Chapter 31
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
The clearing had fallen silent. Rain continued to patter softly through the trees, washing away the blood that pooled in the churned earth.
No one spoke as the surviving Ross men threw down their weapons.
Douglas and the MacRae warriors were already binding those who remained alive, issuing quiet orders as they secured the camp.
Finn heard none of it.
He knelt before Claire, one hand cupping her bruised cheek while the other hurriedly worked the last knot free from her wrists. The ropes fell away, leaving angry red marks that circled her skin, twisting his stomach into knots.
"I'm sorry," he whispered again.
Claire's fingers trembled as they found his hand. "Ye came." Her voice was scarcely more than a breath.
Finn closed his eyes for the briefest moment. "I was too late."
"Nay," she gave the smallest shake of her head. "Ye're here."
The words settled somewhere deep inside him. For one precious heartbeat, the world disappeared…no war, no rain, no blood, only Claire.
He slipped one arm beneath her shoulders and another beneath her knees. She weighed almost nothing. As he lifted her, she winced faintly, her face tightening before she relaxed against his chest.
Douglas approached, wiping rainwater and blood from his sword before sliding it back into its scabbard. "The camp's secure."
Finn nodded without looking up. "Search the area."
"Aye."
"We'll question the survivors."
Douglas took one look at Claire before his expression changed. "My God..."
Finn frowned. "What?"
Douglas reached out and rested the back of his hand lightly against Claire's forehead. His face darkened immediately. "She's burning."
Finn looked down. Until that moment, he'd noticed only the mud staining her dress, the bruises along her wrists, and the swelling spreading across one side of her face. Now he felt it; even through the damp fabric of her cloak, heat radiated from her body, far too much.
His heart lurched. "Claire?"
She didn't answer. He shifted her slightly in his arms, but her head rolled weakly against his shoulder in an unnaturally limp movement.
Finn's pulse quickened. "Claire." Still nothing.
Douglas had already turned toward the men. "Ride ahead!" Every head lifted. "Get a healer from a nearby clan!"
One of the MacRae warriors was in the saddle before Douglas had finished speaking, disappearing between the trees at a gallop. Douglas looked back at Finn. "I'll finish things here."
Finn barely heard him. He brushed a damp curl away from Claire's forehead, her skin feeling impossibly hot beneath his fingertips.
Nay. Please... Nae now. Nae after finding her. Nae after bringing her back.
He carried her toward his horse. One of the men stepped forward, offering, "Me Laird, let me…"
"Nay." The answer came so sharply that the man stopped where he stood.
Finn adjusted his grip. "I'll carry her." No one argued.
Douglas quietly took the reins while Finn mounted, keeping one arm firmly around Claire as he settled her against his chest. She stirred once, and a soft sound escaped her lips. "...Finn..."
His breath caught. She hadn't opened her eyes or moved beyond that faint whisper, but she had known him. He bent his head until his forehead rested lightly against her hair.
"I'm here." H is voice cracked despite every effort to steady it. "I'm here, Claire."
She didn't answer or stir again, resting only against him with shallow, uneven breathing.
For the first time that night, the fear gripping Finn was greater than anything he had felt in the clearing, greater than facing eight armed men, greater than watching steel flash toward him.
He could fight men, clans, and wars, but he couldn't fight whatever was stealing Claire from him one fevered breath at a time.
With a gentle touch of his heels, the stallion surged forward, and Finn held her closer as they disappeared into the rain, praying with every stride that they were not already too late.
Later, Finn would struggle to remember how they reached Rosewood. The ride blurred into fragments: the castle gates opening, men shouting from the walls, the frantic pounding of hooves across the courtyard, and someone rushing forward to take his horse.
When hands reached for Claire, he tightened his hold instinctively. "Nay. I've got her." No one argued. He carried her through the keep himself.
Everything else faded into disconnected moments: the healer's voice, boiling water hissing over the fire, fresh linens spread across the bed, and a basin stained pink as mud and blood were washed from Claire's hands.
Her torn sleeve fell away from a shoulder covered in bruises, and the dark mark marred one side of her face. Each glimpse tightened something painfully inside his chest.
He stood aside only long enough for the healer to examine her. The older woman rested one weathered hand against Claire's forehead before pressing gentle fingers beneath her jaw, frowning deeply.
"The fever began before ye reached the castle."
Finn looked up sharply. "From the rain?"
She shook her head. "Shock." Reaching for another cloth, she dipped it into cool water. "Cold. Exhaustion. And likely infection from these cuts."
Finn stared at the angry marks circling Claire's wrists, his jaw clenched. "If I'd found her sooner…"
The healer met his eyes. "That changes nothing now."
"It changes everything." She said nothing more, instead mixing crushed herbs into a steaming cup before handing instructions to one of the servants waiting nearby.
Finn scarcely heard them; his attention never left Claire.
Hours passed, or perhaps only minutes, as time lost all meaning. Someone lit more candles, rain continued tapping softly against the windows, and the fire burned low before another log was added. Claire tossed restlessly beneath the blankets, her breathing never settling.
Finn remained beside the bed, one hand wrapped around hers, unaware of when he had sat down, knowing only that he never stood again.
The chamber door opened quietly, and Douglas stepped inside. "The prisoners have been secured."
Finn nodded once. "The dead?"
"We've sent word to their families."
Silence lingered between them before Douglas looked toward Claire. "Ye should rest."
"Nay."
"Finn…"
"Nay."
Douglas studied him for a long moment before quietly leaving the room.
Her fingers twitched faintly inside his hand before she whispered something so softly he nearly missed it. "Papa..."
Finn froze. The single word pierced him more cleanly than any sword ever had. She wasn't seeing him; she was somewhere far away, somewhere he couldn't follow.
He swallowed hard. "It's all right," he murmured, though he knew she couldn't hear him.
Minutes later, her breathing quickened again, and her brow furrowed. "Dinnae leave..."
The plea was barely audible. Finn leaned closer until their joined hands rested against his forehead. "Never. " H is voice broke on the word. "I'll never leave ye again."
She never answered, carried away by the fever once more.
The night crawled forward with another basin of cool water, another dose of medicine, and another fresh cloth across her forehead. Then, just before dawn, the healer placed her hand against Claire's brow once more. She waited, then smiled.
"The fever's broken." Finn stared at her.
"What?"
"She'll live."
For the first time since finding the abandoned carriage, Finn breathed, the air leaving his lungs in one long, trembling exhale he hadn't realized he'd been holding.
The chamber door opened again, and Douglas entered quietly, removing his rain-soaked gloves. "The Ross men have scattered." Finn listened without looking away from Claire. "But there are still clans choosing sides."
"The council's waiting."
Silence settled over the room as Finn looked down at Claire, whose breathing had become slow, steady, and peaceful. He carefully released her hand for the first time in hours, his fingers lingering against hers before he rose.
"Keep this room guarded."
"Aye."
"No one enters without the healer's leave."
"It'll be done."
Finn bent over the bed, looking at her for a moment. The bruise on her cheek had darkened, and loose strands of dark hair rested across the pillow, making her look impossibly fragile. With infinite care, he brushed those strands away and pressed the gentlest kiss against her forehead.
"I'll finish this," he whispered.
Warm sunlight spilled across the meadow. Claire laughed as she ran through knee-high wildflowers, her small hand disappearing into her mother's. She couldn't have been older than six.
"Slower," her mother called, laughing. "Ye'll tumble."
"I willnae!" she looked back.
The meadow was gone, and stone walls rose around her instead…Rosewood. The training yard lay empty beneath a sky the color of silver. She turned slowly.
"Finn?"
No answer, only wind. Then laughter.
Leo sat beside a fire, tossing another log onto the flames. "There ye are." Claire smiled. "I've been looking for everyone."
"Were ye?" He looked amused. "I think everyone's been looking for ye."
She stepped toward him, but the fire disappeared, and cold surrounded her. Someone was crying softly.
"Me lady..." Molly.
Claire frowned. "Molly?"
She followed the voice through thick white mist, each step feeling strangely heavy. "Molly?" The crying grew louder, then drifted away again.
A door appeared. She reached for the handle, but before her fingers touched it, it dissolved.
Her father's study stood in its place. He sat behind the desk, looking simply tired, older than she'd ever remembered him. His shoulders sagged beneath a weight she couldn't name. He looked up as she entered.
For a long moment, neither of them spoke, then...
"I'm sorry."
Claire stopped. She'd imagined hearing those words a thousand times, yet now she didn't know what to do with them. "What did ye say?"
His eyes filled. "I'm sorry." His voice broke. "I should have loved you better."
The room blurred. She took one hesitant step toward him, then another. He rose slowly with shaking hands. "I'm so sorry, Claire."
She reached for him. "Dad..."
Her fingers passed through empty air.
The study vanished into rain, cold, and dark trees. She spun around. "Finn?"
He stood only a few paces away, his plaid hung soaked with rain, a streak of blood crossing his cheek. His eyes never left hers.
She smiled. "Ye came."
He reached for her, and she ran toward him, but the distance between them never changed.
"Nay..." she reached again. "Finn."
He faded into the mist. She stopped. "Nay."
Only his voice remained—low, gentle, though she couldn't make out the words. She followed it anyway.
"Molly?" No answer.
"She's colder."
Someone tucked blankets around her, and she felt their weight for a moment before they disappeared.
"More blankets," the words drifted above her like birds carried on the wind.
Another voice: "Another cloth." Water touched her forehead, cool and relieving, then gone again.
She floated somewhere between waking and sleep, between memory and something else entirely. She heard Leo laugh again, then Beatrice praying softly, then Violet arguing with someone.
"He hasnae slept."
"He needs rest."
"He willnae leave."
Their voices blurred together until they sounded like distant waves, then silence.
She kept drifting as time lost meaning: minutes, days, years. She no longer knew. Only one thing remained constant…a voice. She couldn't hear the words, only the sound, deep, steady, and familiar.
Finn.
She tried to answer, but nothing came. She reached toward the voice, but it slipped away. Again, she reached farther.
"Finn..."
Darkness swallowed everything.
...
Claire's eyelids felt impossibly heavy. She forced them open one slow inch at a time. The ceiling above her came into focus first, then the carved bedposts, then familiar stone walls…Rosewood.
She blinked.
A chair scraped softly nearby. "Me lady?"
Molly hurried to her side, carefully adjusting the pillows behind Claire's shoulders. "Oh, thank Heaven."
Claire frowned, her throat feeling raw. "Molly?"
Fresh tears sprang into Molly's eyes. "Ye're awake."
Claire looked around the room slowly. Violet had fallen asleep in a chair near the hearth, a book resting forgotten in her lap.
Beatrice sat quietly beside the window, her hands clasped together in prayer.
Leo leaned against the wall with his arms folded, though the relief on his face betrayed every attempt to appear unconcerned.
Near the window... her father.
He stood with his hands clasped behind his back, looking older somehow, wearier. Claire stared at him, then at everyone else. Her brow furrowed, because nothing made sense.
She looked back at Molly. "Is this Heaven?"
Leo answered before anyone else could. "I certainly hope nae."
A faint laugh escaped Claire before it dissolved into a cough. Molly quickly offered her a cup of water, and she drank carefully.
The room slowly settled into focus. Everyone was here…everyone.
Her gaze moved from face to face once more, then stopped. The smile faded from her lips.
Finn wasn't there.
A strange ache settled inside her chest, because if this truly were a dream, Finn would have been beside her.