?”

Tobin shook his head. “It is close to last meal. Ye slept the entire night and most of this day.” The squire motioned to the tub and Hendry went to it as the young man poured in the water, giving the empty buckets to the lads who rushed out to refill them.

Once the water was delivered, Hendry instructed Tobin to give each lad a copper coin.

Sending his squire away, Hendry bathed with quick movements. Although his muscles ached, and the warm water helped to soothe them, he didn’t have time to linger. Once cleansed, he would go to the great hall to eat and help wherever was needed.

Hendry had just fastened the ties of his breeches and was rummaging through his trunk for a tunic when a knock sounded at the door.

He paused, frowning. His squire never knocked. Neither did the warriors under his command, they usually barged in, asking questions, and rarely cared for propriety.

“Enter,” he called, returning to the tunic dilemma. Most were too worn, riddled with holes and stains. He finally settled on one that appeared mildly presentable, if still a bit threadbare.

“I brought ye something to eat.”

He froze.

He didn’t dare turn, afraid it was a trick of memory, or longing. But then her dog, Teller, trotted over and pawed gently at his leg, tail wagging and let out a cheerful bark.

“I’ll set it on the table for ye,” she continued. Her footsteps were soft but unsteady as she crossed the room, arms trembling under the weight of the tray she carried. She lowered it carefully onto the table, a hearty meal of roasted meat, a small pot of stew, and a basket of bread.

She clasped her hands in front of her, her eyes meeting his with a flicker of nervousness.

“Ye’ve not been to any meals,” she said in a soft voice. “I asked yer squire, and he only said ye slept. He came just now to tell me ye were awake.”

She looked utterly worn, her beautiful face drawn, dark shadows beneath her eyes hinting at sleepless nights. Still, she came. Still, she brought food.

He moved to the table and pulled out a chair. “Will ye join me?”

Ailith glanced at the hearth where Teller had curled up in front of the fire. With a tight smile, she lowered herself into the chair.

The silence between them wasn’t strained, it was heavy, yes, but familiar. The weight of shared grief. Shared battles. Shared blame.

He retrieved two cups from a shelf, then poured the honeyed wine she’d gifted him and placed one in front of her.

Ailith looked from the cup to his bare chest, her gaze trailing to the bandaged wound on his shoulder. Where her eyes landed, his skin tingled, alive as if touched.