Chapter Thirty-Seven

"I thought my fire was out and stirred the ashes… I burnt my fingers."

Antonio Machado, 1875-1939, Spanish poet & playwright

Sara looked down from her mount at her brother while she tried to ignore the large warrior mounting his dappled gray charger, Airgid. Rory wore a cloak with tawny fur that made him look even more lion-like. "If things are unsettled at Dunvegan, I'll send word to you from Morag's," Sara said to Kenan.

"I'll be here trying to dig out Dunscaith and start rebuilding," Kenan said.

"The twins and I will help."

Kenan looked over his shoulder at Rory, and Sara's gaze followed. A white bandage had been wrapped around Rory's left bicep and a cut on his forehead had been stitched. How could wounds make a man even more attractive? Lord help me.

See the truth in my eyes. The foking flag means nothing. His words ribboned through her mind as she fought to hold onto her anger and distrust for fear of being hurt again. I am exceedingly sorry.

Her brother tugged on her stirrup, making sure it was the right length. "I hear tales of ye being a phoenix or some Celtic goddess," he said.

"As long as they don't think I'm an angel." She looked down toward the village. "What of Gilbert?"

"I'll try to track him down after I bury Father."

"Do you think he'll marry Winnie Mar?"

Kenan shrugged. "Wedding a lying murderer is not wise, but Gilbert's never thought much past his immediate comforts." He looked out amongst the villagers who had started to haul away rubble from the castle. "And I will keep watch for Reid Hodges."

"As will I in case he returns to Dunvegan," Sara said. "He harbors guilt and is appalled by what his sister did."

Kenan nodded, handing her Lily's reins. "Keep safe, sister."

The journey back to Dunvegan would take two days, but the army under Brodrick decided to ride ahead with the injured. Sara was thankful that miraculously no one was killed.

Looking down, Sara smoothed her petticoat, hiding the slip of yellow silk. She'd changed her smock and sooty gown into a sturdy green woolen petticoat and bodice that Beatrice had found for her, but she'd tucked the flag back around her in between the layers. On her person was the only place she felt it was safe, especially because no one knew it still existed.

She rode along with the armies around her, but only Jok seemed to stay close. Rory stayed in front of the warriors. Sara's stomach still twisted with unresolved questions about the future.

Rory said that he wanted her to return, and he'd apologized. But he'd distrusted her and let others sway him to make her leave. Anger made her hands tighten around her reins, and Lily tossed her head.

"Pardon, sweet," Sara said and patted Lily's neck, loosening her hold.

Jok pushed his horse up to walk even with Sara and handed her a bladder of spring water. She took a long drink of the cool water they'd gathered at Dunscaith's fast-flowing spring. Stoppering it, Sara handed it back to him.

They rode for another hour before Jok spoke. "We learned from Kenan that Winnie Mar killed Jamie, and her brother, Reid, stole the flag."

Sara kept her face forward and her tongue still.

"I'm sorry I didn't trust ye, milady."

Another apology. She should feel pleased, vindicated, but none of that mattered if Rory couldn't trust her.

"'Twas the pressure of his men that pushed him to send ye away," he continued. Jok lowered his voice. "Ye know about Madeline?"

Sara nodded but kept her eyes forward. Just the woman's name made her spine straighten. "Not every Macdonald woman is another Madeline." She was proud to have kept the emotion out of her tone.

"Aye," Jok conceded. They rode in silence for another mile when Jok spoke again. "Seeing Madeline killed and then hearing it was because of him in front of the whole clan…Well, it changed Rory. But…" Jok paused until she looked across at him. "Lady Sara, ye're helping to change him back."

They rode for another minute in silence, and then Sara said, "You continue to guard his back."

"Always will," Jok said, still looking forward. "Ever since he punched Brodrick for saying I was touched by Lucifer because my hair color and freckles were unnatural."

Sara felt her face warm. What would Brodrick think of the fiery marks on her back? "Brodrick said that?" she asked.

"Aye." Jok turned a grin on her. "We were eight at the time."

Her lips twitched thinking of young Rory, lean and angry, punching Jamie's best friend for his cruel teasing. A lightness opened up the smallest amount, and Sara breathed deeper as she stared forward.

…

Jok held his battle shield ready as he watched the crows swooping and flapping while Sara sat with Morag outside the cottage. Sara hadn't seen Rory since the night before when he stalked amongst his men, giving orders. The rest of the MacLeod warriors rode by. Some of them nodded to Sara, some of them kept their gazes straight ahead. A few smiled at her.

"Rory stopped here?" Sara asked when her aunt told her about his visit. "For what reason?"

Morag shrugged. "He comes here periodically, because he knows I'm wise." She looked into Sara's eyes. "And he knows I don't lie."

"I don't lie, either." Sara's cheeks warmed as she remembered that she sat with the Fairy Flag wrapped around her. "So glad he has faith in someone. It certainly isn't me."

"Ballocks," Morag said. "You should talk with him."

"I try to, but then he's"—she flapped her arms—"gone." Three crows on the roof line lifted one wing each as if imitating Sara. "I've talked with Kenan and Jok and now you about Rory, but he rode on ahead."

"He has business back at Dunvegan. His people were expecting war with the Macdonalds, a siege. It needs to be undone, and the people calmed."

"Of course," Sara said, feeling selfish. She rose from the stump that she'd used as a chair. Morag remained sitting, and a crow swooped down to take Sara's spot.

Sara kissed Morag's cheek. It was smooth, timeless, despite her white and silver hair. "I will let you know what happens. Eliza and I might be back soon if things go poorly." She glanced at the forest that hid the path toward Dunvegan and the sea.

"You never know how rabble will react," Morag said. "If you're not threatened with stoning and decide to stay at Dunvegan, bring Eliza and Eleri to visit. I want to work on the girl's back some more."

Jok helped Sara mount Lily and they continued at the back of the MacLeod army toward Dunvegan.

"The crows…" Jok said, glancing back. "They live with yer aunt?"

"As far as I know, they remain outdoors, but they seem exceedingly loyal to her."

"And protective," he said, rubbing at his neck as if one might have pecked him.

They rode without talking the rest of the way. Sara listened to the clip-clop crunch of the horses' hooves on the packed dirt and pebbles. The clouds played across the sky, hiding and revealing the sun that was sinking in the west, and the breeze tugged the shorter curls around her face. They passed the rise that hid the beach where she'd first seen Rory, and she longed to walk upon it again, letting the sound of the waves lull away her agitation.

They clopped past the burned chapel. It looked like a charred maw open to the sky with its broken windows and gaping black hole that had been the roof. In the twilight, the soot-blackened walls cast far-reaching shadows that seemed like monsters' pointed claws. A shiver made Sara wrap her cloak tighter around her shoulders.

Perhaps a new priest would motivate the village to rebuild. Father Lockerby, even if he'd lived, wouldn't have.

As they climbed the rise that led into Dunvegan Village, smoke tinged the breeze, and Sara's heart bolted. "Do you smell that?" Sara asked Jok, her hand against her chest.

Jok frowned. "Smoke."