The Rebel Wears Plaid - Eliza Knight Page 0,63

on the half-crumbled wall of the left tower, turning to look on them as they approached. The right side was a pile of rubble. There was no roof on the tower, and the walls looked to have been dismantled by a volley of cannon fire. They drew closer, and the birds flew off one by one. Jenny had the mad thought that they were going to tell the English what they’d seen.

“We’ll be safe here until tonight,” Toran said, dismounting. “And then we can work our way back to Cnàmhan Broch.”

“Do ye think Boyd has gone there already? When he takes note of me missing…” Jenny eased off her horse, stretching out the kinks in her muscles.

“The clan will make excuses for ye. Saying ye’re sick,” Dirk said. “Ye gave them all the answers, J. Trust them to see it through. Besides, he knows what ye look like. To him ye’re Mrs. Mackintosh, resident to the croft he burned, not a lady nobly born.”

“My mother,” she murmured. Toran stiffened, and she reached for him without thinking, pressing her hand to his. Then she yanked it back when she realized what she’d done.

He cleared his throat. “Let us make our beds and sleep as much as we can. We can keep the horses in the stables. It might not have a roof, but we can jigger the door into place.”

While the men took care of the horses, Jenny walked up the crumbling outer stairs of the castle, entering into what had once been the great hall. The main level’s stone floors had kept its structure at least, supporting their weight, unlike the floors above that had caved in. The furniture, rugs, tapestries and other decor had long since been pillaged by locals, and the roof was gone. In the moonlight, it was evident that some of the walls were charred black with soot. A fire must have consumed the place during whatever attack had happened here. There was a flap of wings, more crows who’d been inhabiting the inside taking flight at her approach.

Such an eerie place. Though she was glad for the crows’ departures. If they’d stayed, that was a sure sign of death to come.

Jenny found a spot near the far wall where she could see the entrance but she herself would hopefully remain in shadow.

When the men entered, they each found their own places in corners and behind piles of rubble. Archie, Mac, and Dirk fell asleep almost instantly, whereas from his spot a dozen paces away, Jenny could see Toran watching her.

“Go to sleep,” she ordered.

“Ye first.”

“Stubborn man.”

“I am not ashamed of it.”

She tried to glower at him, but the effort was too much. She was exhausted. Toran stood from his spot, coming closer and sinking down beside her.

“What happened here?” she asked, full well knowing the answer, for it was the same everywhere across their land.

“Dragoons.” He rested an arm on a bent knee. “Burned it after imprisoning my great-uncle some thirty years ago. Archie and I used to come here to play when we were lads.”

“’Tis glad I am that ye remembered it.”

“’Tis glad I am ye didna shoot the bastard, even though ye would have likely hit your mark.”

“Better than he.”

“Aye.”

“He escaped death tonight, to be sure.” Jenny paused. Now, in the quiet when they were alone, was as good a time as any to bring up what she’d been wanting to ask him for some time. “Dirk told me about the men in the forest. The dragoons ye killed.”

“A casualty of this war.” He let out a soft sigh. “And I needed a horse.”

“I thank ye all the same.”

Resting his wide, warm palm on her arm, Toran said solemnly, “Thank ye for taking care of my siblings. Ye could have turned us away.”

“I dinna fault children for the sins of men.” And she was serious. “Besides, ye’d be surprised at the power of children, their memories, their pacts.”

He eyed her. “Ye speak as if from experience.”

“Maybe I do.”

“Can I ask…” His voice faded out, and he looked away. “Simon said something to me last night, and I’ve got to know.”

“What is it?”

“The Fraser men at the garrison… He said they were not executed.”

There was such anguish in his voice. Guilt must have racked him at leaving his comrades behind.

“’Tis my fault they were there, and I thought—” He cleared his throat. “I thought them dead.”

Toran seemed to relax beside her. She couldn’t imagine the stress of having believed he’d killed his own men.

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