Page 54 of The Devil in Plaid
“Then, she’s been rendered unconscious,” Fiona said absently as she took hold of the woman’s hand. Thick lashes fluttered against the woman’s pale cheeks. Fiona guessed they were near the same age. “What is her name?”
“Holly,” he said. “She is Balloch’s sister.”
In answer to her questioning look, Matthew told her, “Balloch is the warrior ye spoke to when we first arrived.”
“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.
