Chapter 29
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Two days later, the castle had settled into a strained sort of calm. The smoke had long since faded from the corridors, though the scent of burned timber still lingered faintly in certain corners. Margaret found herself seated at the small writing table near the window.
A sheet of parchment lay before her, the ink still wet where she had begun the letter. For a long moment, she simply held the quill between her fingers, staring out toward the distant hills.
It felt strange to write of ordinary things again after the chaos of the past days. Yet she knew her sister would already have heard whispers of the attack. And Eleonor worried far too easily.
Margaret dipped the quill again and continued writing.
Me dearest Eleonor,
I hope this letter finds ye safe and in good spirits, though I suspect by the time it reaches ye, the countryside will already be full of exaggerated tales about Inveraray.
Ye must nae believe half of what ye hear, fer Highland storytellers have a habit of making every skirmish sound like the fall of a kingdom.
There was indeed trouble here two nights ago. A small band of MacGregor men attempted tae breach the castle. They were driven away quickly and the damage tae the household was far less severe than rumor will surely claim. I assure ye that I am perfectly well.
Domhnall has spent the past two days ensuring I remain surrounded by guards whenever I step beyond the chamber doors. Ye would laugh tae see it. I suspect the entire household now believes I am made of glass.
Please dinnae worry fer me.
If anything, the incident has only made one matter very clear, Inveraray is far stronger than those who would threaten it.
The clan rallied quickly, and Domhnall’s captains have already put new measures in place to secure the roads and ports.
Watching them work thegither has been… rather remarkable.
Ye asked in yer last letter what sort of man me husband truly is.
I think I have finally begun tae understand the answer.
He is nae an easy man, nor a particularly gentle one when it comes tae matters of duty.
But he is fiercely loyal tae those under his protection, and the loyalty his people show him in return speaks louder than anything else I might write.
Ye would approve of him, I believe. In fact, I have every intention of bringing him with me when I come tae see ye.
Aye, ye read that correctly. We will visit ye soon. Until then, please keep yerself safe and write back as soon as ye can.
Yer loving sister,
Margaret
Margaret set the quill down and read the letter over once more. The words felt calm, almost ordinary. A small smile touched her lips as she folded the parchment carefully and sealed it with wax.
Very soon.
She rose from the chair and crossed the chamber toward the opposite window.
Margaret rested her hands lightly against the sill and looked out.
The western cliffs rose sharply from the water several miles away, their rocky edges catching the afternoon light.
It was then that she saw the smoke, a thin dark plume rising from the far coastal ridge.
Margaret blinked once, desperately hoping that she was not seeing right. Then, another plume rose beside it. Her breath caught. Those cliffs overlooked the small fishing settlements scattered along the shore.
Without thinking she turned from the window and hurried for the door. Moments later, Margaret was moving quickly down the corridor. Servants stepped aside as she passed.
“Me lady—”
But she did not slow. She nearly collided with Domhnall turning the corner near the stair. He caught her shoulders instinctively before she could stumble.
“Margaret—”
“There’s smoke.” Her words were quick and breathless. “From the western cliffs.”
Domhnall had that grave expression on his face. “I ken.”
Margaret blinked. “Ye’ve seen it?”
“A rider brought word minutes ago.”
She noticed then that he was already dressed for travel, wearing boots, his sword belt and his riding cloak thrown over his shoulders. Margaret glanced toward the stair.
“Ye’re leaving.”
“A small escort,” he confirmed. “We’re riding tae the fishing settlement near the southern cove.”
Margaret’s stomach tightened. “The one along the cliffs?”
“Aye.”
Domhnall stepped slightly past her. Margaret caught his arm.
“I’m coming. MacGregor may be attacking the coast,” she told him something he had to already know.
“That is precisely why ye are staying here,” he pointed out.
“Domhnall,” she spoke his name in a tone that allowed no backtalk. “I want tae be by yer side. I want tae help.”
“Ye are,” he said, placing his hands on her shoulders, as if to keep her in place, “by staying here, where it is safe.”
“Nay, it is safe where ye are,” she corrected him.
Domhnall rubbed a hand across his brow. “This is emotional blackmail, ye ken.”
Margaret’s mouth curved faintly. “I dae.”
“I want ye beside me the whole time.”
“Aye,” she nodded with a smile.
Domhnall shook his head. “God help me.”
Margaret’s smile widened. Moments later, they were descending toward the courtyard together, where a small group of mounted guards already waited beneath the gatehouse.
Beyond the castle walls the thin line of smoke still rose from the distant cliffs.
The boats lay like wounded creatures upon the shore.
Where once there had been the steady rhythm of work, the mending of nets, the low murmur of men and the gulls crying overhead, there was now only ruin.
Blackened beams jutted toward the grey sky like accusing fingers.
Cottages were reduced to smoldering skeletons, their thatch long since devoured.
The scent of salt and smoke clung heavily to the air, oppressive and inescapable.
Domhnall did not at first speak.
He stood a little apart from the others, with his hands clasped behind his back.
His posture was rigid in that particular stillness which, among his men, was known to precede decisive action.
His gaze moved slowly over the devastation, as he was taking account, measuring loss and committing each detail to memory as though it were a ledger he would later balance in blood or recompense.
The boats had not merely been damaged. They had been rendered useless with deliberate care. Hulls split along their seams, rudders hacked through, and masts weakened so that even a fair wind would betray them. Nets lay strewn across the sand, their cords severed in neat, ruthless lines.
“This was nae act of hunger,” he mused. “It was intention.”
A murmur of agreement followed, the sound of it low and grim.
One of the older fishermen stepped forward. His face was drawn with exhaustion and smoke.
“They came in the night, me laird,” he said, bowing his head, while he was wringing his hat in his hands. “Ships without lanterns. Nay banners. We heard naething until they were already upon us.”
Domhnall turned his attention to him fully then. His sharp gaze fixed the man in place.
“How many?” he asked.
“Two… perhaps three vessels,” the man replied after a moment’s hesitation. “They kept tae the dark, but there were many. Masked, every one of them. They spoke little, what words there were, none I ken.”
Another voice joined in. “They did nae come tae take, me laird. They came tae break and destroy. That much was obvious.”
Domhnall inclined his head slightly, as though the statement confirmed what he had already determined.
“Aye,” he told him. “They’ll nae return tae find it undone.”
He stepped forward, descending the slope without waiting to be followed.
“Cameron, shoreline patrols. I want eyes on every inlet from here tae the western pass. Rotate men in pairs, nae less. If a boat so much as cuts the horizon, I hear of it before it touches land.”
Cameron nodded once, already turning. “Aye.”
“Take the fast riders. Signal fires at dusk. I want this coast lit like judgment itself.”
There was no flourish in the command and no wasted words. Cameron began issuing orders before Domhnall had even reached the sand, the men falling into motion with practiced precision.
Domhnall continued forward. A fisherman struggled with the remains of a hull, trying in vain to right what had been deliberately split. Without pause, Domhnall seized the beam himself, bracing it with his shoulder and lifting until the man could secure it.
“Repairs begin now,” he said, not releasing his hold. “Anything that floats, we salvage. Anything that daes nae, we rebuild.”
“Me laird,” the man stammered, breathless from the exertion, “we’ve lost near half—”
“Then ye will nae lose the rest.”
The man nodded, looking reassured. Domhnall released the beam only once it was secured, already turning to the next ruin, the next task, the next necessary correction of disorder.
He did not notice at first that Margaret had come down among them, or perhaps he did and simply did not mark it as something requiring attention.
She moved with purpose, with her skirts gathered in her hands.
Her fine gown was already marked with ash and damp from the shore.
There was no hesitation in her step and no recoil from the smell of smoke or the sight of blood.
She spoke to the women first, directing the distribution of blankets, of what little food had been brought in their escort wagons. A child clung to her skirts and she bent to steady him, brushing soot from his cheek with ungloved fingers.
Domhnall watched her then, only for a moment, but it was long enough to see that she did not falter.
“More water here,” she was saying, and her voice was clear despite the wind. “And see that those with burns are brought forward, we will tend tae them first.”
There was no tremor in her command, though she held no formal authority among them. And yet, they obeyed.
He turned away again, though not before something unfamiliar pressed briefly at the edges of his chest. It was not any sort of softness, for he would not have named it so, but perhaps a sort of recognition.
She belongs in this, nae in the ruin but in the rebuilding.
“Me laird,” Cameron returned, his breath coming harder now from exertion. “Men are dispatched. Patrols will hold through the night.”
Domhnall inclined his head. “Good.”
His gaze swept once more over the shoreline. There was movement now, where there had been stillness before, and he could see the beginnings of order forming where there had been only damage.
“This was meant tae weaken us,” Cameron said quietly. “Tae draw ye out.”
Domhnall’s mouth curved, though there was no humor in it.
“They will find me difficult tae break.”
A cry rose from further down the shore. It was one of the smaller boats, newly righted, taking shape again under steady hands.
Margaret stood near it, with her sleeves pushed back now, directing two boys no older than ten in fetching rope.
When one faltered, she steadied him with a touch to his shoulder and a word too low for Domhnall to hear, but whatever she said, the boy straightened at once.
Domhnall exhaled, and that act seemed to steady his racing mind and heart.
“She was nae made fer court alone,” Cameron observed, following his gaze.
“Nay,” Domhnall agreed.
The tide crept higher along the shore, licking at the edges of broken wood and ash, but it no longer seemed to threaten.
“By dusk,” Domhnall’s voice carried once more over the labor, “this place stands again.”