Chapter 22
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Morning sunlight warmed the lower courtyard in patches of gold. Margaret had not intended to linger there. She had gone only to walk, perhaps to clear her thoughts after a restless night and a morning spent attempting to appear entirely composed before the household staff.
Yet somehow, she had not managed to leave. The reason currently tugged at the hem of her sleeve.
“Come play with us, me lady!”
Margaret looked down.
The boy, who was no older than seven, stared up at her with determined patience.
Around them, the lower courtyard bustled quietly with life.
Laundry lines stretched between the stone walls, and several soldiers’ wives sat nearby mending clothes while watching their children run about the open space.
In the center of it all lay a small leather ball. Evidently, a game was already underway.
“I assure ye,” Margaret told him with a smile, “I have absolutely nay understanding of the rules.”
“That’s fine,” the boy replied at once.
“It is?”
“Aye.”
Another child ran past them, chasing the ball across the stones. Two girls tried to block him, both shrieking with laughter. Margaret turned slightly to Annabel, who stood nearby holding a basket of herbs they had collected earlier.
“Dae ye ken the rules?”
Annabel smiled in a way that suggested she knew exactly how this would end.
“It’s called ba’. The bairns simply pass the ball and try tae keep it away from the others.”
Margaret’s eyes widened in surprise. “That sounds suspiciously chaotic.”
“It usually is,” Annabel chuckled. “But this is a gentler version of the real game.”
The boy tugged her sleeve again. “Please, me lady.”
Margaret hesitated. The sensible answer would be no.
A lady of her standing did not typically participate in games with muddy boots and shrieking children in the middle of a castle courtyard.
But the hopeful faces around her made refusal unexpectedly difficult.
And, if she were honest, she had spent far too much of the past week behaving sensibly.
“Well,” she said cautiously, “if the rules are truly that simple—”
The children erupted with cheers before she could finish the sentence. Margaret barely had time to set aside her gloves before the ball was placed firmly into her hands. It was surprisingly heavy.
“Now what?” she asked.
The boy pointed across the courtyard. “Throw it!”
Margaret raised a brow. “At whom?”
“At anyone!” the boy chuckled with glee.
Margaret considered this briefly. Then she tossed the ball gently toward one of the girls. The girl caught it and immediately darted away, three other children chasing her in delighted chaos. Margaret folded her arms, observing.
“Aye,” she mused to herself thoughtfully. “This appears tae be a sport built entirely on running.”
“Ye must run, too!” the boy insisted.
“I must nae,” she retorted.
“Ye must!”
Margaret shook her head.
“I have already thrown the ball. That feels like adequate participation.”
Unfortunately, the girl with the ball had now been cornered. In desperation, she flung it toward Margaret. Margaret caught it instinctively. The children immediately charged.
Margaret blinked.
“Oh, dear.”
She turned and ran. The courtyard exploded with laughter. She had not run across a stone yard in years, and certainly not with three determined children chasing her ankles.
“Give it back!” someone shouted.
“Ye just gave it tae me!” Margaret protested.
“That’s nae the point!”
Another burst of laughter exploded, before she attempted a graceful sidestep.
It failed completely when one of the boys intercepted her.
Margaret squeaked and tossed the ball hastily to another child.
The game continued. For several minutes the courtyard echoed with laughter as Margaret found herself entirely absorbed in the ridiculous sport.
She dodged. She passed the ball. At one point, she nearly collided with a small girl who giggled so hard she collapsed onto the stones.
Margaret leaned against the low wall, breathless and smiling in spite of herself.
“This game,” she declared, “is designed tae exhaust respectable ladies.”
“Ye are very fast, me lady,” the boy informed her proudly.
“I am very tired,” Margaret corrected, but she was still smiling.
The boy ignored this distinction and tossed the ball to her again.
“Yer turn!”
Margaret caught it, shaking her head. “Very well, but only one throw.”
The children immediately scattered across the courtyard, shouting directions all at once.
“Here!”
“Nay, here!”
“Throw it tae me!”
Margaret laughed and tossed the ball toward the far side of the yard.
Unfortunately, she threw with more strength than she had intended.
The leather ball sailed high and for one hopeful moment, it appeared it might descend neatly into waiting hands.
Instead, it struck the slanted wooden roof of the barracks with a dull thump.
The children froze. The ball rolled once, twice, then settled firmly in a shallow dip between two warped planks. A collective groan rose from the group.
“Och nae,” someone whispered.
Several of the children were already craning their necks upward.
“Nay one can reach it,” one boy sighed.
“We’ll have tae ask the guards.”
“They’ll take it away.”
“They always say we’re too loud.”
Margaret followed their gazes. The barracks roof was not terribly high, perhaps twice her height, but the boards along its side formed a rough ladder where rain barrels and stacked crates had been placed against the wall. It did not appear especially difficult.
She brushed her hands together.
“Well,” she said. “I shall go and retrieve it.”
A chorus of alarm erupted.
“Me lady, nay!”
“Ye’ll fall!”
“The laird said we’re nae allowed up there!”
Margaret waved a dismissive hand. “I assure ye, I am quite capable of climbing.”
The children were staring at the stranded ball as though it were a lost treasure.
“It will take only a moment,” she tried to reassure them, as she gathered the skirts of her gown and stepped onto the first crate.
The children immediately crowded below.
“Be careful!”
“Dinnae step on that board!”
“That one’s wobbly!”
Margaret ignored the warnings with calm determination. She had climbed trees as a girl. A roof was hardly more challenging. She pulled herself onto the stacked barrels and reached the lower edge of the barracks roof. The wood felt rough beneath her hands as she hoisted herself up.
“There,” she said, dusting her palms once she was standing.
The children stared up at her with wide admiration.
“Ye did it!”
Margaret smiled triumphantly. “Ye see? Perfectly simple.”
She crossed the roof carefully toward the stranded ball. The boards creaked faintly beneath her shoes. She paused. The sound was not especially reassuring. Still, the ball lay only a few steps away. Margaret crouched and picked it up.
The children below cheered.
“Throw it down!”
“In a moment,” she replied.
She turned to retrace her steps and the board beneath her foot gave a long, splintering crack. Margaret froze.
“Oh.”
The wood sagged sharply beneath her weight. Another board snapped with a dry, echoing sound. The children’s cheers turned instantly into shrieks.
“Me lady!”
“Dinnae move!”
Margaret did exactly the opposite. Instinctively, she tried to step back toward the stronger beams near the edge, but the old structure had already begun to collapse. The plank beneath her split entirely, and the roof gave way beneath her feet.
Domhnall crossed the inner courtyard with Cameron, and the two men had been speaking of patrol routes along the western pass. Cameron walked half a step behind him, as he always did, carrying a rolled map beneath his arm.
“If the MacGregor scouts come again,” Cameron was saying, “they’ll likely try the ridge path this time. The men on the north watch—”
A shout cut through the air. Domhnall stopped mid-step. It was not the usual noise of children playing. This was panic.
“Me lady!”
“Dinnae move!”
Something heavy cracked. Domhnall’s head snapped toward the lower courtyard. Cameron heard it, too. They exchanged one look, then both men moved. Domhnall reached the archway first, striding through it in three long steps before the scene beyond fully revealed itself.
A cluster of children stood gathered near the barracks wall, all staring upward, and on the roof above them, he could see Margaret. For the briefest moment, Domhnall simply stared.
“What in God’s name—” Cameron muttered.
The wood beneath her feet cracked. The sound was unmistakable. Domhnall’s stomach dropped. She turned, just as the board beneath her splintered, and time seemed to fracture with it. The roof sagged sharply. Margaret’s balance shifted as the plank collapsed beneath her weight.
Domhnall was already moving. He did not think. He did not speak. He ran and lunged forward just as her body dropped through the collapsing boards. He reached upward and caught her.
The impact nearly knocked the breath from his lungs. Margaret crashed into him with enough force to stagger him two steps back across the stones. His arms closed instinctively around her waist, pulling her tight against his chest as he fought to keep his footing.
Wood fragments clattered down around them. The leather ball bounced once across the courtyard and rolled harmlessly away. Silence followed… for half a heartbeat, then the children erupted in panicked voices.
“Me lady!”
“Is she hurt?”
Cameron arrived beside them, already inspecting the wreckage above.
Domhnall barely heard any of it. His entire focus had narrowed to the woman in his arms. Margaret clung to him, her fingers gripping the front of his coat with surprising strength.
Her eyes were wide and she was breathless.
Domhnall felt the frantic rhythm of her heart through the thin layers of fabric between them. His own was not much steadier.
She blinked at him, then smiled. “I… I believe I am all right.”
Domhnall stared down at her for a long moment. “I’ll be the judge of that.”
He was already turning toward the archway. Behind them the children began speaking all at once.
“Me lady fell through the roof!”
“She climbed up tae get the ba’!”
“It was Jamie’s throw!”
“It was nae!”
Cameron’s voice rose above the noise. “Enough, all of ye.”
Domhnall did not slow. Margaret twisted slightly in his arms, clearly attempting to regain some dignity, but he only held her tighter, almost as if letting go now would mean that he would be letting go of her forever. And that was not something he wanted to do.
“I am perfectly fine,” she said firmly. “And quite able tae walk on me own.”
Domhnall did not even look down at her. “Aye.”
“That means ye may put me down.”
“Nay.”
She frowned at the side of his face. “Ye are being unreasonable.”
“Ye climbed a roof that is twenty years old.”
“That is nae a crime.”
“Fer what?” he demanded.
Margaret’s lips curved. “A ball.”
Domhnall’s jaw tightened.
“A very important ball,” she added brightly.
He did not respond. The great doors of the castle loomed ahead as he crossed the courtyard with long strides, Margaret still cradled securely against him. Servants glanced up as they passed. Margaret noticed.
She lowered her voice as she spoke. “Everyone is staring.”
He still refused to look at her. “They may continue tae dae so.”
They climbed the stone stairs quickly. Margaret shifted again.
“I truly am nae hurt.”
“That remains tae be seen.”
“Ye caught me.” She was smiling through her words.
He knew that if he looked down at her, at those luminous eyes, he would forgive her everything, and she needed to learn a lesson. What was she thinking? She could have been gravely harmed, had he not been there.
“I did,” he responded both to her and to the little voice inside his head.
“So logically I cannae be injured,” she said philosophically.
“That is nae how falling works.”
Domhnall pushed open the chamber door with his shoulder and stepped inside. Only then did he lower her carefully onto the edge of the bed. Margaret straightened her skirts immediately.
“Ye see?” she said, lifting her chin. “Perfectly unharmed.”
Domhnall did not answer. Instead, he stepped closer. Margaret faltered slightly under the intensity of his gaze. He took her wrist. Her pulse still raced beneath his fingers.
“Domhnall,” she said cautiously.
He turned her hand over, examining her palm. A thin splinter scratched across the skin. He frowned.
“It is naething,” she said quickly.
He ignored her. His hands moved to her other wrist, then her arms, checking for bruises. Margaret sat very still beneath his inspection. His hands paused briefly at her shoulders.
“Daes anything hurt?”
“Nay.”
“Yer head?”
“Nay.”
“Yer ribs?”
“Nay.”
“Yer pride?”
She smiled faintly. “Possibly.”
Domhnall exhaled slowly, then rubbed a hand across his jaw.
“Ye are impossible.”
Margaret smiled again, softer this time. “And yet, ye caught me.”
He looked at her then, at the loose strands of hair escaping her braid, at the faint flush still lingering in her cheeks, and at the stubborn brightness in her eyes.
His voice dropped slightly as he spoke. “Aye.”
And I always will.