The Highlander's Secret(44)
Jain nodded solemnly and took one last glance towards them before letting her mother guide her back into the keep. Moira limped on her ailing hip while they made it inside and Jain offered her an arm for support. They had much to do while the men were gone, reinforcing the walls and making sure everyone was taken care of. Any time the warriors left for battle it was the responsibility of those left behind to have clean water, food and medical supplies ready for their return.
There was no telling what could happen.
The hours dragged on as Jain and the other women held up inside the keep. She was fretting ever since the men left, trying to keep herself busy. Thankfully, there was no lack of work to be done. Whenever they did come back, the warriors would need food and water. Some of them, many of them, would be injured and need to be seen by a healer. Aileen and Nora were in the kitchens preparing as much bannock as possible, while Moira saw to the medical supplies. She fell into the role easily and naturally as lady of the keep, making sure that everything and everyone was taken care of.
Every now and then, Jain would glance out the window hoping to see a sign that her Alan had returned. When the sun set that evening, she couldn’t eat. It was a relief when the hour grew late and Jain could finally rest. She lay on the pallet next to Aileen, burying her face in the fabric of her sleeve and wept.
*
They were woken by a horn sounding in the distance, signaling the warriors’ return. Jain’s eyes flew open in an instant and she sat up on the bed. “Mam, they’re back!”
She threw off the rest of her blankets and scrambled to her feet while the others were roused from their slumber. Jain threw on the first tunic she could find and went running down the stone corridor to see them riding up the hill. Wives and mothers came flooding from the rooms inside the keep after hearing the signal also. Jain stared off towards the village gate where the warriors were marching back, browbeaten and bloodied from the battle. Most of them were on horseback, but a few carried pallets that appeared to be supporting something heavy. Jain’s chest felt tight seeing it, knowing exactly what it carried. Someone died. A few of them in fact.
Her eyes frantically searched for the face of her beloved Alan until finding him riding with the rest. She exhaled a tremendous sigh. His eyes found her in the crowd and came walking towards him as fast as she could maneuver through the crowd. Alan dismounted from the animal and made his way over to where she was coming. They embraced, wrapping their arms around each other and planting a kiss upon her forehead.
Blood had smeared his hair and face and part of his garment was ripped, but Jain didn’t care about any of that. All of the warriors were bloodied in one way or another, with red stains blossoming across their skin. Jain buried her face in Alan’s chest and cried with happiness, knowing he was alright.
Around them other rejoicing couples reunited with one another, but their eyes would all eventually turn to the pallets being carried. Jain tried to get a better look and see who had fallen, but it was too far away.
Moira came out of the keep behind her and watched with the same morose expression as everyone else. An insidious fear crept up on her and she realized there was still one face she had not seen yet. In a moment of panic, Jain’s eyes scanned the returning men for her Uncle Keenan, but he was nowhere to be seen.
“Where’s Keenan?” she asked her mother quietly, worried she knew the answer.
Moira did not respond, but her face went pale and Jain noticed her bring a hand up to cover her mouth as if muffling a scream.
Nae, it couldn’t be.
Slowly, her eyes drifted back toward the procession and saw the fallen’s face. It was Keenan. Keenan should have been riding front and center—instead, he was being carried in state, his body broken and bloodied, with death giving it a semblance of peace in stillness. His face was pale and gray, covered in blood that seemed to ooze from his mouth and nose. He hadn’t just been cut down, someone or something had caved in and torn him apart.
Jain gasped in horror at the sight of it and turned away when she felt bile rising in her stomach.
Eamon came rushing out of the keep behind them to see the warriors’ return. It took a moment for him to react once he saw the body of his brother stained with a pool of blood, it—he—was so badly damaged. Eamon stumbled back at first, but then turned to Duncan for explanation. “What happened?”
Duncan hung his head and replied, “We fought them off as best we could. Ye should have seen them. Keenan attacked the Vikings’ leader, fer a while it seemed like he could win, but they were stronger. Eamon, I’m sorry. There were just too many of them.”
“What about the MacLeod?”
“They lost some men as well,” Duncan confirmed. “It was a blood bath.”
Eamon nodded, turning back to lead them all into the square. Suddenly, Jain caught sight of Gracie, Keenan’s wife—widow— coming out of their home. Her face was sad as she walked out into the square, but didn’t seem to have heard the news yet.
Jain watched her father moved to intercept her, put his hand on the woman’s shoulder, and lead her away, murmuring, “I’m sorry, Gracie.”
Her eyes widened when he said it and she backed away from him. Breaking free of his hands, she frantically scanned from face to face within the crowd, needing to see what she feared most with her own eyes until resting on the figure of her beloved husband. “No!”