Chapter 18
Chapter Eighteen
I f someone had asked her what death smelled like, which they hadn’t, Kate would have said that it had to be like the wrapper from a package of chicken left out in the sun, but much worse. It wasn’t just the metallic tang of blood or the sour notes of infection, but something deeper. It was the smell of hope draining away, of prayers going unanswered. Over the past three days, Kate had become intimately familiar with the scent she knew she would never forget.
Cameron lay on the bed, his once-powerful frame now diminished, sinking into the mattress as though already half-departed. The MacDonald clan had returned him broken. Ribs shattered, festering wounds across his back and side, and one arm twisted at an angle that made even Moira’s weathered face go ashen.
“More hot water,” the healer commanded, not looking up from where she pressed poultices against the wound on Cameron’s side.
While she didn’t have many, okay, not any, 17th century useful skills, Kate could at least fetch and carry, so she didn’t feel entirely useless. She moved quickly, lifting the heavy kettle from the hearth and pouring steaming water into the waiting bowl. After working with the healer, she’d found herself anticipating Moira’s needs, preparing herbs when asked, changing linens, and whatever else Moira needed. The work kept her hands busy while her thoughts kept circling around the realities of being trapped in the past. No modern medicine or doctors, for one thing.
Connor stood at the foot of the bed or sat beside his brother. His face was granite, betraying nothing, but during her time with him, she’d learned to read the subtle tells. The white-knuckled grip on the bedpost, the muscle jumping in his jaw, the shadows deepening beneath his eyes with each passing hour.
“I need to change the dressing again,” Moira murmured, nodding toward Cameron’s side.
Connor turned his brother on his uninjured side. The Highlander groaned, eyes fluttering open. For a moment, they were clouded with confusion, then focused on Connor.
“Brother,” he whispered, voice like gravel.
“Aye, I’m here.” He took Cameron’s hand in his.
“The MacDonalds...” Cameron began, but a coughing fit seized him, flecks of blood appearing on his lips.
“Save your strength,” he said, voice steady despite the tremor in his hands as he wiped the blood away. “We’ll speak when you’re stronger.”
Throat tight, she stepped back, giving the brother’s privacy while helping Moira prepare more poultices. Through the window, she could see clan members in the courtyard below, their faces turned upward toward the room as if they could see through the stone. Several crossed themselves before going about their duties.
“He’s no’ going to last the night,” Moira whispered, so low that only Kate could hear. “The infection’s too deep, and there’s bleeding inside that I canna stop.”
Frustration ran through her. If only they were in her time, where modern medicine and surgeons could save Connor’s brother.
“Does Connor know?”
Moira’s eyes, red-rimmed from exhaustion, met hers. “Aye. He kens fine. He just willna accept it yet.”
A soft sound drew their attention back to the bed. Cameron had reached up, fingers weakly clutching Connor’s plaid.
“Listen well, brother,” Cameron said, each word clearly costing him. “I’ve no time for gentle words.”
Connor nodded, leaning closer.
“You must lead them now. Not just until I heal, but always.” Cameron’s breathing grew more labored.
“I know being laird was never your wish. But I will be gone soon. Brodie is missing, and the clan looks to you now. They need your strength.”
“Dinna speak so,” Connor said, his voice roughening. “You will recover.”
Cameron’s laugh was a terrible sound, wet and broken. “Always the practical one. Face the truth. I’m for the earth, and soon.” His fingers tightened on Connor’s plaid. “But listen. This is important. Dinna make my mistakes.”
“What mistakes?” He asked, composure finally cracking.
“Living only for duty.” Cameron’s eyes drifted to Kate, who stood frozen by the herbs. “Find more than that. A good woman to love you and bear you many sons. Swear it to me.”
Connor followed his brother’s gaze to Kate, then back to Cameron. Something passed between them.
“I swear it,” Connor whispered.
Cameron nodded once, satisfied. Then his eyes glazed, focusing on something beyond the room. “Mother,” he murmured, a smile ghosting across his lips. “I see you and father waiting with my two little brothers. I’m coming home...”
His hand fell from Connor’s plaid.
The silence that followed was absolute. He remained kneeling, one hand still clasping Cameron’s cooling fingers. Then he rose, reaching out and gently closing his eldest brother’s eyes.
“I will tell the clan,” he said to Moira, voice distant. “Prepare him for burial.”
Not meeting her gaze, he strode from the room. The door closed behind him with a soft click that somehow felt more final than a slam.
Kate moved to follow, but Moira caught her arm.
“Let him be, lass. Some grief must be faced alone first.”
Before she could respond, a commotion erupted from the corridor. Shouts and running feet. The door burst open, and Ewan stood there, face ashen.
“It’s Elspeth,” he gasped. “One moment she was standing in the hall, the next she was on the floor. There’s blood, too much blood.” Ewan stood back to let them pass. “I carried her to her chamber.”
Moira cursed, already gathering supplies. “The bairn,” she said grimly. “She’s losing the bairn.”
Kate’s eyes darted to Cameron’s still form. “But?—”
“The dead will wait,” Moira said firmly. “The living need us now.”
They hurried down the corridor to Elspeth’s chamber. The scene inside was chaos. Elspeth crying, her skirts soaked crimson, two serving women fluttering uselessly nearby, clearly out of their depth.
“Out!” Moira commanded, and the women scattered. “Kate, clean linens. And hot water, as much as you can fetch.”
Grateful for the clear instructions, she ran for the kitchens. When she returned along with two of the kitchen girls, carrying steaming buckets of water and armfuls of linen, Moira had already removed Elspeth’s blood-soaked dress.
“Hold her shoulders,” Moira directed. “This will hurt her, but it must be done.”
Kate positioned herself at the head of the bed, gently but firmly gripping Elspeth’s shoulders. The young woman’s face was ghost-white, her eyes rolling.
“Cameron,” Elspeth moaned. “Is Cameron truly?—”
“Hush now,” Kate soothed, pushing damp hair from Elspeth’s forehead. “Save your strength.”
Elspeth’s eyes focused suddenly, with startling clarity. “My brother is gone. I feel it.” A sob wracked her body. “And now my babe as well.”
Kate had no words of comfort that wouldn’t be lying, so she simply held Elspeth’s hand as Moira did what she could.
Hours blurred together. Kate moved between tasks, holding Elspeth when the pain grew unbearable, preparing the herbs Moira called for, changing linens that soaked through too quickly. Outside, the sky darkened, then gradually lightened again as dawn approached.
Finally, Moira sat back. “It’s done,” she said wearily. “The bairn is lost, but she will live.”
Kate looked down at the young woman, now mercifully unconscious. “Are you certain?”
“Aye. She’s strong, like all MacLeod women.” Moira cleaned her hands in a basin of water. “Though she’ll need watching. The fever may yet take her.”
“I’ll stay with her.” Kate nodded, arranging a light blanket over Elspeth’s still form.
“Nay.” Moira’s tone brooked no argument. “You’ve been on your feet for near three days. You’ll rest, or you’ll be the next one abed.” Her expression softened slightly. “Besides, someone should find Connor. He doesna ken about his sister yet.”
The weight of everything crashed down on her. Cameron’s death, Elspeth’s loss. She swayed on her feet.
“Go wash,” Moira said more gently. “Then find him. He shouldna find out from one of the men, not this news.”
Kate nodded numbly and made her way to her chamber. The water in her basin was cold, but she didn’t care, scrubbing at the dried blood until her skin was raw. She changed quickly into a clean gown, then paused, uncertain where to begin looking for him.
Something tugged at her memory, something he had mentioned once about where he went to think. The cliffs. Of course.
The keep was eerily quiet as she made her way through it. Word of Cameron’s death had spread, and the usual bustle was replaced by hushed voices and downcast eyes. Outside, a light drizzle fell, the sky the color of slate. Kate pulled her cloak tighter and headed toward the path that led to the cliffs.
She found him exactly where she’d expected, standing at the edge of the precipice, face turned toward the churning gray waters below. The wind whipped his hair and plaid around him, but he stood motionless, as if carved from the same stone as the cliff itself.
She approached slowly, making no effort to quiet her footsteps on the rocky ground. Connor didn’t turn, didn’t acknowledge her presence in any way, but she knew he was aware of her.
Suddenly unsure, she stopped a few paces behind him. What could she possibly say that would matter?
In the end, she said nothing. Instead, she moved to stand beside him, close enough that their shoulders nearly touched as she took his cold hand in hers, and gazed out at the same turbulent sea. The rain fell harder now, plastering her hair to her face, but she remained still.
Minutes passed, or perhaps hours. Time seemed meaningless here, at the edge of the world.
“He knew,” Connor finally said, his voice barely audible over the crash of waves. “He knew he was dying from the moment they returned him to us.”
Not trusting herself to speak, Kate nodded.
“I should have saved him sooner. I should have—” His voice broke.
“You did everything you could,” she said softly. “The MacDonalds did too much damage.”
Connor’s jaw tightened. “I’ll make them pay in blood for what they’ve done.”
“Not yet,” Kate replied with quiet certainty. “They’ll be expecting vengeance. They’ll be prepared.”
He turned to her then, his eyes red-rimmed but hard as flint. “Ye suggest I do nothing while my brother’s body grows cold?”
“I suggest you make them believe you’ve accepted defeat,” she said. “Let them relax their guard, grow confident. And then—” she met his gaze steadily, “—when they least expect it, strike with all the fury of the MacLeods.”
Something shifted in his expression. Surprise, followed by a gleam of cold calculation that replaced the raw grief.
“Elspeth lost the baby,” she said gently. “Moira believes she’ll recover, but it was close.”
Connor closed his eyes briefly. “Too much death,” he whispered. “Too much loss.”
“I dinna ken how to do this,” he admitted, voice low. “How to be chieftain, how to tell the clan their future died with Cameron, how to wait when every drop of my blood calls out for vengeance.”
“You’ll do it because you must,” she said. “Because that’s what a true chieftain does. He thinks beyond the moment, beyond his own desires. He plans and plots. And then he strikes.”
Connor nodded slowly, the fierce Highland warrior emerging through his grief. “Aye. We will wait. And then we will show them why the MacLeods have survived for centuries.”
Kate’s heart squeezed painfully in her chest. She’d never seen him like this, uncertain, adrift. Always before, he’d been the rock, the immovable center around which the clan revolved.
“You don’t have to know everything right now,” she said. “You just have to get through today. Tomorrow will come regardless.”
Connor looked down at their joined hands, then back at her face. Rain streamed down his cheeks, indistinguishable from tears.
“Why are you here?” he asked, the question layered with meaning.
“Because you shouldn’t be alone,” she answered simply. Then, after a pause. “And neither should I.”
Something broke in him then. Perhaps it was the last barrier of his composure crumbling. He pulled her against him suddenly, his arms wrapping around her with desperate strength. She found herself leaning in, her arms circling his waist, her face pressed against his chest. She could hear his heartbeat, strong and steady despite everything.
They stood like that, clinging to each other as the rain soaked them both, the sea roaring below. Kate felt the tremors that ran through his body, felt the moment when grief finally overwhelmed him and silent sobs shook his powerful frame.
She held him tighter, one hand reaching up to stroke his hair. “I’m here,” she whispered against his chest. “I’m right here.”
In that moment, with the taste of salt on her lips, from tears or sea spray or rain, she couldn’t tell, Kate realized something that terrified and exhilarated her. She didn’t want to let go. Not of this man, not of this place, not of this life she’d stumbled into even with all of the death and hardship.
The thought should have sent her running. Instead, she pressed herself closer, breathing in the scent of him. Wool and peat smoke and something uniquely him.
I’ll never let go , she thought, the words rising unbidden in her mind. She didn’t say them aloud, couldn’t, not yet, but she felt them resonate through her body like a vow.
They remained there as the rain gradually eased, neither willing to be the first to break the embrace. When Connor finally pulled back slightly, his eyes were red but clear, his face composed once more.
“Thank ye,” he said simply.
She nodded, suddenly shy. The intensity of what had passed between them left her feeling exposed, vulnerable in a way she hadn’t allowed herself to be in years, perhaps ever.
Connor reached up, brushing a strand of wet hair from her face with unexpected gentleness. His fingers lingered against her cheek.
“We should return,” he said, though he made no move to leave. “The clan will need me.”
“Yes,” Kate agreed, equally reluctant.
Connor took a deep breath, squaring his shoulders. The man who turned toward the keep was different from the one who had stood at the cliff’s edge, still grieving, still wounded, but somehow steadier. As if sharing the burden had made it bearable.
They walked back in silence, side by side, not touching but close enough that Kate could feel the warmth radiating from him. At the edge of the courtyard, he paused.
“Kate,” he said, voice low. “What you did for Elspeth, for Cameron... for me. I willna forget it.”
Before she could respond, he was striding away, back straight, head high, every inch the laird his clan needed him to be.
Kate watched him go, her heart full of things she couldn’t name. The rain had stopped completely now, and weak sunlight broke through the clouds, casting long shadows across the keep.
She thought of Cameron’s final words to his brother, of the understanding that had passed between them. And of Elspeth, who had risked everything for love and lost so much. Finally, she thought of Connor’s arms around her, and how, for the first time in her life, being held hadn’t felt like being trapped.