Chapter 23
Kinsey slept through the night, but only due to a tea Fennela had insisted she drink. Grief, however, was a heavy companion. One that tried to fight the drowsy effects of the tea, but was there, lodged in her chest like a stone, when she woke.
William was at her side immediately, his hand folding around hers with determined support. “We need to return to the inn,” he said gently. “I need to speak to the men.”
About Reid. To see how many were still alive.
He didn’t need to say any of it aloud. Kinsey knew exactly what he meant. She nodded.
Fennela approached them with a small bundle of items in a swath of linen. “I have prepared a couple of teas for ye. One is to help ye with the pain and stave off infection. The other is to help ye sleep.”
William looked up at her, shamefaced. “We havena any coin with us, but we do at the inn, I can bring—”
“The nearest inn is quite far away.” Fennela frowned.
“Take this to guarantee my word that I’ll return with the funds for ye.
” He offered her his dagger, the one studded with rubies.
“My da gave me this a long time ago when things were right between us.” He gave a sad smile.
“The value is more than we owe ye, but what it means to me is worth far more. I can assure ye I’ll be back for it. ”
It was the same dagger Kinsey had once asked for in the wager they’d made so long ago. One he would have lost if he’d intentionally let her win. She hadn’t realized what that meant to him until now.
Fennela put up her hand to refuse his offer. “Nay, I mean, ’tis too far to walk.”
Heat washed over Kinsey. She was the reason they couldn’t travel so far on foot. Helplessness had never suited her, and especially in a time of such sorrow and agony.
She sat up straighter and ignored the staggering pain squeezing at her lungs. “I can make it.”
“Take my horse,” Fennela said. “Ye may return it when ye bring the coin.”
“Ye’ve put a lot of faith in us.” William lowered his head humbly.
“’Tis a risk I’m willing to take to know Kinsey will be safe.” Fennela rested a gentle hand on Kinsey’s shoulder.
William regarded the healer with reverence. “I dinna know how to thank ye—”
She shook her head. “There’s no need. Get to the inn and see that Kinsey has proper rest.”
William looked at Kinsey, his gaze warm with affection. “Ye have my word.”
They left shortly thereafter. William walked while Kinsey rode the small horse. They didn’t speak much on the journey to the inn, both lost in their own thoughts, their own memories, as they grieved.
The sun was high in the sky when they finally arrived at the inn. Their arrival, however, brought on a new level of despondency. Getting to the inn had been a goal, something to move them onward. But now that they’d attained the small feat, what else was there?
William hesitated at the door of the inn, his jaw tight. Telling his men of Reid’s loss would not be easy. Kinsey reached for his hand and held it firmly.
“I’ll organize a party to go back tonight,” William said. “To see if they’ll allow us to…” he swallowed, “to collect those left behind.”
The pain in Kinsey’s chest had little to do with her damaged ribs as tears welled in her eyes.
Finally, William opened the door to reveal the army he commanded sitting around at the tables of the tavern. They turned at once.
Kinsey froze, staring in disbelief at the two men she’d thought never to see again.
Reid sat in the center of the group with a blackened eye and a cut lip. And at his side…
At his side…
Her knees went weak, and she sagged against William in a mix of overwhelming emotions, an eagerness to believe what she saw, but skepticism that it was some effect of the healer’s teas.
Surely, it was too good to be true.
“Drake,” she whispered.
He leapt up from the bench and came to her. His arm was bound in a sling, and he moved with a limp. “Kinsey.”
His eyes filled with tears, and he gingerly pulled her toward him with his good arm. She fell against her brother’s solid frame and clung to him.
“How?” She asked in amazed relief. “How did ye escape?”
“Yer brother is one of the fiercest fighters I’ve ever seen.” Reid joined them. “I mean no offense.” He nodded at William, who raised his hands in a show of surrender.
“Ye’ll no’ hear me argue with ye,” he said.
“We pushed them back as we fought,” Reid continued.
“Drake told me to clear the portcullis, so I went behind it. He ran toward me and sliced through the rope in one blow. The portcullis fell as he rolled under it. The spikes slammed down and missed him by a hairbreadth. I’ve no’ ever seen anything like it. ”
Drake shifted uncomfortably. He’d never been one for relishing praise.
“Ye could have been killed,” Kinsey whispered.
Drake ruffled her hair in an affectionate gesture she’d thought never to experience again.
“Once we were outside, they couldna lift the portcullis without the rope, and we were able to flee.” Reid patted Drake on the back and gave him a firm nod. “We found this bag of bones bleeding just outside.”
Reid nudged Duff, who inclined his head respectfully toward Kinsey.
Her throat clogged, grateful to see him alive. To see all of them alive. She shook her head. “Drake, ye sacrificed yer chance to be a knight.”
“I’d do it for ye all over again if need be.” He gave her a tender smile and shifted his attention to William, extending his hand. “I’d like to clasp arms with the man who saved my youngest sister. Thank ye for yer bravery. And for trusting me.”
“We couldna have done it without ye.” William locked his hand around Drake’s.
“If ye need anything, I’m yer man.”
Kinsey’s chest warmed at her brother’s declaration of loyalty, knowing more than most how deep it ran.
“There is one thing I’d like to ask of ye…” William glanced at Kinsey with a grin.
Drake looked between them and narrowed his eyes. “Aye?”
“I’d like permission to wed yer sister.”
Drake regarded Kinsey, who couldn’t help but smile in reply.
He chuckled. “It seems she is in agreement.” He nodded. “I can think of no one who would care for her better.” His face tightened, and his voice lowered. “And after what ye told me in the dungeon, I confess I’m pleased to hear this request.”
“Drake,” Kinsey whispered fiercely.
He shrugged in response.
“William.” A man’s voice spoke abruptly from somewhere behind Drake.
They turned to see Laird MacLeod standing several paces away, staring at William, his expression hard. Kinsey’s stomach tightened. She wished she could say something, to stand up in defense of William and the defeat at Mabrick.
But it wasn’t her battle to fight, as was evidenced in William’s determined wide-legged stance and the note of resolve in his eyes.
William knew what was coming as he looked into his father’s stern face. Disappointment.
He strode toward Laird MacLeod, bracing for the slice of his words, reminding William of his many failures. This time, however, William would not let them cut.
Nor would he allow his father to lay the path for his future or declare Kinsey unfit. Nay, William would forgo the lairdship and continue life as a soldier for the king. And he would wed Kinsey.
Never again would William put himself in a position where he might lose her.
“William,” his father said again.
There was a tightness to his father’s voice. Unfamiliar.
If William were not so set in his determination, it might have given him pause. He stopped before Laird MacLeod, feet braced, determined to fight for the life he wanted with the woman he loved.
His father’s jaw flexed as if he were gritting his teeth. His brocade tunic was rumpled, as though he’d slept in it, and his hair and beard were in disarray. Never in William’s life had he seen the laird so unkempt.
“I’ve failed ye,” William said without sorrow. For he did not feel remorse, not when he and his men had tried so hard. Especially not with what he had almost lost.
His father’s chin trembled. “My lad.” His voice broke, and his gaze turned watery. “My son.” He opened his arms and pulled William against his broad chest. “Thanks be to God, ye’re safe.”
William went still with uncertainty. His father had never embraced him, never shown any sign of affection.
“I thought ye were gone,” the old man said. “I thought I lost ye, my son.” He leaned back and regarded William with a searching gaze. “Are ye well, lad? Are ye injured?”
William could only stare in reply. This man could not be his father.
“Why do ye suddenly show concern for me?” William asked bitterly. “Did the Campbells offer a wealthy dowry ye couldna turn down?”
His father shook his head. “I’ve always been concerned about ye. I’ve always cared.”
William pulled his father from the room to the hall, where they were blessedly alone. “Ye stopped caring. I’ve spent so much of my life hearing what a failure I am. What a disappointment.”
Laird MacLeod’s shoulders sagged, and wrinkles carved deep lines on his face. “’Tis a woman’s role to coddle a child. ’Tis a father’s responsibility to ensure his son grows up to be a man. I raised ye as my da raised me. It made ye work harder, be stronger.”
William gaped at his father incredulously. “It made me resent ye.”
His father winced.
“I dinna want to be laird.” A weight lifted from William’s chest at his admission. “I dinna want to wed a Campbell lass, or any other than Kinsey.”
“The archer?” Laird MacLeod gave a half-grin.
William narrowed his eyes.
“Why do ye no’ want to be laird?” his father demanded. “Because ye dinna want to lead yer people or because ye want to marry yer archer?”
“I dinna shy from leading my people,” William said with a conviction that resonated in his soul. “But I’ll no’ put aside love for a union with a woman’s dowry.”
His father’s eyes tensed with a familiar shrewdness. “If ye were allowed to wed her, would ye still want to be laird?”
“Aye.”