The maid who had entered earlier lingered by the door, wringing her hands. “Me Lady, the Laird and the council await. They demand yer presence.”
“Tell them to wait,” Lily snapped without looking up. “Or send them away. If they ask why, tell them I am stopping a man from dying. That should be reason enough.”
The maid hesitated, then bobbed her head and ran.
Lily bent close, whispering to Ian as he writhed beneath her hands. “Hold fast, lad. Hold fast a while longer.”
The storm outside swelled, and the light streaming through the windows darkened.
Alasdair paced the length of the dining hall like a hound on a leash. His boots struck the stone floor hard, the sound echoing through the room, and the maid who stood before him jumped in fright. The same one he had asked to fetch Lily. She stood with her head bowed and her hands clasped in front of her.
“Tell me again,” he ordered, his voice sharp.
The maid swallowed. “Me Laird, she said to tell the council to wait. Or to come back another time. She said she is stopping a man from dying, and that should be reason enough.”
Heat flared up Alasdair’s neck. “She said that?”
“Aye, me Laird.”
He cursed under his breath, raking a hand through his hair.
His councilmen sat around the long table, their faces contorted with impatience. His uncle Thomas, a grey-haired man with a rather tense demeanor, leaned back in his chair, his arms folded across his chest.
“It seems ye have an entitled little spitfire for a wife,” he commented, his voice carrying through the hall.
Alasdair’s head snapped up. “I’ll thank ye nae to speak of me wife in such a manner, Uncle. If she couldnae make it, then something grave held her.”
“Something more important than the council?” another man asked, his tone biting.
Alasdair turned slowly toward him. His voice was low, but the weight of it cut through the air. “Aye. Me men are more important than the council’s demands.”
The man’s jaw tightened, but he said nothing in response.
Alasdair, however, continued pacing in the hall, his hands clasped behind his back. He heard thunder rumble outside but paid it little mind. There had been threats of rain in the past few days, but never rain itself. The stormy clouds would pass.
Finn sat at one end of the table, watching him, but even his friend knew better than to speak at this time. Alasdair let the silence linger before he drew a breath.
“Would any of ye care for food while ye wait?” he asked.
“Nay,” one of the elders said curtly. “What we would like is to speak to yer wife. But it seems that’s nae possible.”
Alasdair’s teeth ground together, and he forced his voice to remain calm. “She is with the wounded. She is tending to them, keeping them from death. If that is an inconvenience, then like she said, ye will have to wait.”
“Daenae be so self-righteous, me Laird,” another man snapped. “The war has touched all of us.”
Alasdair stepped forward, his eyes cold. “Really? Has it touched ye?”
The man swallowed, but Alasdair continued anyway.
“How many limbs did ye lose? Tell me. How many wounds do ye bear?” His voice rose, hard as steel. “The men in the hall are fighting for their lives, and me wife is doing her best to save them. Daenae speak to me ofinconvenience.”
The man opened his mouth again, but Alasdair cut him off.
“Another word, and I will have ye removed.”
Silence fell heavily, and for the next minute, nothing could be heard. Not even the sound of a throat clearing.
Alasdair let his gaze sweep the table. “Has anyone else something foolish to add?”
