Page 52 of Plaid Attitude
“Bind his hands,” he growled. “I’ll drag him home and let Barclay deal with him.”
As one of the King’s Hunters, his cousin would know how to dispense justice. Arnold’s body could stay to rot, as far as Doughall was concerned.
Coira’s lips twitched wryly. Not in a happy way, but in a sort of commiserating smile. “I’lldrag him home. Ye’ll have yer hands full.”
When she nodded to Bessetta, who was currently swaying on her feet, Doughall nodded, knowing she was right yet again.
With a grunt, he scooped his daughter, his bairn, up under her knees and pressed her to his chest, the way he had when she’d been much younger. She didn’t protest but lay her head against his shoulder.
“I love ye,” he whispered against her hair.
“I love ye too, Da,” she murmured back.
Then she closed her eyes and Doughall’s chest ached from relief that she was safe.
Thanks to the woman at his side.
The woman who’d heard his declaration of love and hadn’t returned it.
Chapter 10
Coira hatedhow helpless she felt, sitting beside Bessetta’s cot in the sick room. Doughall sat across from her, holding Bess’s other hand.
He hadn’t met Coira’s eyes since they’d returned to the castle.
As they’d galloped up to the stables, Barclay had met them and grabbed the reins of her horse. He’d listened, shocked—and then disgusted—as Doughall had given him the shortened explanation of what happened.
Luckily, Bess had cried herself to sleep by then.
Yanking a groggy Edgar from the horse, Barclay promised he’d take care of the bastard. “We’ll leave this afternoon and can be back in Scone within the fortnight.” He’d shaken the young man. “We’ll see what the King has to say about stealing clan secrets to sell, fomenting dissent, and assaulting lassies.”
Doughall had nodded his thanks, then strode toward the castle without a glance at Coira. She’d taken the time to arrange for a party of men to return to the copse of trees and collect Arnold’s body, then hurried after.
She’d found him here in the sick room, sitting beside his daughter as she’d taken a few deep draughts of Nicola’s sleeping tonic. Coira joined them just as he lowered Bess to the pillows, taken her hand, and brushed the hair from her forehead.
Nic was bustling about, putting away her potions and bandages, and when Coira caught her eye, the healer sent her a soft smile.
“She’ll feel better after a wee nap,” Nicola promised. “The dram I just gave her should help her sleep, and if ye dinnae mind, Doughall, I’d like it if she stayed here tonight.”
He’d been watching his daughter’s eyes slowly close, but now he glanced at Nicola. “Aye, if ye think ‘tis for the best?”
“I do,” Nicola declared with a nod. “No’ that ye cannae calm her, but if she wakes in the night, I’ll be able to give her another draught.”
“But, Nic,” Coira protested, “Ye’ve been working so hard since Da—”
The reminder of her father—and what must have been decided since she’d gone with Doughall—had her snapping her mouth shut again.
Her sister’s smile was a little rueful. “Aye, but ‘twill be nae hardship to rest on one of these cots beside Bess tonight.” She glanced at the girl. “See? She’s already sleeping.”
Doughall took a deep breath and tucked his daughter’s hand under the blanket. “She’ll be aright? Truly?”
Coira’s heart ached for him, as Nicola crossed to pat the man’s shoulder. “Aye, Doughall, I swear it. The scratches on her arms and the bruise on her cheek—‘tis common when a woman fights off a man. They will heal in no time.” She shook her head sadly. “The wounds that arenae physical—they will take longer to heal. But she is young and resilient, and I ken shewillheal.”
Forcing herself to stop squeezing Bess’s hand so hard, Coira lifted it to her lips. The movement dragged Doughall’s attention to her.
Finally.
“She will recover,” Coira vowed in a fervent whisper. “Between the three of us, we will make it so.”
