Helping the men off their horses was a simple task – most were barely hanging on as it was.
Ranulf was still steady and leaped off his horse, then immediately reached for the man next to him as Seamus, Sorcha, and Reade aided the other men.
Half-carrying, half-walking his man, Ranulf’s pale, grim face lifted to Seamus, and Adaira gasped.
Her uncle’s long blond hair had obscured a gash across his cheek, a bloody lip, and a gash in his hairline that dripped in a crimson line to his right eye. As beaten and bloody as he was, his men were worse.
“Ranulf!” Seamus shouted. “What happened here? Were ye set upon on the road to the festival?”
Ranulf’s face tightened. “Och, ‘twere as simple as that! The Campbells.” He turned and spat a glob of bloody spit into the dew-christened grass. “They were waiting for us as we returned. ‘Twas early morn, past the witching hour, and they must have known most of us would be coming back to Bidean nam Bian. They were right outside the gate. No’ too many, and we defeated them and sent them off and running, but several of my men were injured. Malvina is caring for the worst at Bidean keep, but these men would no’ let me come to ye on my own.” A measure of pride shone from his furious blue eyes. “As injured as they were, they escorted me here. Just in case.”
Seamus pursed his lips as he assessed the men and his brother-in-law. “No’ the worst choice. If the Campbells had been lying in wait for ye at your own keep, who knows what they would have tried with ye alone on the road?”
“Come,” Sorcha’s commanding voice called out. “Let us get ye inside so we can treat your wounds and hear everything that transpired.”
No one dared disagree, and leaning on the Glenachulish MacDonalds, Ranulf and his men entered the safety of the tower.
Adaira took advantage of the moment and raced back to her room, throwing on a rough gown and pair of leather slippers, tying the bodice as she rushed down the stairs.
They were all seated in the main hall with Maddock, Arran, and Conall who had joined them. Sorcha was instructing the housemaids to retrieve linens and hot water to treat the injuries. Then she stepped out of the hall and returned with her skin sewing kit. While most had only superficial wounds, one man had a gaping gash on his arm that would need stitching.
And Ranulf’s wounds might need tending as well.
Adaira shuddered.
Why had the Campbells attacked? Ranulf’s clan lands bordered the Campbells - mayhap it was a move to threaten or encourage them to sign the Oaths of Alliance? A way to force the hand of the Glen Coe MacDonalds?
Her heart leapt in her chest at another thought. Did this attack have anything to do with Sawny?
Nay. Dinna think such a thing. Sawny is gone from here.
Along with Blair and Fiona, Sorcha’s maids helped clean up the men. Sorcha stitched up the hissing man’s arm as his clansman poured a vial of whiskey down his throat. Sorcha pierced his skin again, and the man groaned, opening his mouth for more whiskey.
“Did they give ye any word or sign for why they attacked? To what end?” Seamus inquired.
Ranulf accepted the damp cloth from a white-faced maid. Some color had returned to Ranulf’s cheek, most likely from rage. The gash on his cheek was significant enough to need a bandage, but no stitching, and would leave a scar that would interrupt his winter beard.
Her uncle could have been slain. What were the Campbells thinking? Why take such a dire step just to threaten the MacDonalds?
“The Oath,” Ranulf answered in a low grumble.
Seamus and his sons all leaned back, as if the answer should have been obvious, and they were not surprised by this information at all.
“Of course, the Oath,” Reade muttered under his breath.
“What else did they say?”
“That ‘twas only the start of what will happen if we dinna sign the Oath. That the King and Breadalbane will serve up retribution for those who dinna sign.”
“I thought we had until the end of the year,” Maddock argued.
Ranulf gave a half shrug. “I guess they dinna want us to wait until the last minute.”
“Feckin’ Campbells,” Reade cursed.
His own cheeks were bright red with fury. His dear cousin had been killed earlier at the hands of the Campbells, and now here his uncle and his kin had been attacked. His disdain for the Campbells knew no bounds, and Adaira feared he might do something irrational in return.
Reade was not the most rational man. That she knew well.
