Lily blinked. “What?”
Sorcha crossed her arms and, in a perfect imitation of Alasdair’s voice, spoke. “‘Daenae put weight on it for the first day. Walkin’ stick only. Elevate it when ye sleep. Change the bandages every morning. And if it turns black or swells, send word.’”
Lily stared at her. That was exactly what she would have told the boy. “He said all of that?”
“Aye,” Sorcha responded, a grin spreading across her face. “Yer husband isnae just a pretty face, ye ken.”
Lily’s face flushed. “He isnae me husband.”
Sorcha raised both eyebrows and nodded solemnly. “Of course. Me mistake.”
Lily sighed. “I’ll come to the dining hall.”
“Good.” Sorcha moved to the door.
“Wait—” Lily called, causing the maid’s hand to freeze on the doorknob. “This war—the one that caused all these injuries… when exactly did it end? I noticed the wounds are fresh.”
“Aye,” Sorcha responded, her voice soft. “They’re fresh because the war ended yesterday.”
Lily froze. “Yesterday?”
Sorcha nodded. “Aye, just yesterday.”
She left, and Lily was left alone once again.
The air in the room seemed to go still.
Lily turned slowly toward the mirror, staring at her own wide eyes, her pale face, and her hair, still damp from the bath.
Yesterday.
Her fingers trembled faintly at her sides.
What exactly had she walked into?
CHAPTER 8
Dusk was beginningto creep upon the castle like a visitor unsure of its welcome. A few more hours, and the sky would completely darken. Alasdair stood near the back window, drying his hands with a towel and surveying the rows of wounded men.
Low candlelight flickered along the walls, casting a soft golden hue over the stone and timber, the scent of herbs lingering faintly in the air.
The atmosphere was different now. Calmer.
Even with the groans of pain and the occasional muttered complaint, there was a strange sense of peace. Not like earlier, during Dr. Moseley’s regime, when the room was filled with panic and the stench of rot. There was a rhythm now. A system. A sense of hope.
Alasdair folded the towel and set it aside.
Shehad done this. Lily.
Barely a full day had passed, and already the men seemed less afraid. Some even smiled at the maids who brought them water or porridge. The wounded had hope now, and Alasdair knew that he had been right to bring her back.
Even though she had made him bleed for it, he didn’t regret it one bit. A few more weeks, and the hall would be empty again. He could feel it in his bones.
“Good evening, me Laird,” Daisy greeted as she entered.
He turned toward her. “Daisy. Did the lady take her bath and meal?”
“Aye.” She nodded. “She took her bath earlier. Miss Sorcha’s taking her to the dining hall now, or so I was told.”
