Chapter Thirty-One

"Absence lessens half-hearted passions, and increases great ones, as the wind puts out candles and yet stirs up the fire."

Fran?ois VI Duc De La Rochefoucauld, 1613-1680

"If ye didn't throw the ladder down to her, and I didn't, who did?" Simon asked John as they sat at the tables that still hadn't been taken down outside Dunvegan's wall in the village.

Rory stood brushing Airgid's dappled coat longer than needed as he listened. He'd been training with his warriors and meeting with the leaders of each group within his clan: archers, cavalry, the blacksmith, and farrier. A rainstorm had blown in from sea, but they'd persisted until every resident had a weapon for self-defense if Walter Macdonald led a siege.

Three more ferries had already been constructed in the last two days to carry vulnerable villagers behind Dunvegan's mighty curtain wall when the time came. The business allowed him to stay numb inside, which was better than the pain that nearly crippled him when he watched Sara ride away.

"Margaret," John answered, but Simon was already shaking his head.

"She and Theo went to check on the lass, and she was already liberated," Simon said. "And before ye can say it, wee Eleri didn't do it, or she would have waited for her to reach the top before running off."

"Reid Hodges then." John crossed his one whole arm over his chest. "The man has a soft spot for Sara, even rode off with her the morning she snuck away." Reid had told Rory that he'd go with Sara, but he wasn't any real protection. He could barely hold a weapon.

"Think she went back to Dunscaith?" Simon asked, making Rory's hand pause in mid-swipe along Airgid's flank. He'd given her enough coin to see her safely off the isle. Merciful God, don't let her return to that devil.

"That bastard of a father will kill her if she did," John said. "Hope she didn't."

"Chief MacLeod." A woman's voice cut into Rory's eavesdropping, and he straightened to find Henrietta Blounce standing there, her usual gaggle of apprentice midwives behind her. She'd been one of Sara's biggest critics.

"Aye," he said, nodding to her and the other lasses.

"Ye should know that Winnie Mar has left Dunvegan," Henrietta said. She crossed her arms. "She said she has an interest in learning midwifery," her brows rose high on her forehead, "but she hasn't shown up for any of my lessons, and now she seems to have taken herself off somewhere."

Rory dropped his brush into the bucket of water. "When did she leave?"

Henrietta looked up and then to her hand, her fingers ticking off days before meeting his gaze with her direct stare. "Saw her last the early morning of Monday, the day Sir Jamie was brutally sent to God." She passed the sign of the cross before her as if warding off the murderous evil. The ladies behind her did the same in comical symmetry.

Simon and John had risen and were listening closely. "Never liked that woman," John said.

"Wicked tongue," Simon added. "Always wanted everyone out of the castle as if she was the lady there."

"And she could yell like a true banshee," John said, sticking his finger in his ear to wiggle it.

Henrietta studied them without agreeing or disagreeing. She turned her frown back to Rory. "Thought ye should know who is living at Dunvegan and who has decided to desert us before the war begins."

"Like a rat jumping ship," Simon said.

"Stinking rat," John said, shaking his head.

Rory rubbed his chin. "There may be no war. We're just preparing."

Henrietta turned away but left a parting comment. "We shall have war when we were promised peace with the wedding." She shook her head, and the other ladies mimicked her.

"Old goat," John mumbled.

Simon spat on the ground and scuffed the spot with his boot. "Acts like Rory here brought this war on himself."

"There's no pleasing some people," John added as they shuffled off toward the ferry.

And yet, Rory had acted to please his clan above what he felt was right. Under forceful advice, he'd sent Sara away. Ten years ago, he'd tried to appease his people after Madeline's trickery by swearing to never trust a woman again. He'd spent his whole life trying to please his father, but the man never softened toward him.

Rory's chest was tight as he led Airgid back to his barn situated to the side of Dunvegan. After feeding his loyal, hardworking mount an apple, Rory walked back out into the midday grayness. Since Sara had left, it seemed the sun had given up on trying to burn through the clouds. The heaviness made it hard for him to draw a full inhale.

When he'd stood on the roof in the pre-dawn light, watching Sara leave, a part of him left with her. Maybe she'd taken his scarred soul that she'd said Madeline had cut to pieces. Sara had stitched it back together, and then he'd let her take it with her.

Rory walked down the path that wound through the cottages making up Dunvegan Village. Buckets of water sat along the perimeter of each house, ready to be thrown on thatched roofs if the Macdonalds rode through with torches, trying to burn them down. Jok had suggested taking the offensive and marching on Dunscaith, but Rory was trying to prevent war, not start it.

Rory realized his feet were taking him toward the one-room cottage that Winnie Mar had occupied when she wasn't playing lady of the castle. He stopped before her cottage, studying it. He remembered her taking pride in it last year, but now it had tall weeds around the base as if she'd abandoned it months ago.

He threw open the door. It was empty like Henrietta had said. A single bed was made up, and the basic furnishings were sitting as they should: table, two chairs, washing pitcher, and a chest for clothes, which was empty. Walking behind the cottage, Rory found a fire pit with charred wood. He kicked at the crisscrossed pieces, watching them fall apart. He was about to turn away when something white caught his gaze. He crouched, pushing at the remaining coals with a stick.

"Daingead," he said as he unearthed a charred mushroom. It looked like a wrinkled Destroying Angel mushroom. Winnie could have taken one from Jamie's room to study and decided to get rid of it. Or…she was the source of the deadly mushrooms to begin with.

Rory straightened. The wind tugged at his hair as he breathed in the fresh scent of the sea and listened to the murmur of voices lower in the village. But it didn't clear his head nor loosen the tight knot in his gut. Walking, he found himself at Airgid's stall again, leading him out and throwing the saddle back onto his sturdy back. The horse looked at him with large brown eyes. His ears flicked as if sensing Rory's turbulent mood.

"Where are ye off to?" Jok asked as Rory led Airgid back out.

"Ye think she went to her aunt's, to Morag's?" Rory asked his friend.

Jok's grin faded to seriousness. "At first, but then she might have sailed over to the mainland."

"She took the bag of coins?"

Jok nodded. "Had me tie it to her satchel."

"I'll be back by nightfall," Rory said and mounted Airgid to break into a slow run while his mind churned much faster than the horse's feet.

Rory slowed and stopped before the burned chapel. Wind blew the damp, acrid smell of destruction. He looked to the south. His warrior instincts told him that Walter Macdonald would come riding soon. That war was inevitable.

He stared at the ruin, the roof destroyed and the colorful windows shattered. A shell of blackened stone blocks was all that was left. Their bones would be there, too, if Sara hadn't knocked under the floor of the burning church.

"Bloody hell," he said, his fist pushing against his forehead. Sara had saved him, saved all of them trapped in the church. Even when she'd been raised by a man who hated them. No matter what orders her father wrote to her, she wouldn't have killed Jamie, not unless he attacked her. She would've just let them all burn. He pressed Airgid into a run.

An hour later, Morag's cottage came into view. Black crows circled above it, landing on the thatched roof and fence. There were no horses tied there.

Rory dismounted, ignoring the crows, and looped the reins over the post near a bucket that held clean rainwater for Airgid.

Rap. Rap. Rap. "Morag Gunn," he called through the door.

"Rory MacLeod," she called back through the door. He waited, but she didn't open it.

"Open the door. Is Sara here?"

A bar scraped off the door on the inside, and it swung open. "'Tis about damn time you came after her, you dull-headed arse," Morag said.

He glanced over the white-haired woman's head, but the front room looked vacant. "Sara?" he called.

"Seraphina isn't here," Morag said, disdain evident in her voice. "You sent her away, and she won't stay where she's not wanted." Her words stabbed at him, more so because they were true.

"Where has she gone?"

Her face was hard, her lips thin, and her eyes narrowed. She wore her white hair in a long, neat braid that lay over one straight shoulder.

"To stop this bloody war."

"What?" His muscles tensed. "How?"

"By riding to her father's and stealing back that damn flag."

"Did she steal the flag for him?" he asked.

Morag jabbed his chest with a fingernail cut to a point. "Why would she ride into Hell to get it back if she'd sent it there? Of course not." Her frown called him all sorts of foul names, and her nail may have drawn blood.

"I gave her coins to leave to the mainland," he said, absently rubbing the jabbed spot on his chest.

Morag pointed at the table where a familiar pouch sat. "She doesn't want your money, MacLeod."

He strode past her, scooping up the bag. It was heavy. "Daingead."

"My niece is proud." Morag crossed her arms. "Those coins don't take the place of you standing by her, believing her."

He felt his blood rush, heating his face. "My people think she killed Jamie and stole the Fairy Flag."

Morag crossed her arms. "Sara said you compared her to Madeline, that you broke some foolhardy vow and can't forgive yourself enough to see reason."

At the girl's name, Rory's chest hurt harder. "'Tis not foolhardy to swear not to let another girl die because of me. I wanted Sara to leave to protect her. I will not have her blood spilled on my account. Not again."

Morag stared at him, her eyes narrowing. She tilted her head as if she was hearing something. "You think Madeline's blood is on your hands? That 'tis your fault she died?"

He looked away from her searching gaze. "Because of me, she got close, and my father had to punish her before everyone to stop it from happening again."

Silence. And then Morag said, "You don't know, do you?"

He looked back at her. "Know what?"