Chapter Thirty-Eight
Torches had been lit in the courtyard, keeping the incipient dark at bay, and they lent a certain garish air to the scene. Alan, or so Annista thought, might have been a chieftain of old raising his clansmen ahead of some raid or battle, seeking to hearten them.
Only in this case, the footmen and stable hands were pitifully few and the women—all maids of varying stations, save herself—appeared terrified.
Alan spoke to them swiftly and honestly, as was doubtless their due.
They had witnessed much, these faithful attendants, from the attack upon Tempest—poor Tempest, Annista could only fear how he fared—to that upon their master.
Their reactions to what Alan told them now showed what kind of Master Neilan MacKallan had been, for the men went steely and the women wept.
Moreover, these folk knew the danger in which they stood, for they, if any, had witnessed what Evan MacKallan was. It was wise of Alan to turn to them now. To do so while sparing no blows.
“He will be comin’ soon,” Alan said, gazing from face to face in order to impress it upon them. “He will likely be sober—for I canna imagine how he would get access to the drink. That may no’ help much. He is capable o’ most anything.”
“Master Alan,” asked one of the kitchen maids, “wha’ d’ye think he would do?”
Alan shook his head.” He might attack any who stand before him. Try to finish the master. Set flame to the house.” He glanced at the building in question, which stood as a hulking, dark shape at his back, only a few of its window-eyes lit.
One of the other kitchen maids moaned.
“Ye maun be ever vigilant,” Alan went on, “but I do no’ want ye to tak’ any chances wi’ yer safety, understand?” He looked at the men. “Nay heroes. Ye will leave him to me.”
And what, Annista asked herself, when Alan did face Evan again? For she did not doubt it would come to that. As he said, there was no one else to stand against the threat Evan represented.
Would she lose this man to Evan MacKallan even as she’d lost her sister? This man she—
Loved.
Och, aye, she might as well admit it to herself, if no one else. She had fallen for the very man to whom she’d been bartered by her father—so mercilessly, as she’d thought. Given her heart right away to him.
Now her heart was breaking all over again. For while all of those gathered here stood at risk, Alan risked more than anyone.
He went on in a steady voice, “I want for ye to stay in sight o’ one another whenever possible. Do no’ get caught out alone. D’ye understand? And mak’ noise if ye catch any glimpse. Holler it out strong.”
And would Alan then go running to the assistance of any who called? He was but one man, and she’d seen the condition of that wound he bore. Could he possibly stand off against that redheaded madman?
“We stand wi’ ye, Master,” Seumas said stoutly, and they nodded gravely to a man—and a woman.
“Morag…” Alan turned to the woman. “Ye remain near your mistress, who sits wi’ the master. Seumas—” He looked that young man in the eye. “Ye go wi’ her. And arm yousel’, mind.”
Seumas paled but nodded.
“Bonnie—keep ye near your mistress also. The rest o’ ye—women to the kitchens, and men on patrol—in twos, mind, and armed.”
They nodded and figuratively girded themselves before moving off.
Annista stepped up to Alan and seized his arm. “I think ye should ha’ the physician look at that wound o’ yours while still he is here.”
He glanced at her. “Nay time now, and ye ha’ wrapped it—”
“I did but a clumsy job. Alan, husband, please. I will go wi’ ye now up to the solar.”
He seemed to consider before he nodded.
She huffed out a breath, amazed at how relieved she felt. How much she cared.
“And I will ha’ a promise fro’ ye.”
“Another promise?” His lips quirked. “Are we no’ done wi’ all that?”
“I hope not.” Now she seized both his forearms. “I want ye to promise me ye will take nay chances. If—when—ye face off wi’ Evan, I mean. I ken—” To her dismay, her voice threatened to fail her. “I ken ye feel ye are the only one who can face off against him.”
“So I am, Annista. There is nay one else. If no’ me, then who? The staff are loyal beyond measure, aye, but ’tis my place to defend them, no’ otherwise. And wi’ Father down—”
“Aye. Only promise me—promise me—ye will be safe.” Against all odds.
“Annista, wife—” His voice came low and fierce. “I do no’ ken that is a promise I can make.”
“Then I will mak’ it for ye! And seal it thus.” She kissed him, a hard, flaming, pledging kiss, it was. Perhaps that kiss would tell him what she could not say—that she loved him and, so loving, feared for him.
“All right, all right,” he murmured when the kiss ended, and pulled her into his arms close against his heart. So perhaps…perhaps he did understand.
She could not lose him. There would be naught left of her, if she did.
“Come,” she bade him and led him by the hand to find the physician.
****
An ugly, painful session was that in the solar where Master Robertson waited. The physician clucked his tongue over the wound, but Annista at least felt a mite better when it had been wrapped in clean bandaging, and Master Robertson went off to check on the earl.
There in the solar, Annista kissed Alan again. “Remember your promise.”
He lifted a brow. “The one ye made for me.”
“On your behalf. Where are ye bound now?”
“I will tak’ patrol wi’ the men. I know some o’ the places Evan may return to, here on the estate. Not all.” He made a face.
“Let me come wi’ ye.” She had still the knife in her pocket and her promise to Mother to uphold.
“Nay. Ye stay wi’ Bonnie and keep watch wi’ her and the other women.”
“I belong at your side.”
“Aye.” He gazed into her eyes. “I believe ye do. Annista—it may have been a strange and capricious fate that brought ye into my life, but let me say—I am glad o’ it.”
“As am I.” Dared she tell him how glad?
“And I will ha’ a promise fro’ ye as well.” He whispered it to her lips. “Stay safe for me.”
Aye, well, and she saw just how hard it was then to make such a promise. She wanted to reassure him, but all the love tangled up with protectiveness in her heart made it near impossible.
“Promise,” she whispered it.
“Fine and good. Stay near yer woman. Look after one another.”
“So I will.”
He went from her then, went from her out into the night. And she felt it, a stunning sort of loss, even as she joined Bonnie, who waited out on the gallery.
The little maid gave her a searching look, and Annista wondered how much she’d overheard through the open door of the solar. Enough, mayhap.
“Mistress? Will we be all right?”
Annista groped for the handle of the knife in her pocket. “Aye.”
“Do ye think he will get into the house? I do no’ fancy waiting in your chamber.”
“Nay. Let us go to the kitchens and see can we mak’ oursel’s useful, and be wi’ the other women.”
But part of her, a large part, accompanied her husband out into the night.