Page 72 of A Touch So Wicked

His face a mask of rage, Gordon raised his sword with both hands and slashed downward. Damian danced aside to avoid the sharp edge of the blade but the tip caught his arm, cutting a shallow groove from shoulder to elbow. Ignoring the wound, Damian became the aggressor, driving Gordon back.

“English butcher!” Gordon snarled. “A Gordon! A Gordon!”

His battle cry went unanswered. Apparently he realized the futility of continuing, for he abruptly broke contact with Damian. Raising his voice, he gave the cry for retreat.

“Ye havena seen the last of me, Englishman,” Gordon hissed as he turned and fled into the dim reaches of the forest.

Dickon appeared at Damian’s side, his sword dripping blood. “Shall we give chase, Damian?”

“Nay. What’s the point? This is their land; we’ll never find them. Let’s hope they learned a lesson.”

Dickon nodded. “I’ll arrange for the wounded and dead to be conveyed back to the fortress.”

Damian returned to the keep, his mind churning with the problems now facing him. The first thing he had to do was provide for the villagers. Since their cottages were constructed of stone and thatch, he assumed that the damage would be confined mostly to the roofs and furnishings. Last night’s rain had been a godsend. It had contained the fire and kept the damage to a minimum. He hoped to have the cottages inspected yet today and arrange for repairs.

Then he would deal with Lady Kimbra.

Damian strode into the hall, stopping short when a tense silence ensued, every nerve ending he possessed alert and on edge. What was amiss? He sensed hostility. For him? For Gordon? Were the Frasers willing to forgive Gordon his vile attack upon their village simply because they hated Englishmen?

“The Gordons have been routed and driven back to their stronghold,” Damian announced to the hushed crowd.

No one spoke. The silence was deafening. Then a voice rose up from the sea of faces.

“We thank ye, Lord Damian. ’Tisn’t right what the Gordon did.”

A few “ayes” followed; then suddenly the hall rang with cheers. Stunned, Damian stared at the villagers in confusion.

“What about our homes?” a woman asked in a timid voice.

“Every cottage will be repaired,” Damian promised, finally finding his voice. “Whatever you lost in the fire will be replaced.” He turned to the priest. “Father Hugh, appoint some men to inspect each cottage and list the repairs needed. I’ll expect a full report tomorrow.”

“Can we return to our homes before the repairs are made?” someone asked.

“’Tis entirely up to you. Most of you are anxious to see how badly your homes were damaged, so I won’t stop you from returning, if that is your wish. Keep in mind, however, that whatever assistance you need will be made available. Food and staples will be provided from Misterly’s stores.”

“God bless ye, yer lordship,” a woman sobbed. “Yer a good man, for an Englishman.”

Damian stifled a smile, wishing that a certain redheaded vixen agreed. Then he turned his mind to a more pressing matter: Lady Kimbra. He was moving away to confront Kimbra in her chamber when Maggie tugged at his sleeve.

“Yer lordship, yer wounded. Let me fetch Nan.”

Damian glanced at his arm and shrugged. “’Tis nothing, Maggie.”

“’Tis indeed something,” Maggie scolded. “Sit down, it willna take a minute for Nan to bring her herbs and poultices.” She paused, then asked shyly, “Have ye seen Sir Richard? He’s not among the wounded, is he?”

“Sir Richard is unscathed,” Damian assured her. Maggie nodded and hurried off.

Damian was surprised at Maggie’s concern for his welfare and wondered if the Frasers were finally beginning to trust him. Nothing would please him more.

Nan arrived posthaste with her basket of herbs and medicines. “Are there many wounded besides yerself?” she asked as she set her basket on the table and pushed Damian’s shirtsleeve up to inspect his wound.

“A few. Both sides suffered casualties. You’ll find the wounded in the infirmary. They will be grateful for your attention.”

“I’ll tend them after I see to yer wound. Yer lucky, yer lordship. ’Tis but a shallow cut. You’ll be good as new once ’tis cleaned and bandaged.”

“How is Elissa?” Damian asked as Nan worked over him.

“She’s awake and in control of her senses. She doesna know ’twas ye who hurt her, but she does know that Tavis Gordon set fire to the village. Will ye go to her now?”