the other man had been hoping Cora was among them.
That left them all looking at the body in the river. They’d had two lads riding with them. Both had been thin of frame. The body was slight enough; it might be either of the boys or Cora.
There was only one way to know for certain.
Rory made his way into the water. Without the storm raging, the current didn’t have the power to make it deadly. Clement was wading in from the opposite bank. They made slow progress. Stepping carefully as they sunk to thigh level at times. The pace only made the moment worse, allowing them more time to contemplate just how bad their luck had been. Rory reached out to move the tangled mass of hair away from the face.
“Young Sorel,” Rory said at last. He hated how relieved he felt.
Sorel had only been sixteen winters.
The lad hadn’t deserved to die either, but Fate had decided otherwise. Weather could be vicious. It was something they all knew, for there was nothing about living in the Highlands that didn’t require strength.
Yet the storm had been overly vicious.
Rory shook his head. He schooled his thoughts and focused on the task of retrieving the body of his clansman. Aye, he craved an explanation for the tragedy, but sometimes the answer was just bad timing. A man might call it luck, but he wasn’t going to contemplate the matter further. Such would lead to speculation of demons and witchcraft. He’d never been a man to console himself through blaming others.
But Rory didn’t have to.
As they pulled Sorel to the shore and the men gathered round, the grumblings began. There was not one among them who wasn’t injured. Crushed fingers and gashed limbs were sprinkled liberally among them. Returning to the Mackenzie stronghold would have suited them all but not without their comrades.
“Enough,” Rory raised his voice above the growing conversation. “It was a storm. I’ve lived long enough to have seen one or two like it.”
“So early in the season?” one of the men asked pointedly.
“We’ve enough grief without adding fear to the matter,” Rory cut back. “There will be no talk of witches and demons. Matters are grim enough.”
“But, the raging of the storm was so wild.”
“Ye have never seen the wind gust?” Rory responded. “I sure have, man, and the first storm of the season tears into the ground. I’ve seen it before. Let us find the rest of our party.”
His men were obedient enough. They lifted Sorel onto the back of a horse and pulled a portion of his plaid over his face. Their horses had not fared any better than they had. Two were dead where the water had dropped them. Three more limped along, their eyes full of pleading to be taken back to a warm stable.
But Rory pressed on. He couldn’t return to the stronghold without Cora. Even if that meant she returned over the saddle instead of sitting in it.
*
“Thank ye.”
Cora froze. There was something about Faolan’s voice that just seemed to affect her deeper than anyone else’s had.
He saved yer life…
Or at least he’d assisted in making sure she didn’t die of exposure.
He was in the doorway, filling it with his bulk. Cora straightened up, having just placed the bread for the next day near the coals of the fire with cloth wrapped over the bowls.
“Supper was…” Faolan seemed at a loss for words. “It was a fine evening, to be sure. We have no’ had many such nights since coming here.”
“The fare was simple,” Cora remarked.
Faolan looked around the kitchen. “Yet it was clean. It’s not that I am blind to the condition of this kitchen, but I am tasked by Laird McKay to build these towers. And the women they send here are the ones who are being punished with banishment. So, they are less than diligent. Even more so when they see there are no good prospects among me men. The ones here are the ones without family connections to help them secure better duty. The others…? Well, I do nae have the time to discipline them.”
“Oh,” Cora responded. The filth suddenly making far more sense.
Faolan grinned at her. “Do nae be so astonished, lass. We might be a rough lot, but we are no’ savages who do nae understand what a lump of soap is good for. A clean house will mean naught if we do nae have walls to protect ourselves.”
She looked at him once more, this time seeing the