Chapter Thirty-Two
The Scot’s Vow
Ceit and Brin
Chapter Two
Aunt Brenna fixes Ceit’s wound.
Ceit hated to admit how pleased she was to finally come upon Ramsay land.
She agreed with Maitland and Dyna’s assessment.
She needed to go home to her dear Aunt Brenna, the best healer in the world.
Her aunt would talk softly the way she always did, settle her insides with just one look and her soothing voice.
The woman was amazing and was the only one she wanted stitching her wound, though she bet Aunt Brenna’s sister, Jennie Cameron, would be much the same.
She nearly fell off her horse when the shot of pain struck her, but she hung on, Dyna coming up on one side of her. “We’re nearly there. Ye can make it.”
“I will,” she said, fighting to keep her eyes open. She was exhausted and in pain. Would she be able to sleep?
“Once Aunt Brenna gives ye the first dose of the potion, ye willnae feel the stitches so much. And after the second dose, ye’ll be sound asleep. ’Tis by far the best way to heal.”
As they approached the gates, she recognized a few faces on horseback, here to escort the group to the stables. The chieftain, her cousin Torrian, hollered out, “Everyone is hale? Anyone need a healer?”
Maitland pointed to Ceit. “Just one. Minor wound, but she needs stitches.”
Her grandfather called out from his horse, “Good thing ye brought her back.”
Dyna glanced over at Ceit with a smug smile, “I knew we had to bring ye home. I dinnae care to have a target on my back from Uncle Logan.”
Ceit rolled her eyes, then moved through the gate and headed to the stables, her horse as happy to be here as she was. “I’m fine, Grandda.” She could feel the man’s astute gaze on her.
“What happened?” her mother called out as soon as she saw Ceit on her horse near the stables.
“Naught that matters much, Mama. I’m fine.” She supposed the blood on her leggings or the bandage on her leg made it appear otherwise.
“Doesnae look like ye are fine. Cailean!” She let out a roar and Ceit’s father came running.
“What is…? Never mind. I’ll carry her, Sorcha.
I can see why ye called for me.” The look on her poor father’s face nearly broke her heart.
His hair was braided on the sides, like he often wore it, just like Maitland’s.
It kept his hair from looking as if it were a total mess.
It was two shades darker than her mother’s golden waves, much like her own, but his green eyes looked exactly like hers.
Having two parents with green eyes made her own seem even richer, or so she thought.
“Papa, I’m fine. ’Tis just a wee scratch,” she pleaded. “I can walk on my own.” She dismounted and winced moments before her sire scooped her up into his strong arms.
“’Tis no scratch. Scratches dinnae leave yer leggings drenched with blood.”
“Papa…” she moaned.
“Cease yer arguing, lass. I’ll carry ye to yer Aunt Brenna’s.” The expression on her father’s face told her there would be no arguing about it.
Her grandsire came barreling down the path behind her, her grandmother approaching from the keep. “Sounds like yer sire has the right of it, Ceit MacAdam. I’ve seen wounds like that, and they are far from scratches.”
She scowled at her grandfather who narrowed his gaze at her. “Dinnae frown at me, lass,” he warned.
“Logan, would ye consider that she might be in some pain?” her grandmother chided. “Leave the wounded lass alone.”
Her father added, “I have her, Logan. I think Gwyneth gave the best advice. We’ll both have our say but not until after she sees Aunt Brenna.”
Her mother followed her father with their unified attack on her grandsire. “Papa, stay back, if ye please. Ye make everyone unsettled when ye start bellowing.”
“Sorcha, I’ll do as I wish!”
“Not with my daughter, ye’ll no’! Exactly as I said. Stop yelling,” her mother said, stopping to place her hands on her curvaceous hips. “Leave her be for now. Ye’ll have yer say later.”
Ceit nearly laughed when she caught the curve of her father’s lips. She whispered, “I saw that, Papa.”
“I love it when yer mother yells at her father. I admit it. She’s one of the few who dares to give it back to him.” He did his best to whisper, but his voice was too deep.
“I heard that, MacAdam.”
“If ye’d stay back as ye were instructed, ye would no’ have heard aught.”
Maitland ran ahead of the group arguing and held the door open to the keep for her sire. He whispered, “I’ll keep him back, Ceit.” Then he spun around and approached her grandsire. “Uncle Logan, I have a question for ye when ye have the time. ’Tis about the battle we just experienced.”
“If ye need my help, of course.”
“Many thanks from all of us, Maitland,” her grandmother called out as she closed the door to the keep behind her, leaving the two outside.
Aunt Brenna already stood in the doorway to the healing chamber, waiting for them.
“Tell me what happened, Ceit.”
“A sword to my thigh. We stopped the bleeding,” she explained as her father set her down on the table her aunt used most. Then he set a stool under her foot so she could extend her leg out far enough for her aunt to have a good look.
Aunt Brenna unwrapped the binding, tossing the bloodied fabric into a bin behind her. “Hmmm. It looks like a clean cut, but I think it still needs to be stitched.”
Cailean paled and looked at her mother. “Ye are in charge now.”
He left as fast as he could and her aunt whispered, “Was that fast enough for ye, Sorcha?”
Ceit glanced at her mother, oddly curious about the interchange. “What?”
“Yer sire nearly passes out if he sees anything to do with blood and his bairns. For me too. He canno’ handle it so Auntie sent him away before he could drop to the ground.”
“Every time,” Aunt Brenna declared with a smile. “Finally, he accepts it.”
Her grandmother entered next. “Did I hear ye mention blood and stitching, Brenna?” She wore the same grin Aunt Brenna did. “I see Cailean running outside. We all know what that means, especially when he turns that fine shade of green.”
“Works like a charm with that man. I will stitch, but first I must clean it.”
Ceit watched her dear aunt’s skilled hands as she gathered her tools, being careful to keep everything clean.
Thinking on the words of the woman who’d helped her near the Borderlands, she asked, “Why do ye keep everything so clean, Aunt Brenna? ’Tis no’ like there are any bugs walking on the surfaces. ”
“’Twas my mother’s way. She and her father tested it because she thought it to be so, but Grandda didnae believe her.
But they found the wounds that were cleaned carefully healed faster than the dirty wounds.
And they tested using clean hands too. They stayed with it and so have Jennie and I.
We believe it works better. Why do ye ask? ”
“Because the woman who helped bind my wound doesn’t believe in it, but she’d heard about yer beliefs.”
The door burst open and two strode in—Isla and Thea. “She will heal, Grandmama?” Thea asked.
“Aye, she’ll be fine.”
“Good,” said Isla, taking a seat across from her. “May I ask her a question, Grandmama?”
Ceit said, “Of course. I’m fine.”
“You missed,” Isla stated. “What happened?”
Ceit blushed, though she was not surprised. Her vision had dimmed on her once when she was fighting. “Nay, I found my mark.”
“Aye, but ye were always better than that. Ye hit the first in the arse. Reyna and I stopped him. Then yer next arrow missed completely.”
“But no’ the next one,” she argued, hating that her grandmother was listening. She hoped she hadn’t been paying attention.
Apparently her grandmother had, because her hands fisted on her thin hips before she yelled at the two. “Get out. Both of ye.”
“What?” Isla asked, looking at her grandmother for help. “But Aunt Gwyneth canno’ send me out. Grandmama, ’tis yer healing chamber and I wish to stay.”
Aunt Brenna stopped to stare at her granddaughter, pointing her finger at Isla.
“Dinnae look at me with such judgment. Isla, ye remind me of yer mother so much that it scares me, but listen to me. Ye are wrong to accuse someone who is about to be stitched, especially with a large gaping wound on the top of her leg. Ye think that doesnae hurt her? Go away. Save yer questions for later. Even yer mother knows better.”
Isla crossed her arms with a scowl, but Thea said, “My apologies, Ceit. Fare thee well. Leave her be, Isla. Grandmama is right. My mother would be verra upset with us.” Thea’s mother, Bethia, was Brenna’s eldest daughter.
The two departed, but it only took a moment for her grandmother to turn back around to her and ask, “So is it that ye can no longer shoot or is it yer eyes?”
“What do ye mean?” Ceit asked, hating being drawn into this conversation.
“Are ye going blind like me?”
Chapter Thirty-Two
Brenna isn’t there, but it’s all about her…
They married the next day, his mother insisting on making sure that his father would be hale for the day. After the wedding, the group gathered in the courtyard in front of Cameron Castle.
Ceit thought it a wondrous time to marry because there were so many of their extended family in attendance.
The entire patrol was there—Alaric, Tevis, Maitland, Willum, Wenna, Thea, Reyna, and Dyna.
Connor Grant and his soldiers—among them Alasdair, Alick MacNicol, and Drostan.
Many Ramsays—her grandparents, her parents, Gavin and Merewen, Gregor, and Torrian.
And of course all the Camerons who were grateful to have their clan and homes still standing and thrilled with their new chieftain. They danced and feasted grandly on pheasant, venison, lamb, and as many meat pies as the kitchen could prepare on short notice.
But her fondest memory was near the end of the night when the youngest of the group settled around the hearth chatting.