Chapter 36
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
Maighread was in the Great Hall reviewing supply manifests with the steward when chaos erupted at the gates.
Shouts. Screams. The sound of horses arriving in desperate haste.
She dropped the parchment and ran to the courtyard, her heart already hammering. What she saw stopped her cold.
Refugees. Dozens of them. Fleeing villagers on foot and horseback, carrying children, clutching bundles of possessions. Behind them, visible even from this distance, a red glow lit the night sky.
Fire.
"The villages," the steward whispered beside her, his face gone grey. "Saints above, they're burning."
A man staggered forward, his clothes singed, his face streaked with soot. "Please, we need shelter. Sinclair forces attacked. They came at dusk with torches and steel. We barely escaped."
"How many villages?" Maighread demanded, her mind already shifting into crisis mode.
"At least three. Maybe more. We were in the market when they hit. People scattered in every direction."
"Where's Tavish?" Maighread asked urgently.
"In the training yard," someone called. "We sent fer him when the first refugees arrived."
Maighread was already moving. "Get these people inside. Kathleen!" Her cousin appeared, taking in the chaos instantly. "Organize shelter and food. I want every able person assigned tae help."
She found Tavish in the training yard, already armed, already barking orders to gather men. His face was hard as granite when he saw her.
"How bad?" she demanded.
He turned, relief flashing across his features before the mask returned. "Bad. Coordinated attacks on at least three villages. Deliberate. Calculated."
"Casualties?"
"Dinnae ken yet. The survivors who made it here said people were fleeing intae the woods. Some stayed tae fight." His jaw clenched. "We need tae move now before it gets worse."
"How many men are ye taking?"
"Forty. Enough tae engage but nae so many that we leave the castle undefended."
Maighread's mind raced. "Ye'll need supplies. Medical supplies especially. And fresh horses at the halfway point if ye're riding hard."
"Aye. I've already—"
"I'll handle it." She turned toward the steward, who'd emerged from the kitchens. "Wake everyone. I want bandages, ointments, clean cloths, and food baskets ready within the hour. Send runners tae the stables tae prepare extra mounts."
The steward nodded and disappeared. Tavish caught her arm, his grip firm.
"Maighread—"
"Dinnae." Her voice was steel. "Dinnae tell me tae stay calm or that ye'll handle everything. Just tell me what ye need."
His expression shifted. "I need ye tae coordinate the defense here. Keep the castle secure. If this is a distraction and Sinclair tries something while I'm gone—"
"I'll handle it."
"And prepare space fer the wounded. We'll be bringing people back. Probably a lot of them."
"Already planned."
They stared at each other for a long moment. Around them, organized chaos swirled as men gathered weapons and horses stamped nervously.
"Be careful," Maighread said quietly.
"Always am."
"Liar."
His mouth curved briefly. Then he pulled her close and kissed her hard, fast, claiming. When he released her, his eyes were blazing.
"I'll come back tae ye," he said. "I promise."
"Ye better. We have a wedding in less than two days."
"Nothing will stop that. Nae Sinclair, nae war, nae anything."
He turned and strode toward his horse. Greg appeared beside him, already mounted, his expression grim. Tavish swung into the saddle with practiced ease. Maighread watched as he raised his arm and shouted, "Move out!"
The men rode through the gates in formation, torches bobbing in the darkness.
The sound of hooves thundered against stone, then faded as they disappeared down the road.
Silence fell over the courtyard. Maighread stood alone, her robe fluttering in the night breeze, and forced herself to breathe. Then she turned and went to work.
Within minutes, the castle transformed around her.
Maighread moved through the corridors issuing orders in a calm, steady voice that belied the fear coiling in her stomach.
Servants rushed past carrying linens and supplies.
She directed them toward the Great Hall, pointing out where tables needed to be cleared and space made for the injured.
"Set up stations along the far wall," Maighread told the head healer when the woman appeared, already gathering her tools. "We'll need clean water constantly. Someone should be assigned just tae keep it flowing."
"Aye, me lady."
"And send word tae the village. We'll need every person with healing knowledge. I dinnae care if they're official or just skilled. We need hands."
"It will be done."
Kathleen appeared at her elbow. "What dae ye need from me?"
"Help organize the supplies. Make sure we have enough of everything. If we run short of bandages, start tearing sheets."
"Consider it done."
They worked side by side, their movements efficient and synchronized.
Maighread had always admired how Kathleen never panicked, never questioned, just acted.
The Great Hall slowly transformed into a healing station, pallets laid out in rows, water buckets stationed at intervals, bandages stacked in neat piles.
"This was deliberate," Kathleen said quietly as they folded linens. "The timing. Right before the wedding."
"Aye. Keir wants tae force our hand. Make Tavish choose between defending the borders and marrying me."
"What will Tavish dae?"
"Both. Somehow." Maighread's hands stilled on the fabric. "He has tae."
Kathleen studied her face. "Ye're terrified."
"Wouldnae ye be?"
"Aye. But ye're hiding it well. The clan needs that right now. They need tae see ye strong."
Maighread resumed folding, her fingers moving automatically. "Then strong is what they'll see."
The work continued steadily as more servants arrived, moving quickly once they understood the urgency. Maighread directed them, assigning tasks and checking progress. Within the hour, everything was ready. The Great Hall stood transformed, waiting for the wounded that would surely come.
Messengers began arriving with updates about families seeking shelter, villages mobilizing their own defenses.
Maighread approved each request, organized housing, ensured food was distributed.
She moved constantly, never stopping, because stopping meant thinking and thinking meant imagining terrible things.
Around three in the morning, Kathleen caught her arm and steered her firmly toward the kitchens. "Ye need tae eat."
"I'm nae hungry."
"I dinnae care. Ye'll be useless if ye collapse." Kathleen pressed bread and cheese into her hands. "Eat."
Maighread ate mechanically, tasting nothing. Her mind kept circling back to Tavish riding into danger, to villages burning, to people dying while she stood safe behind castle walls. It was all her fault.
"Stop it," Kathleen said.
"Stop what?"
"Blaming yersel'. This isnae yer fault."
"If I'd just married Keir when the Council first suggested it—"
"Then ye'd be miserable and yer clan would be absorbed intae Sinclair control anyway. Keir daesnae want a wife. He wants territory. This was always going tae happen."
Maighread knew she was right. But it didn't make the guilt easier to carry. They returned to the Great Hall and she resumed her pacing, checking supplies again, adjusting pallets, doing anything to keep her hands and mind occupied. More bandages were prepared. More water hauled. More space cleared.
Dawn crept through the windows, painting everything grey and cold. Still no word. Maighread paced the length of the hall, her bare feet silent on stone.
"Me lady." A young servant approached hesitantly. "Should we prepare breakfast fer the household?"
"Aye. Keep it simple. Porridge and bread. People will need their strength."
The girl scurried away. Kathleen appeared with a blanket and draped it around Maighread's shoulders without comment. Only then did Maighread notice the cold seeping into her bones, the way her hands trembled slightly.
"How long has it been?" she asked.
"About seven hours."
"Too long. The villages are less than three hours' ride."
"Fighting takes time. So daes organizing survivors."
"Or he's injured. Or captured. Or—"
"Or he's doing exactly what ye'd expect him tae dae: saving everyone he can before returning." Kathleen's voice was firm. "Have faith."
Maighread wanted to. Desperately. But fear gnawed at her, whispering terrible possibilities. Around them, the castle slowly woke. More servants appeared, more guards took their positions. The healers checked their supplies again. Everything was ready. All they could do was wait.
The sun had fully risen when the shout came from the gates. "Riders approaching!"
Maighread's heart leaped. She ran to the courtyard, Kathleen close behind.
The gates swung open and horses poured through, some carrying double, others pulling makeshift litters.
Tavish rode at the front, his face streaked with soot and blood.
But he was upright. Alive. Relief hit her so hard she swayed.
Behind him came the wounded. Men, women, children. Some walking, some carried. Burns, cuts, broken bones. The smell of smoke clung to everything.
"Get them inside!" Maighread called, her voice cutting through the chaos. "Healers, tae yer stations!"
The courtyard erupted into organized movement.
Maighread directed traffic, pointing injured toward the Great Hall, sending others to secondary locations.
Her voice stayed steady even as her hands shook.
Tavish dismounted and immediately turned to help others.
He lifted a woman carefully from her horse, speaking quietly to her as he carried her toward the doors. Then he returned for more.
Maighread moved among the survivors, checking injuries, offering reassurance, guiding them inside.
A young boy clutched his mother's hand, eyes wide with terror.
An old man limped past, his leg crudely bandaged.
A woman sobbed into her hands. This was what Keir had done.
This suffering. This fear. Rage burned through Maighread's grief, but she pushed it down and kept working.
Tavish reappeared, this time carrying a small child. A girl, maybe three years old, clinging to his neck. Her face was tear-stained, her clothes filthy.
"Her maither's injured," Tavish said quietly as Maighread approached. "Badly. She's being brought in now."
"Where's the injury?"
"Burns on her arms and side. She tried tae shield the bairn when their cottage caught fire."
Maighread's throat tightened. "Bring them both tae the healer's station. I'll help."
They moved inside together, navigating through the crowd of wounded filling the space. Healers moved efficiently between pallets, and Tavish carried the girl to a quieter corner, setting her down gently. The child immediately began crying, her small voice piercing.
"Maither! I want me maither!"
"She's coming, wee one," Tavish said softly, kneeling beside her. "I promise. She's coming."
Two men carried the mother in on a litter moments later. She was conscious but clearly in agony, her arms wrapped in bloody cloth. When she saw her daughter, she tried to sit up.
"Nay, dinnae move," the healer commanded, rushing over. "Let us tend ye first."
"Me bairn—"
"Is safe," Maighread said, kneeling beside the pallet. "See? Right here. Unhurt."
The woman's eyes found her daughter and relief broke across her face. "Aisling. Oh, me sweet lass."
The girl scrambled toward her mother. Maighread caught her gently, feeling the child's desperation. "Easy, love. Yer maither is hurt. We need tae be careful."
"I want tae hold her," the woman whispered, tears streaming down her soot-stained face.
Maighread glanced at the healer, who nodded reluctantly. "Briefly. Then we must work."
Maighread lifted the child carefully and placed her beside her mother, helping her avoid the burned areas. The woman wrapped one arm around her daughter and buried her face in the girl's hair, sobbing. Tavish stood nearby, watching with an expression that made Maighread's chest ache.
After a moment, Maighread gently extracted the child. "Come, Aisling. Let the healers help yer maither. We'll stay right here where she can see us, aye?"
The girl nodded, sniffling. Maighread settled her on her lap, smoothing back tangled hair while the healers began their work. The child was small and warm against her, trembling occasionally. Tavish knelt beside them, his presence solid and reassuring.
"Ye're very brave, Aisling," he said softly. "Yer maither is proud of ye."
"Will she be alright?" the child whispered.
"These healers are the best in the Highlands. They'll take good care of her."
"Promise?"
Tavish met Maighread's eyes over the girl's head. "Aye. I promise."
They stayed like that while the healers worked, Maighread holding the child, Tavish close beside them, murmuring quiet reassurances whenever Aisling whimpered.
The girl's crying gradually quieted to hiccups, then to exhausted silence as she watched her mother being tended.
Around them, the Great Hall buzzed with activity, but their corner felt strangely peaceful.
Finally, the healer stepped back, wiping her hands. "She'll recover. The burns are serious but nae life-threatening. She needs rest and careful tending, but she'll heal."
The mother had fallen into an exhausted sleep, her breathing even despite the pain. Maighread shifted the girl slightly in her arms.
"Ye can sit with her now," Maighread told Aisling gently. "She's sleeping, but she'll want tae see ye when she wakes."
The child nodded and Maighread helped her crawl over to curl against her mother's uninjured side.
The woman's arm instinctively tightened around her daughter even in sleep.
Maighread and Tavish remained kneeling there for another moment, watching mother and child together, safe and healing, before quietly moving away to help tend to the others who needed them.