Chapter 16
Domnhall opened his eyes to someone shaking him awake. He grumbled something unintelligible even to himself, narrowing his eyes at the torch light that poured into the room from the hallway.
He didn’t know what kind of dream he was having before he was woken—he only knew it had been a good one, and in that moment, he hated whoever it was that was trying to pull him out of such a comfortable sleep.
“Domnhall!”
Hugo’s voice was too loud next to his ear, and Domnhall blinked his eyes open, looking around him as he tried to remember where he was. Next to him, Billie was sitting up, the covers wrapped tightly around her shoulders, squinting at Hugo’s shadowed form.
“What is it?” Domnhall asked, pushing himself up to his elbow. “What time is it?”
“Early,” Hugo said. “Come quickly. There’s been an attack.”
That was more than enough to wake Domnhall fully, and he jumped out of bed, unashamed by his nudity. After all, it was nothing Hugo hadn’t seen before, and he had more important matters to tend to than his modesty.
“What kind o’ attack?” he asked as he gathered his clothes, dressing hastily. “How did I nae hear it?”
“They were quiet,” Hugo said. “No one heard. No one knew until we saw the wounded men. There’s a dozen of them, the ones who were guarding the walls. We can’t be certain another attack won’t come.”
“I will help,” Billie called from the bed, but she couldn’t stand before Hugo left. “I will help with the wounded. Where are they?”
“The great hall,” Hugo said. “Elsea is already there, I believe.”
A part of Domnhall wanted to tell Billie to stay where she was, since she would be safer there. But he knew that no matter what he told her; she wouldn’t listen. She wasn’t the kind of person to sit back and watch while others risked their lives, and she would surely want to help the wounded men. Forbidding her from doing so would be cruel.
Besides, she would be safe in the great hall, too. Domnhall would make sure it would be well-guarded against any attack.
Giving her a nod, Domnhall smoothed his clothes down against his body and followed Hugo out of the room. Now that the two of them were walking down the castle corridors, he could hear his soldiers as they rushed around the grounds, fortifying the castle and tightening the security.
“Is it Ferguson?” Domnhall asked, though he couldn’t imagine who else it could be. He was the only real enemy he had so far, the only one who continued to threaten him so relentlessly.
“We believe it is,” Hugo said. “We don’t know how many men he has, but it seems his attacks are small and targeted. I don’t think he is trying to attack the castle, Domnhall.”
“Then what?” Domnhall asked, just as the two of them reached the castle doors and stepped out into the courtyard. Laird Robertson was already there, a sword in his hand, yelling out orders. In the orange glow of the torches, he looked like the kind of leader Domnhall wanted to be—reassuring, strong, and unwavering.
“I don’t know,” Hugo admitted. “He hasn’t made his intentions clear, I’m afraid. But it seems to me that if he wished to attack the castle, he would have done so with a larger force. We haven’t managed to track any of the men who attacked. They must have been few enough to flee quickly, without anyone seeing them.”
“A distraction, then?” Domnhall asked, though he couldn’t possibly think of a reason why Ferguson would want to distract him. What was it that he was planning? What was he trying to do?
“Perhaps,” Hugo said. “I have assembled a team of men who are looking for the attackers. There are guards patrolling the walls inside and outside, and many more patrolling the grounds. I have also arranged for the council to be notified and to meet you in your study.”
Domnhall nodded. “Thank ye, Hugo. Ye can tell them I’ll be there shortly.”
Before he could meet his council, he had to meet his men, his soldiers, the ones who risked the most to keep the castle safe. Until that was done, he refused to go back to the safety of his study, to his plans, to the talks that, though important, meant little in the face of death.
Once Domnhall and Hugo were gone, Billie jumped out of bed, dressed, and rushed down to the great hall. The remnants of the feast were still there, platters of food and cups of wine strewn about the tables, the mess neglected in favor of the wounded men. Someone had cleared some space at the far end of the room and had laid the twelve soldiers there, and Elsea, Keira, and Abigail were tending to them, making sure to take care of those who needed them most first.
Keira, too, was a skilled healer. Evangeline had taught her all she knew when Keira had moved to live with her, Iain, Cormac and Ellair at MacThomas Keep, so Billie was relieved her sister was there to help. Even Abigail, who didn’t know much about the craft, was doing her best to clean the wounds and calm the soldiers. That was what she did best: soothe them with her soft voice, reassuring them that everything would be fine.
Billie ran over to them, pushing her sleeves up and out of the way. “Elsea, what can I dae?”
“Ach, Billie, it’s good that ye’re here,” Elsea said, as she led her to one of the men on the floor. “Here, Angus was wounded on his thigh. We need tae stop the bleedin’.”
As she spoke, Elsea gave Billie everything she would need to take care of Angus’ wound. Billie crouched down next to him and looked at his thigh, covered as it was in his blood. It was difficult to see how deep the wound was until she washed it and wiped off as much of the blood as she could. Thankfully, it was not deep enough to be life-threatening, but without proper care, she knew it wouldn’t heal properly.
As she worked on the wound, Angus did his best to stay still, but he was in too much pain. He was a young man, perhaps a few years younger than her, and Billie couldn’t help but feel a pang in her chest at seeing him suffer like that.
“Forgive me fer hurtin’ ye,” she told him. “It’s only fer a while longer, I promise.”
“It’s alright, me lady,” Angus said, clenching his teeth so he would hold back his pained groans. “Dinnae fash about me.”
Billie wanted to argue that it was her job to worry about him and everyone else in the clan, but she was too focused on taking care of the wound to respond. She made sure to stop the bleeding, then apply a salve and dress it well so that there would be little risk of infection, and by the time she was done, Angus had at least calmed down a little.
Around her, the maids helped Elsea and Keira as they took care of those who were severely wounded. Rushing to Elsea, Billie heard her speak with a maid.
“Dae ye ken what those flowers are?” she asked. “Dae ye ken where tae find them? We have some in the gardens.”
“I dae,” Billie said, recognizing the flower Elsea was holding in her hand. “I’ll go. It will be easier fer me tae find it in the dark.”
She had spent enough time in the gardens, looking at all the flowers and herbs to know precisely where she had to go. Even in the dark, it wouldn’t take her more than a few minutes to gather everything they needed.
“Ye dae?” Elsea asked. “Thank ye, Billie. Bring me some lavender an’ calendula as well if ye can.”
Nodding firmly, Billie grabbed a spare bucket and rushed out of the room. The courtyard was full of men, all of them listening to a speech Domnhall was giving, but she didn’t have the luxury of time. She couldn’t stay and listen. Instead, she ran to the gardens, taking care to watch where she stepped in the dark. It would do no good, she thought, to injure herself when everyone was so busy with the wounded men. How could she help others if she was hurt?
The gardens were much quieter than the rest of the courtyard. Tucked at the back of the castle, they were mostly neglected by the men, who had all gathered around Domnhall or patrolled the walls and the building itself, but Billie quickly found her way to the flowers. They were exactly where she remembered them being, and she began to gather as much as she could with her bare hands, as she had neglected to bring a knife with her.
It was only when she heard a strange sound that she stopped and turned to look. In the darkness, she could see very little, the sky still pitch black and the moon too small to provide any real illumination. For a moment, she thought that perhaps she had imagined it, or it had been nothing more than a bunny or a bird or another small, harmless animal.
But she couldn’t shake the feeling that someone was watching her from the shadows. No matter how much she tried to convince herself she was alone and her fear was nothing but a product of her imagination, she was convinced there was someone there, lurking just out of sight.
Standing slowly, Billie narrowed her eyes and tried to see if she could make out even just a shadow. She walked slowly, trying to keep an eye all around her in case someone attacked, but no matter how much she looked, she couldn’t see anything.
Reassured for the moment, she turned back to the task at hand. She gathered some lavender, tucking their sprigs in the folds of her dress, and then moved on to the calendula blossoms.
Just as she was about to finish, though, she heard footsteps behind her. Before she could scream or try to call out to one of the soldiers, a hand was pressed firmly over her mouth, silencing her. Billie struggled against the man who captured her, trying to kick him, swinging both her legs and her arms in a vain attempt to hit him, at least hard enough to make him let go. It didn’t take long for another pair of hands to grab her, though, his time gripping her ankles with such force that she was certain her skin would bruise. There were at least four men around her, she noticed, but that didn’t deter her. Bucking and writhing, she did her best to escape their hold.
“Make her stop,” one of the men whispered, his voice coming from somewhere in front of her. “I can hardly hold her while she’s movin’ like this!”
“What dae ye want me tae dae?” another asked. “Just… hold her still!”
“I cannae!”
A sigh from behind her. Just as she thought the men would reveal themselves to the guards, another approached her. His footsteps were heavy and slow, and when he came close enough, Billie froze in terror. In his hand, he held his sword, and her blood ran cold at the thought that he would plunge it through her, killing her instantly.
It didn’t occur to her in that nebulous terror to think that they needed her alive. All she could see was the slight glint of the blade under the soft moonlight, and then the man’s cold gaze as he raised the sword in the air.
There was no escape for Billie—that much she knew. She could neither scream nor run, and she certainly couldn’t fight so many men. Even if they hadn’t immobilized her like this, it would still have been impossible. Her only hope was someone noticing them and rushing to her rescue, but all the men were in the courtyard still. Who could possibly hear them in the commotion or see them in the shadows?
She watched the sword come down as if time had slowed, but it didn’t pierce her. Instead, its hilt connected with her head, a dull thud ringing in her ears as pain spread over her skull, radiating outwards from the point of impact. In those few moments, it hurt more than any other injury she had ever had—the childhood scrapes and bruises she would occasionally get—but then darkness enveloped her, and the last thing she felt was her body going limp and helpless.