Eli stood on the parapets and let out a scream unlike any he’d ever heard.
Chapter Thirteen
Eli
Eli had been pacing at the top of the parapets for the longest time. She was never away from Alaric for long, but it was important that he completed this task on his own, much as she hated not to be there to protect him. That made her smile because Alaric always viewed it the other way around—he always protected her.
She let him think that, though she knew better.
Pausing to listen, she thought the sound of horses’ hooves were a distance away. She leaned over the parapets, staring at the three horses coming up the path. She saw her husband first and waved, a sigh of relief coursing through her. How she adored the man.
Then she looked at her grandfather in the back, but he didn’t ride like her grandsire. He rode more like Sloan Rankin.
Confused, her gaze went to the third horse, noticed it was Broc, but someone was in front of him.
Grandsire. She let out a wail when she saw the blood and noticed he wasn’t moving.
“Is he dead?” she screamed as loud as she could, knowing everyone would hear her but she didn’t care. “Is Grandda dead, Alaric?”
Her husband shook his head, so she raced down the stairs to the gates that had just been lifted, the three horses going straight to the keep steps.
She ran behind the animals shouting, “What happened?” It was time to get her emotions under control. Aunt Brenna had warned her many times that when it came to the worst injuries, she would have to throw her emotions aside and act like her patient was not someone she knew.
But Grandsire? Could she do it?
The courtyard filled as Alaric dismounted and shouted to Eli. “Get your needle ready. You have to sew him up. Go ahead of us, Eli. He needs you. We’ll bring him in.”
Maitland was out the door next, cursing. “Shite. Who did this?”
“Glenna,” was all Broc could get out. He was exhausted but so wound with fear that he kept going.
Maitland said, “I’m taking him, Broc.”
“Nay, I have him.”
Uncle Connor came up behind Maitland. “Let him go, Broc. You’re about to drop from exhaustion. We’ll get him inside. You got him here and that’s what counts. We’ll take him. Follow us in, and you and Alaric will tell Eli what she needs to know, then you’ll leave him be.”
Broc said, “Nay, I can’t leave him.”
Uncle Connor came behind Broc, stopped him by grabbing his shoulders, and said, “Hand him to Maitland. We’ve got him.”
He handed Logan over to Maitland and said, “His side. His sword side took the slice.”
Maitland took Logan from him while Uncle Connor took Broc’s shoulders and led him inside the keep. “You’ll sit in the chamber and drink. Alaric will talk. You did well getting him back here. I can see that it was a struggle. And Sloan wouldn’t have escorted you back for no reason.”
Eli motioned them to the healing chamber, looking at her husband first, then Broc. They were both ready to drop, if she were to guess. Alaric kissed her cheek and said, “You can do this. Love you, El.”
“You are hale, husband?”
“Broc and I are fine. Fix Logan. He’s lost a lot of blood.”
Eli nodded, then pointed to the bed, and Maitland settled him on it the best he could.
Aunt Kyla appeared in the doorway. “Broc! What happened? You look awful. And Logan?”
Uncle Finlay said, “I’ll get Gwyneth.”
“I’m fine, Ma. A drink, if you please.”
