The call came from a ravaged throat before first light. Whoever cried it ran past the door of Saerla’s chamber, where she lay awake staring into the soft dark, echoed swiftly by others giving the alarm all over the stronghold.
She’d found no refuge in sleep, only memories of lying in Rory’s arms that tormented her.
She sat up now, and the chamber went around slowly, a sickening sensation. When had she last taken something to eat? She’d refused Fiona’s offer to feed her yesterday afternoon. She’d sworn the woman to secrecy but did not know if Fiona could hold her tongue.
And now it came. The battle she’d foreseen and dreaded. Prayer had not held it back, nor all her wishing.
Was she fit to fight?
She got to her feet and immediately had to run for a basin in the corner, where she heaved in vain, having little to bring up. She swiped at her face with clammy hands.
Did she carry Rory’s child? Or was she just weak and ill from the ordeal she’d suffered?
More and more cries sounded beyond the confines of her chamber. Footsteps pounded. She must pull herself together, don her leathers, and go. Because not seeing what happened out there in the battle would be so much worse than braving it.
Half crammed into her warrior’s clothing, she paused and ran a hand over her flat stomach. She could picture Rory’s hand there, feel the gentle care with which he touched her with his big, scarred fingers.
“Be safe, wee one,” she whispered before she finished dressing, gathered her weapons, and went out.
An orderly confusion reigned out in the forecourt where the clan warriors mustered. Alasdair was there ahead of Saerla, giving no sign he still suffered any pain. He shouted orders, and the men rallied around him.
Where was Moira? Men crowded the battlements, some hanging dangerously far over the edge. No sign of either Moira or Farlan.
Saerla presented herself, her sword and her shield, to Alasdair, whose dark eyes flicked over her and away again. Would he declare her unfit to fight?
But other matters beset him. He gathered the men and told them a force had been spied moving out from MacLeod, like shadows through the dark.
Suddenly, Saerla feared she would be sick again. Rory. The man she loved coming to destroy all that mattered to her.
“Will we defend here, Alasdair?” a man near her cried. “Or march out and meet them?”
“That will be up to yer chief to decide.” Alasdair jerked his head, and Saerla saw Moira walking toward them with Farlan at her side. Both were clad for war. Moira was not a small woman, and in her armor with her hair tied back, she might well pass for a slender man.
There were murmurs from those around Saerla at the sight of Farlan. The MacBeith warriors still did not trust him. Saerla wondered what it would take to make them do so.
Before she could imagine, Fiona darted forward and spoke a word in Moira’s ear. Whatever she said startled Moira, as Saerlacould see from her posture. Moira searched the crowd and located Saerla.
Och, curse Fiona, anyway!
Saerla slipped away between her fellow warriors, hoping Moira would not take time to locate her amid so many distractions.
Moira, with Farlan, marched up and joined Alasdair. When she lifted her voice, everyone quieted to listen, from the walls right down to the turf.
“Rory MacLeod comes to steal what is ours. This is sacred ground! Our fathers bled and died here, as did their fathers before them. We can do no less.”
A bird flew out over the glen, giving a cry of heartrending beauty that seemed to echo the words, heralding the dawn.
“We will march out and meet this marauder upon that sacred ground. We will defeat him once and for all. May all the powers and the strength of our ancestors be with us!”
Tears blinded Saerla’s vision. How could anyone doubt that Moira should be chief? She had Da’s strength and Ma’s wisdom.
Alasdair clapped Moira on the shoulder, demonstrating that she had his support and backing. The warriors began to form into lines. They had drilled long and hard for this. Would it be enough?
So distracted was Saerla, she failed to notice when Moira made a beeline for her, without Farlan this time.
“Sister. I would like ye to stay behind.” Moira’s blue eyes had gone hard, her face tight. At that moment she looked so like Da before a battle, it near stole Saerla’s breath.
Saerla shook her head. “Please do no’ ask that o’ me.”
