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“She’s our healer,” Johnne says, and for some reason I bristle at the box I’m being shoved into, but I don’t say anything.
“A healer?” the commander asks, derision dripping in his voice. “A female? You are truly as barbaric as all the tales would have led me to believe.”
Chief Johnne flushes as he squares his shoulders and I’m sure he’s going to punch the arrogant jerk, but he doesn’t. Instead, he shakes his head.
“Ach,” Chief says, sadness in his voice. “Tis as I feared.”
“And what, pray tell, is that?”
“You’re as English as they come, too stupid to understand the value of what you see in front of your face.”
Now the British commander’s face contorts. His lips curl back to reveal his canines and he sputters.
“And you think bringing a female onto the battlefield is somehow civilized? Only a barbarian would put the fairer sex in danger.”
“Only a doaty is blinded by a person’s trousers to the point of not seeing the assets in front of you,” Chief Johnne counters.
I’m not sure what a doaty is, but I’m sure it isn’t nice. I can’t stop myself from grinning though as he stands up for me, considering it wasn’t that long ago he denied my attending the Clan gathering as it was menfolk business. It’s good to see he can change.
“Gentlemen,” I say, inserting myself between them, because we can’t afford for this tenuous union of Scots and Brits to fracture. “One way or another, I am here. It’s fine if,” I pause looking at the Brit. “Excuse me, I don’t know your name.”
“This is John,” Johnne says.
“You’re kidding me?” I ask, scoffing and shaking my head. “Are there no more names in the English language? You’re both John?”
Chief Johnne bristles at my comment, his face turning red as his mouth works but no sound comes out. The British John, though, snorts, which turns into a full laugh that is surprisingly rich for his scrawny frame.
“I do believe she’s put us both in our place, sir,” he says to Johnne.
Johnne looks from him to me, then chuckles too.
“Aye, she’s right skilled at that as well.”
“Right,” I say. “Well, if John here doesn’t appreciate my skills, he will in time, or he won’t, but thank you for your support, Chief.”
Johnne’s smile warms my heart like a cool salve on an open wound.
“Aye, see, the lass is as smart as a whip,” Chief Johnne says.
“I’m going to find a room in that tower,” I say. “You two will see to the defenses of the castle.”
I make it a statement, asserting control. My heart beats faster as I wait for them to argue but neither of them disagrees. Instead they nod their assent. I take my leave before they can think about what I did.
The rain falls harder as I walk towards the tower. My skirts are soaked and getting heavier with every step. I bow my head and let my hair hide my face as protection against the cold air. Men call to one another as I walk, but everyone is subdued. We lost more than they can comprehend, yet at least. I’m not sure I do either.
Darkness is free. Evil is on the world and it’s my fault, but I can’t hold onto that thought for long. My thoughts are with Duncan. Where is he? What is happening to him? Can I get to him in time?
The first floor of the tower is intact but filled with debris. It’s been ransacked more than once. Moth eaten tapestries have been torn from the walls, furniture shattered and left in piles around makeshift fires, and the entire place smells of dust and mold.
“Quinn,” Gair MacGregors calls as I pick my way through the groups of men setting up camps.
He’s standing with a group of Scots close to the stairs leading up. He waves me over and I go because I was planning on climbing the stairs anyway.
“Hello, Gair,” I say, looking around for Drever, but I don’t see him.
“Lord above, it’s good to see you,” Gair says.
The men with him busy themselves preparing bedrolls while one of them is crouched over a pile of debris and striking his dagger to a stone and attempting to start a fire. Two of the men are stripping off their kilts, their long shirts giving them a bare hint of modesty, but I still keep my eyes strictly up to avoid seeing bits I have no interest in.
