Chapter 34
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
"Mhairi!"
He spun toward where he'd last seen Mhairi, his heart hammering against his ribs so hard it hurt.
Through the chaos of fleeing soldiers and screaming villagers, he spotted her.
A man, one of Ashcombe's remaining soldiers, had her by the arm, dragging her toward a horse at the edge of the square.
"Get yer bloody hands off her!"
Alpin's roar cut through the noise.
He charged forward, shoving aside anyone in his path. The man looked back, saw him coming, and tried to move faster.
Too late.
Alpin's sword came down in a brutal arc, catching the bastard across the shoulder.
The man screamed and let go of Mhairi, stumbling backward. Alpin kicked him hard in the chest, sending him sprawling, then drove his blade through the man's throat before he could rise.
Mhairi stood frozen, her grey eyes wide with shock, her dress torn and bloodied.
"Come here." Alpin dropped his sword and reached for her. "Come here now."
She stumbled forward and he caught her, pulling her hard against his chest. His arms locked around her, one hand cradling the back of her head, the other wrapped tight around her waist.
She was shaking, trembling like a leaf in a storm, and he could feel her rapid heartbeat against his own.
"I've got ye," he said into her hair. "I've got ye, lass. Ye're safe now."
"Alpin." Her voice broke on his name. Her fingers clutched at his blood-soaked tunic, holding on like he was the only solid thing in the world. "He was goin' tae take me, he was goin' tae..."
"Nay. He's dead. They're all dead or runnin'." Alpin pulled back just enough to look at her face, his hands coming up to cup her cheeks. "Are ye hurt? Did they hurt ye?"
"Nay, I just... the children, I need tae check on the children."
"The children are fine. Kenina has them." He brushed his thumbs across her cheekbones, wiping away dirt and tears. "Breathe, Mhairi. Just breathe."
She nodded jerkily, her chest heaving as she tried to slow her panicked breaths. Around them, the sounds of battle were fading. Swords clashed in the distance, but there in the square, an eerie quiet was settling over the dead and wounded.
A horn sounded. Three short blasts.
Victory.
"We won?" Mhairi's voice was small, disbelieving.
"Aye." Alpin pressed a kiss to her forehead, then her temple, then her mouth. Quick, desperate kisses that said what words couldn’t. "We won."
Villagers began emerging from where they'd hidden.
Women first, clutching children to their chests, their eyes wide and fearful as they took in the carnage. Then the older men, those too weak to fight but strong enough to protect, carrying makeshift weapons and looking like they'd aged ten years in the past hour.
Alpin forced himself to let go of Mhairi, though everything in him wanted to keep holding her, to never let her out of his sight again.
"Stay close tae me," he said.
She nodded, her hand finding his and squeezing tight.
They moved through the square together. Alpin's mind shifted into the cold, methodical space it always went after a battle.
Assess. Organize.
"Callum!" He spotted his second near the barricades. "Status!"
Callum jogged over, blood streaked across his face from a cut above his eye. "Perimeter's secure, me laird. Most of Ashcombe's men retreated when he fell. We've captured twelve, killed maybe twenty more."
"Our casualties?"
"Four dead. Another eight wounded, two of them serious." Callum's jaw tightened. "Could've been worse."
Could've been so much worse. But four dead was four too many. Four families destroyed. Four people who'd trusted him to keep them safe.
"Get the wounded tae the healer," Alpin said. "And I want those prisoners secured and questioned. I need tae ken if there are more soldiers comin', and I need tae ken now."
"Aye, me laird." Callum hesitated, his gaze flickering to Mhairi. "Glad tae see ye're both safe."
"Go," Alpin said, but his voice was gentler. "We'll talk after."
Callum nodded and turned away, already shouting orders to the men nearby.
Mhairi's hand was still in his, her grip almost painfully tight. He glanced down at her and saw she was watching the villagers emerge, her eyes tracking every movement.
"I need tae help," she said suddenly. "The children, I need tae..."
"Aye." He understood. She needed to do something, needed to feel useful instead of helpless. "Go. But if ye ken where tae find me. Understand?"
"I understand." She rose on her toes and kissed his cheek, quick and fierce. Then she was gone, weaving through the crowd toward where Kenina stood surrounded by a cluster of sobbing children.
Alpin watched her go, something tight and painful lodged in his chest. She was alive. She was whole. And by God, he was never letting anyone take her from him again.
"Me laird!"
One of his warriors approached, a young lad named Dougal who couldn’t have been more than nineteen. The boy's face was pale, his hands shaking as he gestured toward the far side of the square.
"There's fires," Dougal said. "Three cottages. We're tryin' tae put them out but it isnae workin’."
"Show me."
Alpin followed Dougal through the crowd, stepping over bodies and scattered weapons. The smell of smoke grew stronger with every step, mixing with the copper tang of blood and the acrid stench of fear.
Three cottages were burning, flames licking up the walls and consuming the thatched roofs. Villagers had formed a bucket line from the well, passing water hand to hand, but it wasn’t enough. The fires were spreading too fast.
"Pull back!" Alpin ordered. "Get everyone away from those buildings. Let them burn."
"But me laird, the Mackinnons live in that one, and..."
"And they're already out, I saw them earlier." Alpin grabbed a bucket from the nearest person and threw the water on a building that hadn’t caught yet, one that still had a chance. "We save what we can. The rest we let go."
It went against every instinct to watch homes burn. But sending people into those infernos wouldn’t save the cottages, it would only create more bodies to bury.
They worked for what felt like hours but was probably only minutes. Bucket after bucket, throwing water on roofs and walls, beating back flames with wet blankets.
Alpin's arms burned, his lungs filled with smoke, but he kept going. Kept moving. Kept fighting even though the battle was over.
Finally, the fires were either out or contained to buildings they'd already lost. Alpin stepped back, coughing hard, his eyes stinging from the smoke.
"Me laird." It was Peadar, limping toward him with one hand pressed to his side. Blood seeped between his fingers.
"Christ, ye're hurt."
"I've had worse." Peadar's mouth twisted in something that might've been a smile if it hadn’t been so pained. "Graham’s got away."
Alpin's hands curled into fists. "What?"
"I wounded him. Got him across the ribs, deep enough that he'll be pissin' blood fer a week. But his men pulled him out before I could finish it." Peadar's eyes were dark with frustration. "I'm sorry. I should've..."
"Nay." Alpin gripped Peadar's shoulder, careful to avoid the injury. "Ye did what ye could. And a wounded Graham is better than nay information at all. He'll need a healer, which means he'll need tae go somewhere safe. We can track him."
"If he survives the wound."
"He'll survive. Bastards like him always dae." Alpin looked around the square, takin' in the destruction. Bodies. Rubble. Smoke rising into the dawn sky.
Peadar coughed, winced, and pressed harder on his side. "Ashcombe?"
"Dead."
"Good." There was fierce satisfaction in that single word. "The world's better without him in it."
Alpin couldn’t argue with that.
"Get yerself tae the healer," he said. "That wound needs seein' tae."
"In a moment. First, I need tae ken what ye're plannin'. Dae we pursue Graham or..."
"We secure what's ours first." Alpin's voice was hard, final. "Then we hunt him down like the animal he is."
Peadar nodded slowly, then turned and limped away, still holding his side.
Alpin stood alone in the center of the square for a moment, lettin' himself feel the weight of it all. The dead. The wounded. The homes lost. This village would recover, but the scars would remain. On the buildings. On the people.
On him.
"Alpin!"
Mhairi's voice cut through his dark thoughts. He turned and saw her running toward him, her skirts held high, her face streaked with soot and tears. Behind her, a small cluster of children followed, clinging to each other.
"What's wrong?"
"Naethin's wrong." She stopped in front of him, breathless. "We've counted all the children. They're all accounted fer. Every single one."
Relief hit him so hard he nearly staggered. "Ye're certain?"
"Aye.” Her hand found his again, squeezing. "We didnae lose a single bairn."
Thank God.
Thank every bloody saint and angel.
"That's because of ye," he said quietly. "Ye kept them safe."
"We kept them safe." She looked up at him, her grey eyes fierce despite the tears. "All of us. Taegether."
Around them, the village was slowly coming back to life.
Men were moving bodies, covering them with blankets or cloaks until they could be properly buried. Women were tearing fabric into bandages, boiling water, preparing to tend the wounded. And through it all, there was a strange, fragile sense of... survival.
They'd made it. They'd won.
But at what cost?
The sun was rising higher now, casting long shadows across the square. Alpin could feel exhaustion pulling at him, dragging at his bones, but he couldn’t stop yet.
There was too much to do.
"Ye need tae rest," Mhairi said softly. She'd moved closer, her shoulder pressing against his arm. "Ye're exhausted."
"I'm fine."
"Ye're a terrible liar." But there was fondness in her voice, not accusation. "At least sit down fer a moment. Please."
She was right. He could feel his hands shaking, could feel the crash that always came after battle starting to set in. But if he sat down now, he might not get back up.