The Pack
Ewan groaned. It was doubtful the hound’s presence would help matters. Mungo hardly seemed to notice, too busy looping the rope binding Robbie’s hands to the pommel. The lad kept on squirming, forcing his captor to clench the dagger between his teeth to free up his hands. However, the blade still posed a danger.
Ewan’s heart sank further when Ruadh trotted over to the corpse and began sniffing the shroud.
“Come away,” Shona cajoled, patting her thigh.
“Geroff,” Mungo shouted at the hound, then took the dagger from his mouth and swore, spitting blood.
Ewan cursed, even more determined not to be bested by a complete idiot. “Leave the dog be,” he shouted to Shona when a spark of an idea flickered. Ruadh was a deerhound after all.
As he hoped, the dog sank his teeth into a corner of the shroud and pulled, putting more effort into it when his prize refused to budge. His whining, or mayhap the smell, attracted the attention of several other dogs who joined the fray, trying to pull the corpse from the donkey.
Soon they were snapping at each other. The donkey brayed and kicked, alarming the roan. Mungo’s face reddened considerably as he strove to control his mount and screamed for it all to stop. In his confusion he dropped the reins of the donkey. The braying beast bucked around the courtyard in a futile attempt to dislodge its unwelcome burden. The dogs were relentless in their pursuit. Most dodged the hooves successfully, others yelped and fell by the wayside when they weren’t so lucky.
“We mayhap tied it too well,” Fynn mumbled to Ewan.
“The uproar is clearly unsettling Mungo.”
“Ye’d be unsettled too if ’twas yer brother about to be eaten by dogs,” his kinsman replied.
Ewan conceded he wouldn’t wish that fate on Colin, much as he disliked the man.
Mungo eventually caught up to the frenzied donkey, but when he leaned over to grab hold of the reins, Robbie shoved him hard and he fell to the ground. Then the brave lad dug his heels into the roan’s flanks and yelled, “Siuthad.” The beast responded and trotted away from the melee. Walter ran after him. The donkey took off towards the stables, the pack snapping at its bucking hind legs. The bag of bones was, by now, dragging on the ground.
Ewan ran to Mungo before he had a chance to get to his feet. He grasped the wretch’s shoulders and turned him over. Lifeless eyes stared into nothingness. Blood trickled from a twisted mouth. The fool had impaled himself on his own dagger.
Ewan went down on one knee and closed the unseeing eyes.
Shona came to embrace him as he got to his feet. She stared at the dead man. “This was inevitable I suppose, and perhaps for the best.” She kissed his cheek and whispered, “Thank ye.”
The warmth of her body pressed against him calmed the fear and dread that had coursed through him since he’d seen Robbie dangling from the tower. “I’m nay the hero,” he replied. “Robbie saved himself, with help from yon hound.”
“But ye knew Ruadh would provide a distraction,” she insisted.
Resounding cheers drowned out his protestations when Walter returned to the courtyard carrying Robbie. The smiling boy waved shyly to the admiring crowd as his weeping mother threw her arms around him.
*
The cheers gradually died down. A peculiar silence settled on the courtyard. Shona recognized many capable clansmen, young and old, who gazed about, as if none quite knew what to do now that the threat had been dealt with.
Even Walter seemed content to simply cling to his wife and bairn.
It was Ewan who took charge. Within minutes he’d sent Fynn back to his labors, dispatched servants to prepare chambers for the Gilbertsons, organized a work crew to begin restoring the burned-out cottages, appointed a burial detail to take care of Mungo’s body, and set off for the stables with David to sort out the dog and bone issue.
Soon only Shona and Mrs. Macgill remained in the strangely quiet courtyard.
“Mayhap they’re not a bad lot after all, yon Mackinlochs,” Moira’s mother conceded before flouncing off.
Heart bursting with pride, Shona looked up to the top of the tower. “Dinna fash, Daddy, the clan’s in good hands,” she whispered before hurrying off to see to the provision of a bath for the Gilbertsons.
*
Ewan was pleased with the progress being made on the various tasks that needed to be dealt with. He didn’t deserve credit for saving Robbie and ridding the clan of the threat to the lairdship, but there was no doubt many of the MacCarrons he came into contact with as the afternoon progressed treated him with greater respect.
Once he and David had pacified Ruadh and his pals with a few choice bones, he sent his kinsman back to Fynn with the remainder of the carcass.
When he made his way to the village, some of the men toiling there seemed surprised when he solicited suggestions for the speedy reconstruction of the cottages. Reticent at first, they soon offered their ideas for the organization of the work. They attacked the filthy task with enthusiasm when he gave his approval and began helping clear out the debris in Walter’s ruined home.
They’d made some progress when the Gilbertsons made their way down the hill from the castle. The trio had clearly bathed and changed clothes. Heather shyly tucked strands of wet hair behind her ears. Ewan was fairly sure he’d seen the gown she wore on the floor of Shona’s chamber on the terrible day he’d discovered Mungo’s treachery. Walter wore trews and a shirt, but no plaid. Robbie squirmed out of his mother’s grip and headed for the ruin.
“He’ll nay stay clean long,” Walter lamented, peering inside his cottage.
“Neither will ye if ye go in there,” Ewan replied.
“But it’s my responsibility,” his friend pointed out.
Ewan showed his blackened hands and beckoned him away from the grime. “Nobody expects ye to help with this now, and it’s my wedding day on the morrow. Soon enough ye can help with the rebuilding.”
Walter clenched his jaw. “Aye, about the wedding. Since yer kinsman is getting wed the same day, I had thought to offer myself as yer second, but the laundresses are overwhelmed. They reckon it will be days before my only plaid can be cleaned and repaired.” He nodded to the ruin. “The rest of our raiment went up in smoke.”
Ewan was humbled. “I’d offer ye my hand, but it’s a mite dirty. I can think of no one I’d rather have as my second, Brother. And I ken where there’s a spare MacCarron plaid that a good friend once lent me.”
Walter offered his hand. “’Twill be my honor, and naught wrong with a wee bit o’dirt to seal a deal.”
Ewan proudly accepted the gesture, but Walter grimaced when Robbie ran by seconds later, his bright eyes two white circles in a mucky face. “Now all we have to worry about is keeping yon bairn clean.”
Heather hurried after her son. “Impossible,” she remarked.