Alasdair arched an eyebrow. “Really, Lily?”
She tore her bread with pointed slowness. “If the council cannae meet me in this gown, then perhaps they daenae deserve to meet me at all.”
Finn choked on a laugh. “Now I ken ye have grown.”
She tossed her head back and laughed again, her hair shimmering like dark honey in the sunlight. She finished her bread, wiped her hands neatly on her napkin, and rose to her feet.
Alasdair’s eyes followed her despite himself. As she stepped back from the table, her gaze flicked to the bandages wrapped around his thigh.
“I am fine,” he said at once, his voice a touch harsher than he had meant.
She only nodded. “Good.” Then, she turned to Finn, who had relaxed further in his chair. “It was great to see ye again, Finn.”
And just like that, she was gone, her skirt trailing behind her as the door closed with a soft thud.
Alasdair’s hands curled into fists on the table.
Finn leaned back, his chair groaning under his weight, and let out a long sigh. “Well, Braither,” he said, amusement lacing his voice. “Now I ken ye have yer work cut out for ye.”
CHAPTER 12
The clouds wereheavy when Lily stepped out of the castle and made her way toward the hall. She looked up to examine them. They were the kind of clouds that promised a storm before nightfall. The air was still, but there was a weight to it that made her chest tighten.
She turned to Daisy. “We must be quick today. If the storm breaks, anyone well enough to walk should be sent home before the rains catch them here.”
Daisy smiled faintly. “Ye need nae fret, me Lady. It seldom rains in this season. The clouds will pass.”
Lily was not so certain, but she quickened her pace all the same. The smell of herbs and broth drifted faintly as they entered the hall, and the sound of men’s voices filled the air.
Unlike the day before, there was less groaning. The wounded sat straighter in their beds, some even laughing together. A soft warmth spread in Lily’s chest. Already, they looked more alive.
Sorcha rose when she saw her. “Me Lady,” she greeted, wiping her hands on her apron.
“How are they?” Lily asked, stepping forward.
“They fare well,” Sorcha responded, her voice clear. “One of the men had a fever in the night, but we cooled it with compresses and gave him a tonic to strengthen him. It broke by dawn, and he is resting now.”
Lily frowned. “Ye ought to have woken me.”
“After everything ye did yesterday, ye needed yer rest,” Sorcha answered firmly. “It wasnae so grave anyway, and we managed well enough.”
Lily breathed deeply, then nodded. She knew Sorcha meant well, yet the thought of not being needed still stung.
She moved between the cots, greeting the men. A few smiled, and others lifted their hands weakly. Their cheer gave her strength. She knelt beside a cot where a young soldier grinned at her.
“So this is the lass the new Laird has taken for his wife. A gift from heaven, aye?” He laughed.
Lily looked up at him as the men around them chuckled, but she said nothing.
The soldier then leaned closer, lowering his voice. “And if he only hired ye to say it, ye can stop lying. Ye are safe here.”
A tense silence fell as Sorcha stiffened, anger flashing across her face. She stepped forward, but Lily lifted her hand, bidding her to stand back. Her lips quirked up, and she met the soldier’s eyes squarely.
“And who are ye?”
“Ian,” he muttered, his grin faltering a little.
Lily tilted her head. “Well, Ian, are ye married?”
