Page 53 of Fallen
“Whatever comes to pass today,” he said, a rasp in his voice, “I want ye to know that the shadow MacKinnon has cast over ye will soon lift. Please remember that, Coira.” He reached up, stroking her lower lip with the pad of his thumb.
A lump rose in Coira’s throat, making it hard to swallow, to breathe, and to speak. His voice was a balm, his touch an anchor. Suddenly, she dared believe he was right. How she wanted to believe that.
She sought his hands with hers, their fingers entangling. Finally, she nodded.
Carr Broderick stood on the walls and watched a damp, misty dawn rise over Dunan.
The village beneath him, still cast in night’s long shadow, was eerily quiet. Usually at this hour, he could see smoke rising from stacked stone chimneys, could smell the aroma of baking bannock.
But this morning it was as if ghosts inhabited Dunan.
Even before MacKinnon had ridden out with his men, folk had started to flee the fort, hurrying out into the hills with rolled blankets and packs upon their backs. But in the three days since the clan-chief had departed, so had the bulk of the village’s residents.
The streets were now deserted, the markets closed. Sickness had come to Dunan, and its people had sought sanctuary elsewhere. Carr’s gaze narrowed at this observation. Of course, they’d just taken the sickness with them, and would likely spread it.
The fortress at Carr’s back was also empty. The broch of Dunan hadn’t been spared. Most of the servants who hadn’t sickened had run off.
Carr heaved in a deep breath and turned, making his way along the narrow walkway to the steep stone steps leading down to the bailey. A grim sight awaited him there: a row of bodies covered by sacking. Three of the stable lads and one of the cooks lay under there. Carr and the few remaining members of the Dunan Guard would have to burn them later in the day.
A knot tightened under Carr’s ribcage. He’d been spared so far—but how much longer would it be before he fell ill? He lived day-to-day now, with the Grim Reaper breathing down his neck. Sooner or later, he expected to feel the Reaper’s cold touch.
Entering the broch, Carr went first to the kitchens. The only soul there was a lass—the only one of the kitchen staff remaining—frying a large round cake upon a griddle. Carr shouldn’t have been surprised really. Kenzie was a tough wee thing and doggedly loyal to MacKinnon.
She glanced up when he entered and favored Carr with a tired smile. “The bannock is ready if ye are hungry?”
“Thank ye, Kenzie,” he replied, not returning the smile. His mood was too dark this morning to make the effort. No word of MacKinnon had returned to Dunan. Carr wondered if the clan-chief had indeed managed to track his bastard brother down, and if so, what the outcome had been.
“I’ll take some up for Lady Drew first,” he added.
Kenzie nodded, relief suffusing her face. There weren’t any servants left now to carry out such tasks. Working quickly, she flipped the bannock onto a platter before slicing it up into wedges. She then added earthen pots of butter and honey before lifting up the tray and handing it to Carr. “I’m sorry ye have to be saddled with such tasks, Broderick,” she murmured, offering him another smile.
Carr suspected that the young kitchen wench had developed an affection for him of late—feelings which had intensified as the inhabitants of the broch slowly dwindled. Carr had given her little encouragement, yet that did not dim her interest.
“I don’t mind,” he answered, returning her smile now. It was the truth. Bringing Lady Drew some food to break her fast was merely an excuse to see her. The only good thing to come from this sickness was that he now interacted with Lady Drew far more often than he had in the past.
Climbing the stairs, he made his way to her solar. He knocked on the door.
“Enter,” a soft voice called out.
Carr pushed open the door with his elbow and made his way in.
Lady Drew was seated by the fire, a thick shawl about her shoulders. Carr’s step faltered a little at the sight of her. It was rare to see MacKinnon’s sister with her hair unbound. Long and wavy, and the color of peat, it tumbled over her shoulders.
Drew’s grey eyes widened at the sight of him. “Oh … it’s ye, Broderick … I thought it was Kenzie.”
“She’s busy downstairs,” he replied with an apologetic shrug. “Ye shall have to make do with me, milady.”
He moved to the center of the solar and set the tray down upon a table.
“I’m quite at a loss, ye know,” she said, her tone rueful. “I’m used to having servants fuss around me in the morning … it looks like I’ll have to dress myself and put up my own hair.”
Carr huffed a laugh at this pronouncement. “I would offer to help, but …”
Drew snorted, before she rose to her feet, drawing the shawl tight. “I’m sure I’ll manage. God’s bones, Broderick … it’s cold in here. Could ye put some more peat on the fire?”
Carr nodded and went to do as bid. However, he personally found the chamber warm and a little stuffy. He couldn’t see how she could feel a chill. “I was going to open a window,” he said, “but I take it ye would prefer I didn’t?”
“Please don’t,” she replied, moving over to the table. “Come and join me at the table instead … I take it the lass didn’t expect me to eat all these bannocks?”
