His eyes, however, found and settled on only one thing.
Lily.
She moved in and out of the hall in a steady rhythm, her skirts gathered in one hand and a basket of herbs clutched in the other. Her hair was half undone, and stray strands clung to her face as she shouted for water, bandages, or for the maids to lift or turn over a patient.
He could almost hear her voice from the tower. It was sharp, commanding, and hard as steel. He didn’t know if she realized how every soul obeyed her without hesitation.
Two men stumbled out of the hall, carrying a soldier between them. The lad looked practically dead because his body was limp and his skin was almost grey. His lips had turned an unnerving shade of blue, and even from this distance, Alasdair’s gut twisted. The men laid him on the ground, and for a moment, the courtyard seemed to go still.
Alasdair’s fingers dug even harder into the stone.
The poor bastard’s gone.
There was nothing Lily could do. Nothing any of them could do.
Then, Lily came running again, her skirts hiked up, her eyes fierce. She dropped to her knees beside the man, calling orders Alasdair couldn’t hear. Without hesitation, she straddled the man’s chest and began to press her hands over his ribs and push hard. Alasdair watched her do it over and over, her small frame driving all the strength she could muster into the soldier’s body.
“Me Laird?”
The voice behind him shocked him for some reason, and he realized at that moment that he’d been in a trance. He turned slowly and came face to face with the owner of the voice.
“Ye’ll stare a hole clean through the ground if ye keep staring like that.”
Alasdair frowned but said nothing in response.
Finn stood a few paces away, casual as always, his broad shoulders leaning against the wall. There was a sly smile on his face, the kind Alasdair had grown used to over the years.
“Are ye well?” Finn asked, studying him.
Alasdair gave a short nod. “Aye.” His gaze returned to the courtyard before he even finished.
Finn followed it and gave a low chuckle. “Thought as much.” He folded his arms and leaned forward. “So, what is she doin’?”
Alasdair gestured toward the scene below. “She is tryin’ to drag air back into that man’s lungs. I mean, look at him. He is bluer than the ocean. Surely she doesnae think he can be saved, does she?”
Finn scoffed. “Well, there is a reason she’s down there, Alasdair, and ye’re up here watching.”
Alasdair shot him a look, but Finn only grinned, unbothered.
They both watched in silence for a moment as Lily’s body rose and fell steadily while she continued to press hard against the man’s chest.
Suddenly, Finn tilted his head, evidently meaning to change the subject. “So. How’s it goin’? Between ye two, I mean. I could have cut the tension with a blade at the council meeting.”
Alasdair exhaled through his nose. “She was angry. I didnae tell her about the cèilidh. She found out from the elders.”
Finn’s eyebrow rose. “And why did ye nae tell her?”
“I meant to. But now she believes I didnae tell her so I can catch her off guard at the last minute.”
“Aye.” Finn smirked. “I mean, everyone kent for days. If she thinks ye meant to spring it on her at the last moment to keep her here, can ye blame her?”
Alasdair scowled at him. “Perhaps. But she really needs to stop paintin’ me as the villain in every matter. Every step I’ve taken so far has been for her good.”
Finn arched an eyebrow. “Forhergood? Or for yers?”
Alasdair ignored the jab and instead pointed downward with frustration. “Did ye ken that all the dresses she’s worn since she came here are the ones I told the seamstress to take back?”
Finn narrowed his eyes. “Really?”
