Chapter Twenty
Despair crashed over Aedan as he watched the building that housed Abigail and Gwen go up in flames. The roof, now well alight, crackled and creaked as the fire engulfed anything it could. Anyone who remained trapped inside would surely die. He prayed his sister could get Abigail safely back to the twenty-first century without mishap, and that Gwen herself had found refuge inside. His sister was a clever lass. Surely, she’d be well.
The clink of swords sounded behind him and he re-joined the battle, determined to finish this war once and for all, and to make it the last battle his people would ever have to suffer against Clan O’Cain. Over the many weeks he’d spent with Abigail, her knowledge and outlook on life had changed him.
No longer was he the Scottish laird who thought first with his sword and second with his mind. They would stay in the dark ages, if the country continued on in this vein. Abigail had allowed him to see things from a different perspective…a modern one. Life didn’t have to be filled with war, feasting, and war once again. It could hold so much more, be so much more. And from this day forward, should he survive the night, he silently promised Abigail that he’d try and live that way as much as possible.
Perhaps King James VI was right in bringing forth ideals that would ensure Scotland became a peaceful, more stable society. His people couldn’t remain as hired arms, they should be able to choose their future, be it farming or iron works, whatever they wished. The time of clan battles had to end. And for Clan MacLeod, tonight would be his men’s last.
The fighting went on relentlessly, the screams of men, the clink of metal hitting metal were like a razor against his soul. Aedan fought with his men, too many already fallen at his feet, along with O’Cain men. All their deaths nothing but a waste and his soul screamed at the senselessness of it all. Did these men even know what they were fighting each other for anymore? He doubted it.
The wind picked up and with it came large droplets of rain. Aedan noted some of the opposing clan stopped, pulling back and dispersing into the night as fast as they’d appeared. Embers from the cottage turned night into day as they scattered across the ground, before the heavens opened up in earnest, the ground soon becoming a pit of mud and blood.
With the last of the O’Cains pulling back, Aedan called his men to stop. He sent a scout up to the castle to fetch the elderly healer who’d taught Gwen all she knew, to come and tend his men. The young lad took off at great speed, as if the devil himself was at his heels.
Aedan looked over to the small cottage that his sister and Abigail had hidden within. The thick thatch and a few pillars holding up the roof were now a smoldering mess on the floor. He helped tend the few men that he could on his way over to it, when a woman’s yell sounded from the cottage.
“Braxton,” he shouted, catching the attention of his closest ally who was tying a bandage around a young man’s arm. “’Tis Gwen. She’s alive in the cottage.”
The two men ran and smashed out what was left of the window, climbing into the shell of the building as rain continued to pour down. Forgetting the few injuries he’d sustained, Aedan made his way to the cellar.
Large charred pillars lay across the floor. The thatch, still burning, burned the bottom of his legs. He ignored the pain shooting across his skin, and cleared what they could, as quickly as possible.
Time ticked by agonizingly slow, and still he could hear the muffled female voice. Had Abigail stayed? Was it both his lass and Gwen? Were they injured, one of them dead? Panic clawed at his gut when they finally made the stone floor slab, lifting it and pushing it over.
Smoke puffed out, the cellar unrecognizable to what it was. He reached down, hearing her choking cough, and lifted Gwen from the room.
Braxton kneeled beside them, pushing Aedan out of the way to lift her up. He frowned down into the room, not hearing or seeing anyone else. “Is Abigail with ye, lass? Can ye tell me that at least?”
His sister coughed again, the sound retching and raw. “No. I sent her home as ye asked.” She coughed again, trying to take a deep breath. “I didn’t have enough power to send us both through and so I stayed. She’s safe.”
Aedan nodded, frowning. “Take her up to the house and don’t leave her side. The smoke she’s inhaled can’t possibly be good for her. Have cook bring up a broth for her and water. I’ll bring the healer back to see her once we’re done here.”
“Aye.” Braxton left, clutching Gwen to his chest. Aedan set out to clean up the mess the clan war had wreaked on his people. He looked up at the sky, and the sky was as beautiful as the woman he’d farewelled only hours before. How could such heavens look down on such hell?
He said a silent prayer that his lass was well and safe.
Men cried out around him and he set to work, helping those he could, or notifying his able clansmen to take others up to the barracks and have them housed.
Perhaps it was for the best that Abigail had returned to her time. This period of Scottish history wasn’t for the faint of heart, and although she wasn’t a whimpering miss, she didn’t deserve such a hard life.
A future that was uncertain, and the times were unsafe, as she well knew.
He would miss her, more than the very stars looking down on them would miss the night, but knowing she was alive, a young modern woman in her right time, lessened the blow. Or at least dulled it to a bearable ache.