Chapter 15
Chapter 15
Lachann was welcomed warmly by the Kilgorrans, and he felt encouraged by the number of men who’d shown up in the castle courtyard at dawn on his fourth day to begin their training. None of them wanted to be caught ill-prepared if called upon to defend against another invasion.
Lachann knew the feeling well. Even though the Braemore men had been prepared when the pirates had struck, they’d suffered too many losses. He felt quite strongly that neither Braemore nor Kilgorra should ever experience such misfortune again.
’Twould be best for Kilgorra to become known as a well-defended territory, so no raider would take the chance of coming ashore. Nor would they want to risk engagement with the Glencoe Lass or any other ship Lachann commissioned.
He felt invigorated after his day’s labors and was walking toward the stable when he encountered several children playing near the blacksmith’s shop. He recognized Angus MacLaren and Robbie Kincaid among them as they battled others in the group, using swords they’d cleverly fashioned out of wood.
Their voices sounded in loud imitation of their elders, and Lachann smiled at the playful noise. Lads were the same everywhere. They played just as Lachann and his brothers had done years before. As he passed the group, he noticed a wagon heavily loaded with crates of cannon ball, grapeshot, and gunpowder. ’Twas ordnance the smithy had been tasked with putting away the day before, and yet there it stood on an uneven patch of ground in front of Ramsay’s shop, with only a block of wood behind one wheel to keep it from rolling.
The children were playing much too close to it.
As their “battle” moved closer to the wagon, Lachann shouted for them to move away from it, but they did not hear him. He started moving toward them, but one of the lads, Davy MacDonall, bumped into it and fell to the ground. He knocked the wedge of wood from the wheel and the wagon shifted, pinning his leg beneath it.
The lad screamed, and Lachann ran. He reached the wagon seconds later and wasted no time putting his shoulder to the side of the cart and shoving hard. At the same time, he shouted to the blacksmith to come and help push the cart off the boy. But the man stood still, watching, as though the accident had been nothing out of the ordinary.
Anna MacIver suddenly appeared as though from nowhere, alone and carrying the heavy pack she’d taken with her to the wee isle. Lachann guessed she must have just returned.
“Mungo!” she screamed. She dropped her pack to come and kneel beside the injured boy. “Help us!”
As she positioned herself near Davy’s head, the other children came and pushed alongside Lachann, but the cart was lodged against something that prevented its movement.
“Ramsay!” Lachann shouted.
The blacksmith came to him just as the cart moved far enough for Anna to pull Davy out from under it. “He’s out, Lachann!” she cried.
Lachann dropped to the ground beside the boy, who was unconscious now, no doubt from pain. His leg was broken, the skin around the break brutally torn.
“Robbie, run down to the village and fetch Janet,” she said. She looked up at Lachann with abject horror and powerlessness in her eyes.
Lachann spoke to the boy who’d made himself known to everyone. “Angus, go and get Kieran or Duncan from the courtyard. Tell them what happened and that we’ll need a splint and a stretcher.”
“Aye, Laird,” the lad said before running off to do as he was bid.
“And don’t call me ‘laird’!” Lachann called after him. Because naught was settled.
Lachann’s temper flared when he looked past Anna and saw Ramsay retreating, then turning to watch, with his hands crossed over his chest.
Anna caressed Davy’s cheeks and forehead, murmuring words of comfort even though ’twas unlikely the lad could hear her.
“Ach, his poor leg is broken,” she whispered, as though the words spoken any louder might make the situation worse.
Lachann nodded, not mentioning the fact that it was more than broken, ’twas mangled. Ramsay was supposed to have unloaded that cart and put away all the equipment yesterday. But as angry as Lachann was, he would not upbraid the man now.
His attention remained on Anna, on her windblown hair, only nominally confined to her plait. Her eyes were bright with tears and concern, and she worried her lower lip with her teeth. Her distress tugged at something Lachann had buried deep after losing Fiona to Macauley.
“You’re just back from your isle?”
She nodded and wiped her eyes. “Ach, weeping will do him no good. What should we do?”
“Wait for the healer,” he said.
Angus returned with the adults, who scurried to find the makings for a splint. Quickly, they managed to get the leg wrapped and put the boy on a makeshift stretcher.
“Take him to the keep,” Lachann said. “He’ll stay there until the healer arrives. And someone bring his parents.” He turned to Anna. “Who are his parents?”
She kept one hand on Davy’s arm as the men lifted him onto the stretcher. “Meg and Gordon MacDonall. He’s a fisherman.”
“Someone can fetch them,” he said, noting that Ramsay had disappeared all the way inside his shop.
Anna let go of the boy, then rubbed her arms with her hands, still shaken. Lachann ignored the urge to draw her into his arms to comfort her. “Ach, ’twill be a blow to Meg and Gordie. Davy is their eldest, and they’ve three younger bairns.”
They turned toward the keep, and Lachann put his hand at the small of her back in spite of himself. Touching her seemed as natural as breathing. He’d been aware of her absence every day she’d been gone—from the mornings, when he’d taken his plain bowl of porridge from Flora, to the evenings, when he’d retired to his bedchamber and sampled a few of the berries she’d given him on his first day.
“Flora will know what to do until Janet comes,” Anna said. “At least, I hope ...”
Lachann realized he had not even been this close to Catrìona, in spite of spending half the previous day with her. And today the woman was as elusive as a damned sprite, turning up at odd times, and disappearing quickly thereafter. He dropped his hand away from Anna and stopped, leaving her to walk ahead.
She turned a questioning gaze toward him.
“See that everything is done for the lad,” he said. “I’ve business back at the smithy shop.”
“Business? With ... Mungo?”
Lachann nodded but did not elaborate. Anna could not have missed the way Ramsay had held back until she’d called for his assistance. ’Twas intolerable.
He made his way back to the heavily weighted cart that stood right beside the blacksmith’s shop. He’d given explicit orders yesterday for Mungo to unload the wagon. At Braemore, he would not have had to mention it twice.
And yet here...
His temper was barely contained when he approached the shop and found no one. “Where are you, Ramsay?” he shouted.
The blacksmith stepped out from behind a stone wall, carrying a heavy hammer in his hand. His eyes were dark and shaded by his heavy red brows. Lachann thought them not especially sharp. But that was no excuse.
“I called to you for assistance, blacksmith.” Lachann’s voice was low and just as dangerous as the blacksmith appeared. “You ignored me. You ignored the plight of the child under the cart until Anna MacIver shouted your name.”
“I do’na like all their noise,” the man growled.
“No one cares what you like!” Lachann bellowed. “ ’Twas sheer luck I was able to move that cart!” Though he credited the children with adding just enough strength to budge the damned thing off Davy’s leg.
Ramsay narrowed his eyes. “Ye do’na give orders here, MacMillan.”
“What are you, a bleeting idiot?” Lachann approached the man. “ ’Twas not a matter of orders but common sense.”
The man adjusted his grip on the hammer, and Lachann dearly wished he would raise it against him. ’Twas the only provocation he needed to lay the fool out on his arse. Mayhap a solid beating would teach him something about orders.
“What happened out here?” ’Twas Catrìona, coming into the shop from the direction of the stable. “Mungo?”
“Aye, Mungo.” Lachann did not bother to temper his scathing tone. “Mayhap you can explain to your mistress what happened.”
The man stood mute, looking outside, past Lachann.
Lachann managed to temper his voice and avoid roaring at the bastard. “You need not look to Anna or Catrìona or anyone else in this castle when I tell you something is to be done. Because aye—I do have the authority to give orders here.”
Catrìona shot Lachann a glare as she moved toward the blacksmith. “Lachann—”
“That cart,” he said, giving a curt nod of his head toward the offending wagon. “Unload it now, and see that everything is put away neatly, and in good order.”
With that, he left the smith’s shop and Catrìona, and trotted up to the keep. He was too angry to try and be pleasant with the woman just then. And he had no interest in spending another minute with the likes of Mungo Ramsay.
He entered the kitchen and found Davy sprawled out on Flora’s worktable, still unconscious. Most of the children had been sent away, though Angus and Robbie remained, standing just outside. Davy’s parents had not yet arrived.
Angus grabbed Lachann’s sleeve. “Do ye think he’ll live?”
“I hope so.” Though Lachann did not know if the lad would keep his leg. ’Twould be up to the healer to say.