Chapter 8 #2
He disappeared inside. The seconds that followed seemed longer than the years of war. Donaldina stepped farther into the flood before Hamish seized her arm.
“He will bring them out.”
“Ye dinnae ken that.”
Hamish’s grip tightened. “I ken him.”
Then Roy emerged. A small girl clung to his neck, both arms locked around him so tightly that her face disappeared against his shoulder. He held a younger child against his chest beneath one arm, shielding the boy’s head with his hand while water streamed from his hair and face.
He carried both children through the flood as if their weight were nothing. The mother sobbed when he placed them into her arms. Roy knelt briefly to ensure the younger child was breathing properly. When the boy coughed and began to cry, Roy rose again.
He did not remain to receive thanks. He turned immediately toward the next cottage. Donaldina gathered her skirts and stepped into the water.
Hamish caught her elbow again. “Me lady—”
“Find me dry blankets.”
His brows rose.
“Now.”
Perhaps command was contagious. Hamish obeyed.
Donaldina spent the next hours moving among the villagers. She carried children into Dun Ard, tore linen for wounds, and helped older women climb the steep path to shelter. Rain soaked her gown until the wool dragged heavily at her legs, but there was no time to feel cold.
A little boy refused to release Donaldina’s hand after she carried him through the gate.
“Me dog is still there,” he whispered.
Donaldina looked toward the flooded cottages. Before she could answer, Roy passed them carrying a coil of rope.
He heard.
“What color?” he asked the child.
The boy blinked. “Brown.”
“Large?”
“Small. With one white paw.”
Roy nodded and continued down the slope. Donaldina stared after him.
“He cannae mean tae search for a dog now,” Mairi froze.
Yet less than twenty minutes later Roy returned with a shivering terrier tucked beneath his arm. The boy’s cry of relief rose above the storm. Roy set the animal down and moved away before the family could thank him.
Donaldina watched him disappear again into the rain.
After that, whenever she looked for Roy, he was always working.
He helped lift fallen beams alongside ordinary laborers.
He climbed the damaged palisade with MacNicol carpenters, holding timbers steady as others fastened them.
When a cart got stuck in the mud, he joined the villagers, pushing with his shoulder until the wheels finally broke free.
No task appeared beneath him. No hardship was delegated merely because another man possessed less rank.
By midday, mud covered him from boots to throat. Blood marked one palm where rope had stripped the skin. A tear ran across one sleeve, revealing a dark bruise beneath. Still, men began turning toward him before decisions were made.
“Where should these timbers go?”
“The eastern ditch is overflowing.”
“We need more men at the cottages.”
Donaldina joined the line reinforcing the western wall, passing stones hand to hand while wind drove rain beneath her cloak. Roy saw her there and frowned.
“Ye should be inside.”
“So should ye.”
“I am working.”
“So am I.”
“This is heavy labor.”
She took another stone from the man beside her. “I didnae mistake it for embroidery.”
Roy’s expression hardened, but not out of real anger. Moments later, he stepped in to move the heavier stones away from her. Donaldina saw and let it happen, knowing protesting would only waste time.
When a gust ripped part of the temporary cover, Roy climbed the scaffold to secure it, the structure swaying under him.
Donaldina’s hands paused at the next stone.
He stood tall above the courtyard, rain pounding his face, one arm around a post and the other pulling the rope.
Below, men moved as if his safety was guaranteed.
She knew better now that his confidence didn't mean he was invincible.
The scaffold shifted, and her breath caught.
Roy looked down, saw her watching, and pulled the rope once more.
When he finally descended, she turned away before he touched the ground.
“Ye were staring,” he smirked.
“I was ensuring ye didnae fall upon anyone.”
“A considerate fear.”
“For the person beneath ye.” Donaldina handed him a stone. “Make yourself useful.”
He accepted it without argument. By late afternoon, the rain weakened to a steady drizzle. Dun Ard stood bruised but secure. The palisade had been reinforced, the grain stores protected, and most of the water directed away from the lower cottages.
The courtyard filled with exhausted villagers wrapped in borrowed blankets. An elderly MacNicol approached Roy. Donaldina recognized him as one of the men who had whispered that Roy should never have crossed Dun Ard’s threshold.
The old man removed his cap. “Me granddaughter was in that cottage.”
Roy looked toward the child sleeping against her mother’s shoulder.
“She… would have drowned.”
Roy said nothing.
The man swallowed. “Thank ye for staying.”
Roy’s expression shifted, faintly uncomfortable beneath gratitude.
“There was work tae be done.”
The old man nodded as though the answer confirmed something important.
Others came afterward. A carpenter thanked him for saving the grain stores.
A mother pressed bread into his hand because he had eaten nothing.
The owner of the little terrier gripped his sleeve and solemnly promised that the dog would never again be allowed near floodwater.
Donaldina watched from beneath the arch. Roy accepted none of it as praise. He spoke as if his actions had been inevitable, as if any man possessing strength would naturally spend it upon those who needed it.
Yet, Donaldina knew that was not true. She had known many powerful men. Few ever forgot to ensure others noticed their power.
Roy looked across the courtyard and found her watching.
For a moment, neither moved. His hair was wet, his shirt torn, and mud streaked the scar upon his jaw.
He looked less like the stranger who had entered Dun Ard beneath the authority of the King and more like a man who earned his place one lifted beam at a time.
Roy raised the bread the old woman had given him.
“Have ye eaten?”
Donaldina almost laughed. He stood half-frozen, bruised and bleeding, yet his first concern was whether she had taken supper.
“Nae,” she admitted.
He broke the loaf and held out half. Donaldina crossed the courtyard to accept it.
Around them, MacNicol and MacIver men worked side by side beneath the clearing sky. They passed timber, shared tools, and argued over repairs with the ease of men too tired to remember they had once been enemies.
Dun Ard had still not fully accepted him… but the storm did what royal parchment, threats, and council feasts could not. It gave the clan a reason to trust him.
Donaldina feared it gave her one as well.