would have been most if not all of her brothers’ men—and then they’d set the castle to flames. The church was next, the most obvious place for anyone to hide. Except no one else had come.
Her people. Oh God, the people!
Annie nodded, though she couldn’t make her feet move. It was as though they’d been bolted to the floor. She couldn’t seem to draw breath either. Where was Logan? Seamus? Jameson? Where were the women and children? Had they found safety elsewhere?
A sound from near the chancel had her squinting her eyes. She glanced up, expecting to see the roof burst into flames from a lit arrow and pieces of the rafters falling down around her. But instead, several shadowy figures shifted about on a balcony.
“Who’s there?” she hissed. “Come out.”
Slight figures of women and children emerged from the darkness. Where were Seamus and Jameson? Fear for her guards ripped through her.
“Ye’re no’ safe here,” Annie said. “Come down to the crypt.”
“We dinna want to be stuck down there with the dead,” replied the tear-choked voice of a woman.
“Better to be stuck with the dead than be dead,” Eppy replied. “They’re going to burn the kirk just as they are burning the castle.”
Several wails from the chancel followed that bit of news, and mothers hurried to hush their children. Rather than argue more, the women and children stood and made their way down to the nave and the door that Annie held open to the crypt.
“Go down,” she said when they paused. “God will be with ye, and so will Eppy.”
Before anyone could pick up on what was happening, Annie shut the door behind them, and ran to the back of the church where a small door led outside to Father Mac’s private garden. Aye, she knew it was madness to go outside when their assailants were all around, but how else was she going to see what was happening? Annie had never been one to sit idly by. She was often right there on the fields of battle with the men, dragging the wounded away.
The peace of the garden was broken by the thick scent of smoke and shouts of panic. Groans of pain. People running. Angry barks.
Every fiber of her muscles strained to run to the keep, to make sure that her brother was all right. To check on everyone. But if she were to dash straight into the chaos, her brother would be very angry with her. She’d be defying a direct order.
Annie stood stock-still in the garden. The right side of her yearned to go and take care of the wounded. The left side rooted her in place, demanding that she return to the crypt and care for those who had yet to be harmed.
She listened, closing her eyes a moment to make out any patterns to the sounds. Listening for the obvious and the not so obvious. Crying. Shouting. Screaming. Crackling rush of an out-of-control blaze. What she didn’t hear was the clash of steel on steel or the sounds of men fighting. Not even a warning shot from a pistol.
Annie opened her eyes. Had Cumberland’s men left already? Come only to set her home afire?
To her right was a tree. In two steps she was at the base. Annie reached up to grab a branch, the cold bark cutting into her fingers, and swung herself up, climbing as high as she dared. From there, she stared out over the wall to see for herself how many of Cumberland’s men had come to torment them.
Not a single redcoat was in sight. She squinted her eyes, certain the dark had to be playing tricks on her. But her eyes had not lied. Having brutalized the people, no doubt stolen their stores and ravaged the castle so no survivors had a place to be safe, they were gone. They’d been doing this across Scotland—pillaging and burning as if they’d all gone back to the dark ages without a care to the cost to those who remained behind.
She started to climb down when something else caught her eye. On the ground outside the garden, in the field, was a lumpy sack of cloth or… She squinted again. A person. There was a person—fallen and… She didn’t want to think about whether they lived or died, only that she needed to bring them back within the walls. Where was her brother? Where were Seamus and Jameson?
Annie hurried down the tree, her hair catching on a broken twig and yanking