Chapter Eighteen

There was much to do in the wake of the siege. Success created far more necessary labor than defeat.

Once all known defenders had been neutralized, the castle was searched, top to bottom, for any hidden enemies and secret chambers or passages. Men set about immediately repairing the gate to prevent any escape of prisoners or a counter-attack. As the de Rathe flag was lowered and sliced to ribbons, the Merrick banner was raised, signifying a unified agreement that Austin and his men would garrison the castle for now, until Robert Bruce decided what was to be done with it. Guards were posted at key points in and around the castle and outlying village to maintain order and security. A command center was established within the keep, inside a second floor solar. Even before the great hall had been wiped clean of any evidence of the brutal fight, a makeshift infirmary had been set up to treat injured soldiers from both sides. The wounded were triaged by Grace and the de Graham surgeons to prioritize treatment based on the severity of injuries.

All prisoners of war, those who'd surrendered, were disarmed and gathered, and sent down to the same squalid dungeon in which their enemies had lived for more than a week. A lively debate took place between de Graham, the Wolf, and Austin, deciding the fate of the prisoners. Ruairi mac Cailean was in favor of ransoming the prisoners while Austin voted to leave them imprisoned until the king decided their fate. Torsten de Graham wanted them all executed, arguing that Scotsmen who betrayed their own king deserved no less.

Further, the castle's supplies were inventoried—food, weapons, and valuables—and the whole of the castle's defenses needed to be assessed, notes made for the locations of structures that would require immediate repair.

Several units of the de Grahams collected and began burying the dead, the defenders in a mass grave, while their own, all those of the besiegers, were prepared for a solemn burial rite, which would take place tomorrow.

Messengers were sent to allied forces and the king himself, reporting on the successful siege. Closer to Castle Wick, patrols were dispersed to gather intelligence and maintain order in the vicinity and ensure there were no pockets of resistance. There was little backlash to the ousting of de Rathe, however, his local rule apparently having been received unfavorably, as he took so many local resources and shipped them off to English troops. Folks in the village reported how they had been oppressed and overworked, expressing relief and cautious optimism about the new leadership.

As it was, there was no rest for the victors.

Austin saw very little of Fiona that first day, not after Fraser had cold-clocked him and dragged her away. It didn't take him but a moment to comprehend the source of Fraser's wrath: she'd consorted with the enemy, their embrace after the fight had shown. And Fraser, older and long-knowing of the feud between the Roses and Merricks wasn't about to allow his favorite Rose to take up with a Merrick.

As he'd already thought, and was sure that Fiona imagined as well, there was no future for them. It would end when the Roses departed Castle Wick. Torsten de Graham had his own plans, orders from the king which he'd delayed to assist in the siege, but needed to move his army out as soon as possible. He'd suggested that the Roses should move out as well and make for Oathlaw. De Graham had informed them that before he'd departed the king's side, well-planted spies had sent word that a contingent of English were bringing north a full arsenal of provisions, weapons, and horses and might be intercepted at Oathlaw. At the time, his own numbers perilous for the dearth of allies, King Robert hadn't been able to take advantage of the intelligence. De Graham assured Austin that the Rose army, numbering about thirty now, was plenty large enough to ambush the train, if they could reach Oathlaw before the English drove through.

The mac Caileans were bound to leave on the morrow as well, Ruairi having caught wind of troubling news from the west, derived from a de Rathe soldier, about an English attack on a remote Scots' village.

Until Robert Bruce sent another to relieve him to garrison Castle Wick, Austin and his army could not abandon it. As long as the war raged, the Merricks and Roses would likely cross paths only rarely if at all. Hell, he'd been part of the Merrick army for a decade, and this was the first occasion that he'd run into the Roses. Aye, the Merricks and Roses had both fought at Roslin, but so had another eight thousand men—and women, he supposed now—so that the chances of encountering an enemy among the allies had been slim.

When Austin exited the command center in that second floor solar just around dusk—mayhap for the fifth or sixth time today—he found Brodie waiting for him. The Merrick captain looked a wee haggard, with dark circles under his eyes and now wearing a bandage round his upper arm and one around his neck.

"Ye've nae included me in any council," Brodie complained straight off, eschewing any greeting.

He'd not stopped when met by Brodie but had summoned the captain to walk alongside him, as he wanted to survey all that he could from the battlements one more time before darkness set.

He paused now, halfway down the spiral stairs, and glared up at Brodie, a few steps above him. "Dinna include ye in any council?" He repeated. "Should we have postponed all necessary appointments and the division of labor until ye were found? Why did ye nae seek me out when the fight was done?"

Shaking his head, he continued down the stairs without awaiting a response.

Brody skipped down after him. "I saw ye kissing the Rose lass this morning. And I heard what happened with her man, Fraser, when the battle was done. God's teeth, lad, but what are ye thinking? A bluidy Rose, by all that's holy. Yer father will nae take kindly to this...this, consorting with the enemy. He'll nae allow ye to wed her. He'll demand that—"

At the bottom of the stairs, Austin turned on Brodie, his ire piqued more than it had been in a long time for Brodie's meddling ways.

Brodie hadn't yet come off the last step when Austin got right in his face, eye to eye with the smaller man.

"Aye, take it back to my sire, Brodie, as ye do so well," he snarled at him. "What I do in my personal life and in the midst of war is nae yer business, nor, frankly, his." He narrowed his eyes at the infuriating man. "Truly, ye have nae anything else to do? With all the tasks needing done, ye ken this is what ye need to fret about?"

With a curl of his lip, he pivoted again and left the man standing in the stairwell.

Christ, there's one he hadn't missed at all in the last week removed from his own army.

His mood soured, he strode across the hall and out of doors, taking the stone steps up to the wall walk two at a time.

Aye, he knew that, that his father would not receive well news of any friendly overtures toward the Roses. Like as not, his sire would fly into a rage to hear how happily and heartily Austin had ‘consorted with the enemy'.

But it didn't matter, not in the bigger scheme of things, neither in the immediate future nor in the long run.

Today had shown him just how perilous any affection for Fiona Rose truly was. He hadn't fought particularly well, and if not for the overwhelming numbers of besiegers at his side, he might have ended up like Brodie, swathed in bandages and nursing multiple wounds. Or worse. He had been more concerned for her safety than his own, and that distraction could have cost him his life.

Atop the battlements, he nodded at the stalwart guards as he made his way around, his eyes sweeping over the landscape that lay beyond the castle walls. The light was fading fast, pitching lengthy shadows across the ground and painting the sky in hues of orange and purple. The cool evening breeze tugged at his plaid and tunic, carrying with it the faint scent of the sea and the distant murmur of the river below.

Austin paused at a southern vantage point, leaning on the rough stone parapet as he took in the scene before him. The aftermath of the siege was evident in the scattered debris, the scars of battle still fresh on the earth. Fires burned in small clusters, their smoke rising in thin, wispy columns. He could see the men moving about, organizing, repairing, and tending to a variety of assignments.

He walked on, around to the northern corner, and stared out at the roiling sea, knowing that half of what he told himself about Fiona was a lie, and the other half were complications to which there were solutions. Gazing down the steep wall and cliff, he recalled their harrowing climb the first night of the first siege. He turned his gaze to the battlements, the place where they had fought side by side, where he had admired her strength and courage.

He entertained again a stream of consciousness he'd mulled over only this morning: despite the oddly powerful affection he felt for her—he still wasn't sure how she'd so quickly occupied so many of his thoughts and so large a portion of his heart—and the warmth that spread through him whenever she was near, he couldn't escape the harsh realities of their situation. He admired her indestructible spirit, felt a genuine bond forged through their shared trials, but he knew deep down that this was a fleeting moment, a bright flame destined to be extinguished by the cold winds of reality.

He thought of the generations of enmity between their clans. The Merricks and the Roses had been at each other's throats for as long as anyone could remember, and such deep-seated animosity wasn't something that could be easily cast aside. Austin knew his father's fierce pride and unyielding hatred for the Roses. A union with Fiona was not just unlikely; it was dangerous. His father would never accept it, and Austin couldn't risk a conflict that could cost lives and destabilize the tenuous peace they had fought so hard to achieve—mostly by ignoring and avoiding the Roses in his lifetime.

Austin also considered the practicalities of their separate lives. His duty was to his clan, to protect and lead them. Fiona had similar responsibilities, which likely included a desire one day to take back Dunraig for the Roses. Their paths might cross today, but soon enough, they would diverge again, each drawn back to their own people, their own wars. He couldn't allow himself to become so entangled with Fiona that he lost sight of his duties. The battlefield had taught him the price of distraction, and today, concern for her had almost cost him dearly.

If he had to guess, he might imagine Fiona's innocent heart was open and hopeful, and perhaps she imagined a different future for them. He wished he could share her optimism, but he was a man tempered by experience, by loss. He could not afford to be so idealistic. It was better for them both if he maintained a distance, if he let the memory of their time together remain just that—a memory. It wasn't that he didn't care; he most certainly did, but because of this, he had to protect her from the inevitable fallout that their relationship would bring.

At least, that's what he told himself.

SHE WAS KEPT BUSY ENOUGH throughout the day so that she didn't see Austin again and wasn't forced to purposefully avoid Fraser since they'd been tasked with different orders from de Graham, who had effectively taken charge of the entire operation today. While she'd taken several units, including most of the Roses, into the village to settle the anxiety of the people there, Fraser had been sent along with several de Graham officers, setting up the patrols in a two mile perimeter all around Castle Wick. She was still quite vexed with him, for how he'd overstepped bounds and for the way he'd treated her personally, as if she were a mere child and a simple one at that.

Though she hadn't thought about people's reaction to her and Austin having formed a relationship, in hindsight she supposed she might have imagined the majority would have been pleased to put the pointless feud behind them, as she believed she and Austin could do. Wishful thinking, she realized now.

When Fiona returned to Castle Wick late in the evening, she did not find Austin anywhere. She first checked the great hall, where soldiers and commanders were gathered, strategizing and celebrating the day's victory. Discreet inquiries to those present produced no answer regarding his whereabouts. Her frustration grew as she moved from room to room, her steps quickening with urgency.

She ventured into the kitchen, hoping he might have sought a moment of solitude or a quick meal, but found only the bustling staff preparing for the next day's meals. The stables, where she thought he might be tending to his horse or speaking with the grooms, yielded no sight of him either. The courtyard, filled with the commotion of men and animals readying for the next day's journey, was equally unhelpful.

Knowing that she and the Roses were expected to depart Wick in the morning with de Graham's army, she had hoped that she and Austin might spend one last night together. She walked the perimeter of the castle, scanning the shadows for any sign of him. She even checked the guard posts on the walls, nodding to the sentries as she passed, but Austin was nowhere to be found.

Her mind raced with possibilities. Was he avoiding her? Had he already retired for the night? The uncertainty gnawed at her, and she felt a pang of worry mixed with the desire to see him, to speak with him. With any luck, they would not be separated for too long. However, with these new and overwhelming emotions teeming inside her, she already knew that any length of time would seem an eternity.

She located him finally, or rather happened upon him, as he was crossing the bailey, headed for Wick's expansive stables.

"Austin," she called out, for the yard was yet crowded with men and horses preparing to ride out to relieve the first unit of patrols.

He turned, surprise and something unfathomable flickering in his eyes before he composed his expression. When he did not move toward her, Fiona hurried to close the distance between them.

"I've been looking for ye," she said, her voice tinged with both relief and urgency. The smile that had come upon finding him wobbled a bit now.

He nodded, but there was a guardedness in his eyes that she hadn't seen before. "I've been occupied," he replied curtly.

Fiona hesitated, a wave of confusion washing over her. There was little evidence of the warm, tender man she had come to know in their week together. Recalling the last time she'd seen him today, she was reminded of why he might be upset. "I am verra sorry for Fraser's behavior earlier. He was out of line. I've spoken with him, of course, but I'm nae sure I made any headway in changing—"

"Fraser was right," he surprised her by saying, his tone flat. "He was looking out for ye, Fiona, as yer captain should."

His words struck her like a physical blow. She stared at him, bewildered. "What...are ye saying?"

He shrugged indifferently, wearing a sour scowl. "Naught that he said was out of line."

"I dinna understand. Are ye saying...?" She trailed off, searching his eyes for some sign of the affection they had shared. But his steely gaze remained cool, detached, and it only deepened her confusion.

How could he dismiss what lived and breathed between them so easily?

In the face of Austin's coolness, she was meanly revisited by Fraser's accusations.

He's an opportunist! The verra worst kind of man! Used the situation to his advantage, took what he wanted, and now he's done with ye!

In a small voice that sounded very far away, she forced herself to ask, "Did ye simply use me? Was I naught but a diversion? A convenient one?"

Austin's jaw tightened, and he briefly looked away before pinning her with an icy stare. "Lass, ye had to ken that nothing could come of this. Our clans are enemies, and we've matters of greater import at the moment, ye and I and our armies. It was...it was a moment out of time, naught more than that."

How she managed not to fall to the ground in shock and grief, right then and there, she would never know. The blood drained from her face, and she fought to keep her voice steady. "I dinna ken that. Apologies for my foolishness."

She turned on her heel and walked away, each step feeling like she was moving through thick mud.

Austin called after her, but she did not turn around.

And he did not pursue her as she left him.

Her mind reeled as she tried to process his words. How could he be so cold, so dismissive? Everything they had shared, the dangers they had faced together, it had all felt so real to her. She had thought he felt the same, that they had a connection that transcended their clans' bitter history.

But she knew better now.

Fraser was right.

She meant nothing to him.

AUSTIN STOOD ROOTED to the spot, his fists clenched at his sides. The impulse to chase after her, to pull her into his arms and apologize for his harshness—for his lies—was almost overwhelming. He steeled his mind and heart, reminding himself why he had to let her go.

Yet, knowing it was for the best did little to ease the pain. Damn, how it hurt. The stricken look in her eyes, the way her face had fallen when she realized the extent of his resolve, would likely haunt him nightly. He could already imagine the torment of seeing her in his dreams, of reaching out to her only to wake up alone.

As she disappeared into the keep, Austin felt the full awful weight of his decision settle on him.

He forced himself to move, to enter the stables and ready a steed, having previously decided to take one of the night patrols for himself. The sky was a sea of blackness when he exited the stable moments later, reflecting the darkness that now clouded his heart.

The path he had chosen was the right one, he fully believed, but it offered little comfort. Time might eventually dull the pain, he reasoned, though found it unlikely. He would, he knew, have to live with what he'd done, with the knowledge that he had hurt the one person he wished he could protect above all others.

I must be a fool, he thought. I am a fool to let her walk away.