Chapter 8 The Memory Of Fire
The Memory Of Fire
The Following Day
“Well, I wish I had better news for ye all,” Brendan said finally, drumming his thick fingers on the circular council table. “But things are getting worse.”
A ripple of murmuring ran around the room.
The table was full of council members, all stuffed in shoulder to shoulder alongside army captains, envoys from various clans, and even a nun, doubtless one of the Abbess’ emissaries.
The nun sat calmly and quietly, hands tucked in her sleeves.
There was standing room only around the table, with Senga left to lean against the wall with a handful of other healers.
Brendan sat directly opposite Freya, who looked equally grim. Whatever news had caused Brendan to summon them all there, Freya already knew it.
Almost without thinking, Senga sought out Noah. There he was, at Brendan’s right-hand side. He was already looking at her, but when their eyes met, his gaze immediately swiveled away.
“Laird Dickson has resumed his attacks,” Brendan continued.
“He’s been using his allied lairds to carry out his dirty work.
It’s the usual suspects: Urquhart, Strafford, Murray, Jame, men like that.
The ones whose clans are too small to do much, but when they all join together, they can be dangerous. ”
Senga tensed at the mention of Murray. Her father. Of course he was still siding with Laird Dickson. That would never change.
“Like a pack of terriers,” Freya suggested shortly. “Not as dangerous as a great hunting hound, but that’s not to say they won’t do damage.”
“Agreed,” Brendan sighed. “Well, here’s the situation.
A village on the border between our lands and Kenneth lands has been attacked.
A survivor ran here, with our Keep being the closest. Soldiers attacked it, and they’re without help.
My guess is that Laird Dickson assumed that being on the border, we couldn’t get there in time to ward them off.
And he was right, but we’ll offer help now.
” He paused, nodding towards a thin man in Kenneth tartan.
“We’re closest, and this is an attack from a mutual enemy.
Tell Laird and Lady Kenneth that we will help. ”
The Kenneth envoy inclined his head. “Thank ye, m’Laird.”
“I’ll prepare a troop of men,” Noah spoke up, his expression heavy and grim. “We can investigate and bring food, medicine, and perhaps a few healers along. We can be there in a few hours if we hurry.”
Brendan nodded. “A fine idea. Take only volunteers.”
“Aye, m’Laird.”
Volunteers. Senga felt a prickling in her chest. Drawing in a breath, she took a step forward, as best she could in a crowded room.
“I would like to go, my Laird.”
They all glanced her way. Brendan inspected her approvingly and glanced over at his wife.
Freya gave him an almost imperceptible nod, and Brendan flashed a smile.
“Thank ye, Senga. We’d be glad to have ye along. Choose which healers ye want to bring. It’s hard to say how many we need, but we don’t want to deplete our own infirmary. Take four or five.”
“Just a moment,” Noah spoke up, leaning forward. He did not look at Senga, keeping his eyes fixed on Brendan. “I’m not sure that is wise.”
Brendan’s eyebrows shot up. “Why not? Senga is a talented healer.”
“Aye, I would not disagree on that, but we must remember that she has spent her life hidden away in a convent. This trip could be dangerous. Travel is—”
“Ye think I have not seen my fair share of danger?” Senga interrupted tightly.
Anger flared inside her, making her vision shake. How dare he?
The room had gone quiet, uneasily so. Noah shifted uncomfortably, finally dragging his gaze up from the table to meet hers.
Unwanted heat blossomed in her chest when he looked at her. Senga tightened her jaw until her teeth squeaked. Why did she still have to love him, even after all this time?
The kiss had indeed been a mistake. It was far too late to take it back, though. Far too late.
“I did not mean to say that ye have never seen danger,” Noah said quietly, at long last. “I only meant that perhaps ye are needed more here.”
“I want to go. I believe I can do good. The Grahame infirmary is full of fine healers. Let me go.”
She met Brendan’s gaze, waiting for him to make his decision.
Brendan took a moment before responding, fingers drumming on the tabletop again. He met Freya’s eyes once more, something unspoken passing between them.
“Ye can go, Senga,” he said at last. “I believe ye are right. Yer skills are needed out there.”
A muscle jumped in Noah’s jaw, but he said nothing.
“Senga. Senga, wait!”
She froze at Noah’s voice. Bluebell turned her head, mildly curious. Perhaps she recognized Noah’s voice, too.
They were nearly ready to depart. Senga’s horse was the last one to be brought out of the stables, saddled and ready to go. The other healers had gone into the stables to pack their medicines and supplies in the saddlebags, which meant that Senga was the last one to get ready.
A large group of Grahame men waited by the gates. Noah should have been at the head of them, not hurrying towards her with a grim look in his eyes.
“What is it?” Senga asked, trying to keep her voice even. She kept replaying the kiss over and over in her mind, as she had ever since it happened.
“Are ye truly serious about coming out with us?” Noah asked, glancing warily over the saddled horse.
“Of course I am.”
“Yer father is out there. It could be…”
“Don’t ye tell me that it could be dangerous,” Senga burst out, rounding on him. “I am not afraid of danger. I’ve had enough danger in my life to last me a lifetime, so I can assure ye that I know what I am getting into.”
He stared at her for a moment, brow furrowed. “Ye really mean it. Ye really mean to do this to me.”
She met his gaze squarely. “I do. I am not doing this to ye. I am doing it for them.” She jerked her chin, indicating beyond the Keep walls. “I am doing it for the folks who need our help. The folks who need my help. Do ye understand?”
“I suppose so,” he responded tightly and turned on his heel, striding away to take his place at the head of his troops.
Senga watched him go, worrying her lower lip. A moment too late, she found herself wondering what he’d meant when he’d said ye mean to do this to me.
It didn’t matter, not right now. She hastily turned back to Bluebell, and continued packing. There was no doubt in her mind that if she wasn’t packed and ready to go by the time they left, they’d leave her behind.
They reached the village several hours later.
That was several hours of tedious travel, in the rain, with the sky iron-gray above them and the earth slippery and muddy beneath them.
They traveled too fast for Senga to catch her breath or rest at all, but not fast enough to cover the ground at too great a speed.
The healers were placed in the middle of the group, protected and flanked by the soldiers. That meant that Senga and her fellow healers huddled miserably in their saddles, clutching their sodden cloaks tightly around them, not speaking to each other.
Noah led the way, of course, but she could hardly see him through the haze of rain.
Quite without warning, the whole troop halted.
Senga peered up, blinking rain out of her eyes, and pushed back her hood.
The rain had faded to a bleak drizzle, enough to keep them wet but not enough to risk washing away the road entirely.
However, thick mist had begun to creep down from the hills, rolling onto their pathway and blurring the line between sky and earth.
The rain stung her eyes, and she blinked hard to keep the rain out.
“We’re here, looks like,” one of the healers commented. “Not that ye can see a thing.”
At that moment, a low, strange sound came rolling out of the mist. Senga’s skin prickled.
“What in heaven’s name is that?” a soldier muttered, craning his neck to see.
One of the older healers, a heavily wrinkled woman who’d dragged behind for most of the way, lifted her head.
“It’s a grieving wail,” she stated flatly. “That’s the cry of someone who has lost everything but their life and finds that they don’t even want that anymore.”
Senga clenched her jaw. The order to move forward had not been given, but she urged her horse onward anyway, pushing through the soldiers.
“Stay here,” she instructed the other healers, glancing over her shoulder. “I’m just going to see what’s ahead.”
The soldiers, to her surprise, moved aside to let her through. She trotted out through the front line and found that Noah had dismounted. His horse stood, riderless, cool and placid, unbothered by the swirling, dripping mist.
Swallowing, Senga slid down from her saddle too.
“Stay,” she instructed Bluebell. Bluebell stared back at her with faint amusement. Senga took a tentative step forward, and then she saw him.
Noah stood where the village gates had been.
It seemed that the village had built a high fence around their homes, no doubt to protect them from passing raiders and attacks like these.
The tops of the fences were sharp, wickedly so.
Perhaps the fence had kept them safe before. It hadn’t saved them this time, though.
The wooden gates were smashed in, lying broken on the ground.
The village had been burned in most places.
The outline of blackened shells loomed through the mist, the remains of what were once happy, cheerful houses.
She could see lumps and black shapes scattered here and there and realized with a jolt that they were bodies.
Some were burned, some weren’t. Smoke still curled up from some ruined houses, but the blaze had long been quenched by the rain and mist. However, the memory of fire still clung to the place.
The wail rang out again, and Senga finally saw where it was coming from.