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He didn’t need to say it. Marjorie’s hands shook at the thought of being responsible for the worst outcome for her clan, her son, and the war. She had years of training from her father and brothers and was technically the most knowledgeable one left in the castle. But she had absolutely no war or battle experience. She hadn’t even been able to shoot the bloody MacDougall spies, for God’s sake. She was a coward. How could she ever protect the approximately fifty people inside these walls, including her son?
“I wilna let them take Glenkeld,” she said with more firmness than she felt inside. “The castle must stand.”
The look the men exchanged varied from dubious to respectful. Tamhas and Muir nodded.
She clenched her jaw. “We will train more. We ken the castle’s weaknesses. We canna repair all the damage in time, but I will think of something.”
Chapter 5
Konnor stared at the woman who stood in the doorway next to Marjorie with a basket in her hands, She looked at least a hundred years old. She wore a brown dress, her head was covered in a white kerchief, and her face was leathery and wrinkled, but her eyes seemed bright.
Was this the “healer” who was supposed to help him with his leg? Konnor had hoped that even though it seemed the whole colony was playing some sort of medieval game, they’d at least practice some modern medicine. They might not vaccinate and all that, but general healthcare was no joke. Unfortunately, it looked like they relied on herbal remedies and witchcraft.
He locked his gaze on Marjorie. She stood there, determined and sublime, like a queen in disguise. With her dark, shiny hair falling in cascades over her period clothing, and those cat eyes, she was like a badass queen from some sort of movie remake of a classic fairy tale. The more Konnor looked at her, the more dazzled he was. He remembered the feel of her body against his and how she’d smelled when she’d helped him walk here. He wanted her that close again.
“Is that him?” the old woman asked Marjorie. “Is he supposed to be Moire’s cousin?”
“Aye,” Marjorie said.
“Are ye English, lad?” the woman said.
“No,” Konnor said.
“Good. The Sassenachs are nae welcome here.”
She limped towards Konnor and sat on the edge of the bed he lay on. Marjorie followed her and stood nearby with her arms crossed over her chest.
“What ails ye, lad?” the old woman asked.
“Look, ma’am, you don’t need to bother. Can someone perhaps take me to the hospital?”
From there, he could call the farm. The woman narrowed her eyes and looked him over with a different sort of curiosity.
“Havna heard anyone speak like ye in my life. Where do ye come from, lad?”
“From the States. L.A. specifically.”
“Dinna ken what any of that means. Do ye, Marjorie?”
Marjorie shook her head, her gaze boring into him. He felt like he were under an X-ray machine.
Why would she still not admit to knowing something about the modern world? Was isolation so important to them? Wasn’t this taking the roleplaying a little too far? In either case, he would be better off laying low until he got help and could get out of here.
“Right,” Konnor said. “It’s far away.”
“But ye’re Moire’s cousin, I hear?”
Konnor sighed. “Look, ma’am—”
“My name is Isbeil. Nae ma’am.”
“Yes. Of course. Look, I’m not Moire’s cousin. Marjorie, you mistook me for him—” Marjorie’s face went blank, and her arms fell to her sides. “I guess I didn’t correct you because you were the only one who could help me get out of the ravine. Just help me get to the Keir farm or to Dalmally, and then I’ll be out of your hair.”
Marjorie was livid, her eyebrows two furious arches. She took a step towards Konnor. Telling them the truth had been a mistake, but he just couldn’t take any more of this circus.
“You lied to me?” Marjorie thundered. “Who are you then, if nae Moire’s cousin?”
Christ, she was beautiful when she was angry. “Just a guy.”
