Chapter 7

It was after dinner, and yet some of the men were still training with Kian and Macauley watching. It was a necessity after the news they had received, or at least Macauley thought so. Someone else may have called it paranoia, but he could tell Kian, too, was concerned and that was more than enough for him to convince himself there was reason for worry.

The sky was cloudy that day, as it often was, but towards evening, it had cleared up enough to allow the moonlight to shine through. Along with the light of the torches that burned around the training grounds, it illuminated the area for the soldiers to train.

"Two groups o' over a dozen men each," said Kian, though it was far from the first time he had made the same comment. It seemed that he could not stop turning it over again and again in his mind, the recent report troubling him. "What could they want in our lands?"

"They could be travelers," said Macauley, though he didn't quite believe it himself. The report they had received from the village said they were no simple travelers, claiming they looked more like soldiers.

"Ye heard the report just as I did," Kian reminded him. Right after receiving word, he had brought everyone to the training grounds, personally overseeing their performance. "What could they want? Ye would think they wouldnae dare attack, whoever they are, with our ties tae the Hays an' the Murrays. Dae they think they can defeat three clans at once?"

"Perhaps that is what appeals tae them," Macauley said after a few moments of contemplation. "If they have the numbers, indeed, then it would be an impressive feat tae fight us all at the same time."

"Dae ye think they could have the numbers?"

"I dinnae ken," said Macauley truthfully. They didn't have enough information. They didn't even know to which clan the men belonged. Saying anything with certainty was impossible. "But I doubt it. They would need too many men. Nay clan has that much power."

"Perhaps they have allies," said Kian. It was difficult to read him under that mask, but one thing Macauley knew for certain was that he was worried. The news had rattled him, coming like this, in a time of peace. It was something neither of them had expected and had taken the entire council by surprise. "If that is the case, then we need tae find out who they are soon."

"An' so we will," Macauley assured him. He was determined to find out who was behind it, even if it meant going to the village himself. "I promise ye, we will find them."

Kian nodded, at least partly reassured by Macauley's promise. Just then, a servant rushed up to them, a young man who must have run all the way to the training grounds, judging by his labored breathing.

"Me laird, ye are summoned by the council," the servant said. "They say they must speak with ye."

With a sigh, Kian pressed his hand on Macauley's shoulder for a brief moment and then followed the servant back to the castle. Macauley considered joining him, but whatever it was the council wanted, he would soon hear it, too.

It was more important to stay with the men and watch their progress as they fought. If there was going to be an attack, then they needed to be prepared for it.

For a few hours, Macauley busied himself with the men, correcting their technique as they sparred and even joining in a few times himself. His arm was healing nicely, thankfully, even though he had neglected visiting Cathleen for her to take a look at the wound. After what had happened in the kitchen between them, he didn't know how to approach her or if she even wanted him to. The mere thought filled him with a sense of dread the likes of which he hadn't even felt in battle.

What if she is angry with me? What if she avoids me fer the rest o' her stay?

It seemed more likely than he wanted to believe.

When the moon was high up in the sky, Macauley put an end to the training and told the men to rest. They had worked more than enough for one day and the last thing he needed was to have soldiers who were too exhausted from training to fight a real battle. If there was an emergency, then they needed to be as well-rested as they would be well-trained.

Once everyone was gone, Macauley made his way back inside, weaving through the gardens to take a shortcut. As he walked, though, a scream echoed around him, his hand instinctively going to his blade. It was a child, and it was nearby.

Macauley grabbed the nearest torch and began searching, only to find a little boy on the ground by the west wing of the castle. It was Lachlan, the son of one of the kitchen maids, laying on his back, tears streaking his cheeks as he sobbed.

Macauley rushed to him, checking him for any injuries as well as he could under the dim light. "Are ye alright?" he asked. "What happened?"

The boy looked up at Macauley with wide eyes, fear still lingering in his gaze. "I fell," he said. "I was tryin' tae climb there."

As he spoke, he pointed at the lowest part of the roof. Even for a grown man like Macauley, it was a tall place to climb and he hoped the boy hadn't fallen all the way from there.

"It hurts me leg an' me back," the boy said, and that brought relief to Macauley. If Lachlan was in pain, then it meant the fall hadn't paralyzed him.

"I'll take ye tae the healer," Macauley said as he carefully scooped Lachlan up in his arms. "She'll make the pain go away."

Lachlan clung to him, curling into his chest as Macauley rushed through the gardens to the healer's quarters. He held the boy tightly, making sure he didn't jostle him too much, but thankfully they were close to the gardens and in a few seconds, he had reached Cathleen's door.

With his hands occupied, he had to kick his foot against the door a few times before it finally opened. At the other side stood Cathleen, dressed in nothing but her night shift, her chestnut hair loose around her shoulders.

For a moment, Macauley forgot what it was that had brought him there, but then Cathleen's worried voice reached him.

"What happened?" she asked, already approaching to take a better look at Lachlan.

"The laddie was tryin' tae climb up to the roof," said Macauley, his tone disapproving. "Gave himself an' me a fright."

"What's yer name, sweetie?" Cathleen asked the boy, as she gestured to Macauley to bring him inside and place him on one of the beds at the far end of the room.

"Lachlan," said the boy. In the moments it had taken Macauley to bring him to Cathleen, he had calmed down a little, though tears still ran down his cheeks.

"Well, Lachlan, can ye tell me where it hurts?" asked Cathleen.

Macauley stepped back, taking a chair and bringing it closer to the bed as Cathleen took care of Lachlan. Soon, Bonnie joined them, the two sisters reassuring the boy he was going to be alright and cheering him up with stories and jokes, his tears slowly drying, replaced by a tentative smile.

The more Macauley watched Cathleen, the more a strange warmth spread inside him, filling up his chest until he felt as though he would burst with it. She was so kind, so sweet and careful as she worked, making sure Lachlan was comfortable and happy, and Macauley couldn't help but admire her for it. She had a way with people, it seemed, eager to care for them and knowing how to handle them even at their most vulnerable.

She and Bonnie made sure nothing was broken and then took care of the scrapes and bruises on the boy's knees and hands, before binding his right ankle.

"Ye havenae broken yer bone, but ye need tae keep this on fer a while," Cathleen told him. "If it hurts, come tae me right away an' I'll fix it."

Lachlan smiled at Cathleen as she ruffled his ginger curls. It was Bonnie's turn, then, to pick the boy up in her arms.

"I'll take him tae his maither," she said. "I willnae be long."

With that, she was gone and Macauley was suddenly alone with Cathleen—who was still dressed in nothing but her night shift, the thin fabric clinging to her curves as she moved around the room, putting back everything they had used on Lachlan. Macauley couldn't help but stare, rude as it was. He could see the swell of Cathleen's breasts under the fabric, her nipples hardened from the chill in the room and pressing against the shift. The sight had his mouth turning dry as the desert and his mind going blank. He didn't even notice when she came to a halt in front of him, giving him a curious look.

"What are ye doin'?" she asked.

Macauley had already been caught, so he figured there was no point in lying. "Lookin' at ye."

At first, Cathleen only stared at him in silence and disbelief and Macauley thought she was going to kick him out of her quarters, as would be her right. Cathleen, though, only slapped his shoulder, rolling her eyes at him.

"If ye think ye will charm me like this, ye are mistaken," she told him. "But since ye're here, shall I redress yer wound?"

Macauley nodded, though he was certain his wound was fine. Still, it would be foolish of him to turn down the offer when he could have a pretty woman by his side for a little longer, so he let Cathleen unwrap the bandage from his arm and clean the wound, before applying a salve over it.

The entire time, her fingers were careful as she poked and prodded at the surrounding skin, and yet pain still shot through his entire arm when she got too close to the wound. Macauley gritted his teeth and did his best to hide it, but Cathleen must have noticed it in the harsh, tight lines of his face as he stiffened and her touch became even gentler.

"I'm nae that fragile, lass," Macauley said, lips stretching into a smile. "Dinnae fash. Just dae what ye must dae."

"I dinnae wish tae hurt ye," Cathleen said. "It doesnae matter if ye're fragile or if ye've endured worse."

Macauley didn't know what to say to that. People treated him kindly, of course, but he was a soldier. He was meant to fight, to get hurt, to get back up with no complaints. No one had treated him so gently before and it surprised him as much as it unsettled him.

He didn't think Cathleen treated him gently because she thought it was all he could handle, but rather because that was who she was as a person; warm and kind and reluctant to inflict even the smallest of pains.

When she was finished, Cathleen redressed the wound in a clean cloth, but then didn't move, and neither did Macauley. It was difficult to move away from her when all he wanted to do was pull her close and kiss her, tasting her lips and feeling the warmth of her body under his hands. The two of them sat so close that he could have easily bridged the gap between them and captured her lips, but Macauley didn't dare do so.

What if Cathleen didn't want that? What if he had simply convinced himself there was something there when she was simply being nice?

It was a problem Macauley had never faced before. He could usually tell when a girl wanted him, and even in the times when he had been mistaken, propositioning a woman who wanted nothing to do with him, he had taken the rejection with a smile and a shrug. It never mattered that much to him before as it did now, with Cathleen. For one, if she rejected him, there would be no avoiding each other, since they lived in such close proximity. And then there was the matter of him caring, for once. Though they didn't know each other well, Cathleen had saved his life and that was more than enough to bond him to her.

"We should sleep," Cathleen said suddenly, pulling back from him with a sigh. "It's late."

It was late, indeed, but Macauley didn't want to be away from her just yet. As much as he feared to act on his feelings, he was loathe to be away from her and so he said, "I dinnae think I can sleep yet. Perhaps I'll go tae me secret place."

Just as he expected, that caught Cathleen's attention. "What is yer secret place?"

"Ach, I cannae tell ye that," Macauley teased, but just as disappointment colored her features, he took her hand and led her out of the room, grinning at her over his shoulder.