Amanda Scott (38 page)

Donald shot her a look that was half sardonic smile, half grimace, and signed to his men to lower the first battering ram
into position.

Without a second thought, Molly raised her bow and let the arrow fly. Like the others, it flew straight, striking Donald high
in his left thigh.

The look he flashed her then was one of pure rage, and even as men leaped to help him, Donald of Sleat angrily ripped the
offending arrow from his leg.

To Molly’s horror—and doubtless to Donald’s as well— a pulsing fountain of bright red blood spurted forth; and, although his
men did what they could to stanch the flow, it persisted until he collapsed, unconscious. One of the men standing at a distance
from him shouted, “Ha’ they killed the chief?”

“Nay, he’s but sorely wounded,” shouted another, bending to help Donald. “Carry him to the galley, lads. We’ll away from here
and tend him properly!”

As quick as thought, the raiders carrying Donald ran for their galleys, and others speedily replaced the masts. A horn blew,
pipes skirled, and in moments, the sails were up and all four galleys were away.

Watching them, stunned by what she had done, Molly saw with a sinking heart that the men tending their fallen chief in the
lead boat soon moved away from him and took up oars. One man slumped in the stern, head bowed.

“I’ve killed him,” she murmured. “I’ve killed Donald the Grim. Faith, what will become of me? I’ve killed a man who stood
as guardian to me. I’ll go to Hell, as sure as I stand here.” Kneeling swiftly beside Thomas, and seeing that his head still
bled, albeit sluggishly, she said urgently, “Thomas, don’t you dare die, for I need you! We all need you. For mercy’s sake,
stop bleeding and wake up!”

To her astonishment, the bleeding stopped, but although she shook him and called his name, Thomas did not stir. She ran along
the walkway to Ian Dubh, remembered with a start that he was beyond help or helping, and ran downstairs to find Mauri and
Doreen.

T
he threatening black clouds in the west had moved much nearer by the time the three women managed to drag Thomas MacMorran
and the body of Ian Dubh each into the shelter of the nearest bartizan.

“We must get Thomas downstairs where it’s warm,” Doreen said anxiously.

“Aye,” Molly agreed, “but if you know how we can carry him down those stairs, I do not. Fetch blankets. We can at least keep
him warm until the others return.”

“I’ll fetch the blankets,” Mauri said. “And I’ll find something to cover Ian Dubh, too. It dinna be proper, leaving him lying
there all alone as he is.”

Repressing an impulse to point out that Ian Dubh was beyond loneliness or caring about proprieties, Molly fixed her attention
on Thomas, knowing that Mauri had volunteered to do the fetching so that Doreen could stay with him, and willing that young
man to open his eyes. In moments, they heard Mauri’s quick steps, returning up the stairs.

Molly glanced toward the doorway, and just as she did, she heard Doreen gasp. Looking back, she saw with relief that Thomas
had regained consciousness.

“I’m no dead yet, lass,” he said to Doreen with a weak smile.

“Near enough,” she snapped. “D’ye no ha’ sense enough to duck when arrows fly at ye, ye feckless bairn?”

His smile widened. “Evidently not,” he said meekly. “I need a proper wife to teach me such lessons.”

“Oh, Thomas, hush! This be scarcely the time to be talkin’ o’ wives. Those horrid raiders ha’ killed Ian Dubh!”

“Nay, not Ian!”

“Aye,” Doreen said. “Art cold, Thomas? We must get ye warm. There be a storm coming. We can see it yonder, all puffed up black
and ready to blow.”

“Ye’re blathering, lass. ’Tis shock, most like, and gey natural. More to the purpose, though, can ye see them villains? What
be they up to now?”

Doreen grimaced and glanced at Molly.

Molly said, “They are on their way back to Sleat, I hope. I…I shot your last arrow at Donald the Grim and it struck him in
the thigh.”

“Good lass!” Thomas exclaimed. Remembering his manners, he added hastily, “Well done, mistress. It be a pity ye didna kill
the wicked rogue.”

“I am afraid that is exactly what I did,” Molly said ruefully. “He yanked the arrow out, you see, and its head was sharply
barbed. He must have severed a major vessel, because a fountain of bright red blood gushed forth and he collapsed. His men
carried him to his galley and they all sailed away, but the ones tending him stopped doing so whilst they were still within
sight, so I’m sure he’s dead. They must be taking his body back to Sleat. We’ve seen no sign of them since.”

“We will,” Thomas said. “They’ll be for vengeance, certain sure. Help me up, lass,” he added to Doreen. “If there be a storm
brewin’, I’d as lief be inside by the hall fire. Where lies Ian Dubh’s body?”

“We dragged it into the southeast bartizan,” Doreen said. “He’s under cover, Thomas, so dinna be thinking ye must carry him.
I doubt ye can carry yourself.”

“Nay, lass, I ken better than to try to shift him. If he has shelter, we’ll leave him for the others to tend when they return.”
He reached for her hand.

Molly and Mauri moved to help, too, but he waved them aside.

“I’ll do. Dinna coddle me.”

On his feet, he stood still for a minute. Then, insisting that he was as steady as a rock, he managed to totter his way down
the stairs with little help from the women, although Doreen stayed near enough to try to catch him if he fell. Considering
their relative sizes, Molly was glad that he did not.

As she watched Doreen and Mauri whisking about in the hall to make Thomas comfortable, it occurred to her that a number of
men, either dead or wounded, still lay outside. Fin would not have to worry about her leaving the safety of the castle before
his return, but she wondered if any of the wounded might pose a threat to him—when and if he came home. The thought chilled
her.

Waiting only until Thomas was settled and Mauri had brought Morag upstairs in her cradle, Molly drew her aside. “What about
the wounded outside,” she said. “Might they not try to ambush Kintail and the others when they return?”

“Nay, mistress, for the folk at Dornie village will warn our lads to take care. The villagers could do naught to help us during
the attack, for all their fighting men be wi’ the laird or our Patrick, but they’ll no let any o’ our lads cross to Eilean
Donan without first they warn them to look for villains.”

“I am going to watch from above to make sure,” Molly said.

Mauri nodded, and Thomas warned her to keep her head down. “Just in case one o’ that wicked lot still has strength to draw
a bow,” he added grimly. “Give a shout when the laird comes. We’ll ha’ to raise the portcullis.”

Promising to be careful, Molly hurried back up to the battlements, and although she still fretted at the possibility of danger
below, she saw little sign of activity and settled herself to wait as patiently as she knew how.

It was impossible to control her thoughts, and the fear that Fin had been ambushed like his father, and might lay dying or
dead somewhere in the windy, starless night, made her wish that she could fling herself on a horse and ride out in search
of him. Despite her fear, knowing what he would do if she did find him, not dead but alive and angry, still had the power
to send a shivery thrill up her spine.

“Claud, what is it?” Catriona demanded, grabbing him by both shoulders and shaking hard. “What’s wrong with you?”

“Dinna speak, Catriona,” he groaned. “Your voice beats against me ears like the thunder does beat in yonder storm clouds.”

“But why?” Bending nearer, she peered into his eyes and gave his shoulders another shake. “What is amiss with you?”

“I used me powers,” he muttered. “Mam did warn me that I’d feel summat whenever I use them now, but she didna say I’d feel
such a pain. I canna move a muscle, lass. Aye, and I’m no tae be wi’ ye, either,” he exclaimed, remembering. “Ye mun get from
me! Where am I?”

“In the laird’s peek overlooking the great hall. I found you here.”

“This be as far as I got, I expect, afore the darkness overtook me,” he said.

“But what did you do? Was it something horrid?”

“Nay, lass, only what me bounden duty demanded. Now, go, I beg o’ ye. Every moment I’m wi’ ye, me powers’ll grow gey weaker,
Mam said.”

“First, tell me what you did!”

“Nay,” he said, his voice fading to a thready murmur. “I canna. Ye’ll be wroth wi’ me, for it willna serve your laird, but
only my Maid.”

“Tell me! I’ll not leave until you do.”

He scarcely heard her, but he did not care. The world around him swirled again into blackness.

The storm struck with fury before the men returned. Nevertheless, Molly huddled in the bartizan, keeping watch. When she saw
them at last, hours later, she saw as well that Mauri had been right, for despite the lashing winds and rain, they approached
with care and encountered no trouble. They were but shadow figures, some wading across the channel through knee-deep water,
others rowing boats.

When lightning flashed again, she thought she saw Fin. Hugging herself, she watched carefully, but she did not see him again,
only dark, moving shapes, and several of them were hurrying toward the entrance. Heart pounding, she ran downstairs, certain
that the others would need her help to raise the portcullis before they could learn who had lived and who had died. Thomas
MacMorran was still weak, but she and Doreen could raise it together, she was sure.

Thomas laughed at her suggestion, insisting that he was perfectly fit. When he would not be talked out of it, Doreen went
with him, declaring that if he so much as strained a muscle in the attempt, she would throttle him. He draped a muscular arm
around her shoulders and said she could help him stay upright while they climbed to the room containing the mechanism that
worked the heavy gate.

Molly stood staring at the hall entrance, wanting to run out into the storm to find Fin but knowing instinctively that he
would not like it if she revealed any doubt of his abilities. Would they all be safe? Would Fin be glad that they had protected
the castle or furious to learn that she had not only taken up her bow and arrows again but had accidentally killed Donald
the Grim? Anticipation warred with her fears, but fortunately, her wait was brief. He strode into the hall with Tam Matheson
moments later, before Thomas and Doreen had returned.

Fin’s gaze swept the chamber, and casting aside her false dignity, Molly ran to him, flinging herself into his arms.

“Did anyone outside give you any trouble?” she demanded.

“Not a whit,” he said, wrapping his arms tightly around her. “Did you doubt me, lass?”

“Never,” she said, snuggling into his embrace. Despite his wet clothing, she pressed hard against him, hugging him back.

He murmured to the top of her head, “The men Sleat left behind will not trouble anyone again.” Then, holding her at arm’s
length, he added as if he had just realized the fact, “Your clothing is damp!”

“I’ve been up on the battlement walk, watching for you. Yours is wet, too.”

“I’m sorry about this, lass,” he said, giving her upper arms a squeeze. “I should have known better than to think he had so
easily given up getting you back.”

His simple remorse banished any lingering worries. Ignoring the feelings that his touch stirred in her body, and ignoring,
too, the voice in her head suggesting that she invite him to retire at once to his bedchamber, she said, “I do not see how
this could be just about me. I’m married to you now. What could he hope to achieve?”

Still looking rueful, Fin said, “It may be that he thinks he has only to declare our marriage null before he can marry you
where and to whom he chooses.”

“It no longer matters what he thinks,” she said, “but does his attack here mean there
were
no raiders in Glen Shiel? Was it just a ruse to draw you away?”

“Oh, there was a raid,” he said grimly. “Dougal Maclennan and his family are dead. The raiders were Donald’s men, too, but
I believe his sole intent was to draw me away from Eilean Donan so he could attack here unopposed.”