Chapter 19 #2
“Ye made one mistake, ye know,” Struan murmured, not specifying who he was speaking to. By the way Keir’s gaze rested on Una, she knew that he thought it was her Struan was speaking to.
“Ye see,” Struan continued, lifting his sword and catching Una’s eye, “I know that my father never loved me at all. He never did, not truly. My father does not love me, but she does.”
Keir’s eyes widened, but it was too late.
Struan’s sword whizzed through the air towards him.
The older man lifted his sword, but it was a little too late.
Struan’s blade struck his head neatly off his shoulders.
Keir’s body jerked grotesquely, then crumbled, his head rolling away into the shadows. Una was glad she couldn’t see it.
Struan seized her hand and dragged her away from the edge. Una glanced over her shoulder but couldn’t spot Kai. Had he seen what had happened? Had he been struck down, killed? She prayed not.
“It’s not over,” Struan whispered urgently, snatching up Keir’s sword and pressing it into her palm. “The Dicksons are retreating, but the fight isn’t over yet.”
Una gave a sharp nod. She felt giddy, like she’d been spun round and round in circles without letup.
Did I think that Struan was going to kill me?
Her answer presented itself at once.
No. I never did.
Together, they turned grimly to face the column of Dickson soldiers, swords raised.
Una reached out, blindly searching for Struan’s hand. It was warm and slick with blood, but he squeezed back.
“I love ye,” Struan said bluntly, his gaze fixed on the enemies ahead of them. “I’m sorry it took me so long to see it.”
She gave a snort. “Pretty words, but now isn’t the time.”
“Later, then?”
She caught his eye and grinned. “Later.”
It was daybreak, or just before, by the time the Dickson army finally collected itself enough to retreat, separating into two distinct groups and fleeing in opposite directions.
The advancing army sent troops after them, although the Dicksons were moving fast, and it was considered likely that many of them would escape.
Una tried not to think about that. She and Struan trudged, hand in hand, through the bloodied courtyard. Already, the bodies were being hauled out to be buried or burnt, Grahame and Dickson alike.
What was the death count? Nobody had said yet, but Una hated to imagine it.
She thought of all the nervous young men, Keep sentries who’d never expected to fight.
She thought of the determined women of all ages, leaving children and aged parents safe in the Keep itself, picking up weapons that they'd never used to defend their home.
How many of them had fallen? How many had fallen before they knew that the Kenneth and Grahame armies were returning, coming to save them? Her heart ached to think about it. Glancing up at Struan, she saw that his expression was still and pensive.
I know that my father never loved me at all. That was what he had said, and she’d read the truth of it in his face. It was something that Kyla had accepted years ago—the reality that their father, the monstrous Laird Dickson, could never love anybody, not truly.
She suspected that Struan had clung to the hope that his father loved him for longer than he should.
My father does not love me, but she does.
Her heart warmed with every memory of that. Love was a funny thing, after all. It crept up when you weren't expecting it and left no room at all for hatred.
Freya stood at the doorway of the Keep, watching the carnage. Her face was ashen. Her eyes lit up when she saw Una, but her smile faded when she saw that Una was holding Struan’s hand.
Una found herself with the urge to whisk her hand away, like a child caught stealing sweets, but she pushed past it.
Let them see.
Brendan stood beside his wife, and his eyes widened when he saw Struan. Rushing towards him, he knocked the sword abruptly out of Struan’s hand. The weapon went clattering across the cobbles.
“Who let him hold a sword for so long?” he snarled. “This man is dangerous. If Thomas were not off checking on Kyla, he’d agree.”
Before Una could speak up, somebody else did.
“He’s no enemy,” Kai stated, striding up behind them.
He looked exhausted, his shoulders slumped, but he still walked tall.
He met Una’s eyes and gave a brief nod. “I watched him save my sister. That Dickson captain offered him a chance to return, to redeem himself. I saw it, and I know what I saw. And he refused to take it. He risked his own life for us all when we didn’t even trust him. I consider him an ally.”
Brendan flinched, visibly surprised. He glanced over at Freya, who lifted her eyebrows.
“Well,” Brendan murmured, clearing his throat. “That surprises me. I’ll withhold judgment, I suppose, but I’ll be watching ye, Struan Dickson.”
Struan gave a tired smile. “I’d expect no less.”
His hand tightened in hers, and Una realized with a jolt that he was nervous. He was afraid. He glanced down at her, and when their eyes met, his grip slackened, just a little.
“What happens now?” Una forced herself to ask. Her voice was hoarse, her throat raw as if she’d been screaming at the top of her voice for hours. Maybe she had. “After this victory—”
“Victory?” Freya interrupted, shaking her head. “Nay, lass, this is no victory. Not yet. Aye, we’ve driven off the Dicksons for now, but they’ll regroup. Laird Dickson will be raging. We have to prepare, all of us. One way or another, this will end.”
Una nodded, swallowing. “I… I would like to go to the convent to see the Abbess. Once the wounded are cared for and the dead buried, that is.”
Brendan glanced at his wife, and she gave a nod.
“Very well,” Brendan answered. “Will ye go together?”
Una glanced up at Struan just as he glanced down. Their eyes met, and a warmth spread through her chest.
This is only the beginning, she thought. I need to learn who Struan Dickson truly is, beneath the layers of cruelty his father instilled in him. I imagine that Struan needs to learn, too. But with time and patience, we'll get there.
If we have time left on this earth, of course.
“Together,” she said firmly.
Struan smiled, a soft, happy smile that Una was still not used to seeing.
“Aye,” he whispered, nodding. “Together.”