The Devil in Plaid(43)

“They are here,” a deep voice bellowed.

Matthew’s face brightened. “And here he is now.”

From out of the woods, Balloch appeared, holding a young lass in his arms. At his side, with her arms wrapped around his thick waist, trudged a willowy-framed woman with long, red hair. Behind them more than a dozen people followed.

Fiona jumped to her feet. “They survived,” she squealed to Matthew before racing toward the villagers. “Praise be to Mary and all the Saints,” she cried when she reached Balloch. The wee lass in his arms had hair every bit as red as the woman at his side, but her eyes were rich brown like his.

Tears streamed down his rugged cheeks. “My lassies,” he said, his voice breaking. He pulled his wife close.

Fiona’s face crumpled beneath the weight of her relief. She stood by and watched the families embrace and console one another.

“Where were they?” she asked Matthew when he reached her side.

“Jamie had the warriors dig deep pits in the woods hidden amid the bramble and thicket in case of an attack.”

Balloch’s wife turned to them. Her blue eyes weary but relieved. “When we heard the watchtower bell, we hid.” Then her face crumpled. “It was dreadful, the shouts of the men and the roar from the fires. They searched the forest, but praise be to the good Lord, they did not find us.”

“It was so scary, Da,” the wee lass said, turning big brown eyes on her father.

“’Tis all right now, lass,” he crooned.

Fiona nodded. “Yer da’s right, little one.” Then she stepped back and cupped her hands around her mouth. “If anyone has suffered injury, come forward.”

Several people turned to her with scrapes that needed bandaging while others just needed a shoulder to cry their fears on. She prayed with them, giving thanks to God for his mercy.

“My lady.”

Fiona looked down at Balloch’s daughter who reached her arms high. “Oh, ye sweet wee lass,” Fiona exclaimed, scooping up the child. She held her close, bouncing ever so slightly. Her wee body trembled in Fiona’s arms.

“I was so scared, my lady,” she cried.

Fresh tears stung Fiona’s eyes. “Ye’re safe now, sweetling.”

Suddenly, the thunder of hooves drummed in the distance. Fiona sucked in a sharp breath.

“Back to the woods,” Matthew shouted

“It will be all right,” Fiona told the girl before handing her back to her mother. “Go,” she shouted. “Run!”

Then she whirled around, her gaze fixed on the sloping moors. The pounding of the hooves matched the rhythm of her quaking heart. She held her breath, waiting. Then riders appeared over the hills, their banners flapping in the wind. “’Tis the MacLeod,” she shouted. Her heart nigh leapt from her chest. “Matthew, ‘tis Jamie!”

She raced toward the riders. One broke away from the others, pushing his horse harder. Golden hair shone in the sun. “Jamie!”

When he drew close, he slid from his horse. In breaths, moments, his arms were around her. He held her in a crushing embrace, lifting her feet clear off the ground. Then he set her down and cupped her cheeks. “Are ye all right? Are ye hurt? Why are ye away from the keep?”

“I am well,” she assured him. “I came to help.”

He kissed her lips, then looked past her to the destruction.

“They’re all alive,” she told him. “Everyone survived.”

Relief instantly shone on his face. He wrapped his arm around her shoulders and walked with her toward the people who had turned back from the woods. As Jamie and Fiona drew near, the children rushed to their laird. Tears streaked their sooty faces. Jamie released her and knelt to the ground. He opened his arms wide in time for the collision of wee bodies against his chest. Closing his arms, he held them close. Fiona cried into her hand at the sight of Jamie embracing the children.

He was her husband, and like any true laird, he was father to their people.





Chapter Twenty Six


The laird of the MacLeod had, indeed, brought home an army.

Fiona gazed out across the great hall in wonder. MacDonnell warriors filled the trencher tables, sitting among the Làidir MacLeod and the MacLeod warriors from the Isles of Harris and Raasay. Smiling, she waved to her kinsmen. The evening would be perfect if only her father was present, but Gordon MacDonnell had stayed behind at Castle Creagan to safeguard his fortress against attack. Still, he had ridden out to meet Jamie with nearly two hundred warriors to aid their cause.

“I wish my father could be here to see this,” she said to Jamie.

“He had a glimpse of our clans together when our men gathered at Loch Ewe. I’m sure he won’t mind me telling ye that he shed a tear or two at the sight.”

Fiona’s gaze darted across the room, following a pack of wee ones racing after Broden with wooden swords raised high. The tall, handsome warrior laughed as he jumped up on one of the tables, then skirted platters of roasted meat and good-natured diners to reach the other side. But the children were already waiting for him. He raised his hands in surrender, and the wee ones squealed with delight.

Everywhere Fiona turned, people were laughing and toasting the day that had begun with tragedy but ended in gratitude. At one table near the front of the hall, she spied Esme and Abby. They both looked radiant with their hair unbound, skimming their waists in flaxen waves. Clearly, Fiona was not the only one who appreciated her maids’ beauty. Sebastian had his arm wrapped possessively around Esme’s waist while Thomas straddled the bench at Abby’s side and held her close. He wore a soft expression as he grazed the backs of his fingers down her cheek. Fiona smiled when her maid blushed in response.