Page 122 of Under the Laird’s Promise

"Set up stations along the far wall," Maighread told the head healer when the woman appeared, already gathering her tools. "We'll need clean water constantly. Someone should be assigned just tae keep it flowing."

"Aye, me lady."

"And send word tae the village. We'll need every person with healing knowledge. I dinnae care if they're official or just skilled. We need hands."

"It will be done."

Kathleen appeared at her elbow. "What dae ye need from me?"

"Help organize the supplies. Make sure we have enough of everything. If we run short of bandages, start tearing sheets."

"Consider it done."

They worked side by side, their movements efficient and synchronized. Maighread had always admired how Kathleen never panicked, never questioned, just acted. The Great Hall slowly transformed into a healing station, pallets laid out in rows, water buckets stationed at intervals, bandages stacked in neat piles.

"This was deliberate," Kathleen said quietly as they folded linens. "The timing. Right before the wedding."

"Aye. Keir wants tae force our hand. Make Tavish choose between defending the borders and marrying me."

"What will Tavish dae?"

"Both. Somehow." Maighread's hands stilled on the fabric. "He has tae."

Kathleen studied her face. "Ye're terrified."

"Wouldnae ye be?"

"Aye. But ye're hiding it well. The clan needs that right now. They need tae see ye strong."

Maighread resumed folding, her fingers moving automatically. "Then strong is what they'll see."

The work continued steadily as more servants arrived, moving quickly once they understood the urgency. Maighread directed them, assigning tasks and checking progress. Within the hour, everything was ready. The Great Hall stood transformed, waiting for the wounded that would surely come.

Messengers began arriving with updates about families seeking shelter, villages mobilizing their own defenses. Maighread approved each request, organized housing, ensured food was distributed. She moved constantly, never stopping, because stopping meant thinking and thinking meant imagining terrible things.

Around three in the morning, Kathleen caught her arm and steered her firmly toward the kitchens. "Ye need tae eat."

"I'm nae hungry."

"I dinnae care. Ye'll be useless if ye collapse." Kathleen pressed bread and cheese into her hands. "Eat."

Maighread ate mechanically, tasting nothing. Her mind kept circling back to Tavish riding into danger, to villages burning, to people dying while she stood safe behind castle walls. It was all her fault.

"Stop it," Kathleen said.

"Stop what?"

"Blaming yersel'. This isnae yer fault."

"If I'd just married Keir when the Council first suggested it⁠—"

"Then ye'd be miserable and yer clan would be absorbed intae Sinclair control anyway. Keir daesnae want a wife. He wants territory. This was always going tae happen."

Maighread knew she was right. But it didn't make the guilt easier to carry. They returned to the Great Hall and she resumed her pacing, checking supplies again, adjusting pallets, doing anything to keep her hands and mind occupied. More bandages were prepared. More water hauled. More space cleared.

Dawn crept through the windows, painting everything grey and cold. Still no word. Maighread paced the length of the hall, her bare feet silent on stone.

"Me lady." A young servant approached hesitantly. "Should we prepare breakfast fer the household?"