Beauty and the Beastly Highlander by Kenna Kendrick

Chapter Thirteen

There was a commotion outside that drew Etna to her window. It was late at night, so late that most of the clansmen and women, along with the servants, should be asleep, and yet she could hear people shouting outside, in the courtyard. She could also hear horses and people rushing up and down, and she got out of bed, curious to see what was going on.

Could it be an attack?

When she glanced out of the window, she could hardly see anything in the darkness. There were only a few torches lit, but she could see Lochlan and a few other familiar faces under their incandescence.

Etna immediately knew that something was wrong. Lochlan and the rest of the soldiers weren’t supposed to return for several more days, and yet there they were, all of them shouting, covered in blood.

Whose blood? Oh God . . . whose blood?

Etna already knew the answer before she carefully scanned the crowd. It was everyone’s blood. She could see no one but Lochlan and one of his soldiers upright, the rest of the men being hauled off their horses by those who had stayed behind.

Panic overtook her, and her hands began to tremble, her heart beating hard and fast in her chest like a drum off-rhythm. She began to think about Finley, dead, and Malina, who would have to grow up all alone, with neither of her parents.

Na . . . na, she willna be alone. Lochlan and Arlene will take care of her. I’ll take care of her.

But it wasn’t just the thought of Malina growing up as an orphan that had her heart racing and her palms drenched in sweat. No, it was the thought of Finley dead that had shaken her to the core, and she could hardly understand it.

Only hours ago, she had been furious at him. Now, she would do anything to keep him alive.

She didn’t have time to analyze her feelings and figure out why the Laird’s death could affect her in such a way. Instead, she dressed hastily, wrapping her earasaid around her shoulders before she rushed out of the room and made her way down the stairs.

The bottom floor of the castle was in just as much unrest as the courtyard. Servants rushed back and forth, none of them caring about staying silent. The panic that coursed through her was shared, and everyone around her seemed to be in the same state of shock and fear as her.

Etna grabbed the first servant that crossed her path, one of the younger women who worked in the kitchens. “What happened?” she asked her. Her voice was trembling as much as her hands, and her fingers were digging into the woman’s arms as she held her. “They werena supposed to . . . they werena preparin’ for a fight.”

“I dinna ken,” the servant told her. She looked terrified, and Etna thought that had something to do with how rough she was being, and so she let her go. For a moment, she was frozen in that spot, unable to move, unable to think, her mind a perfect blank. Hopelessness welled up inside her, and her vision began to go black at the edges, her dread getting the best of her.

Na. I willna stand here and do nothin’.

Etna pushed her way out into the courtyard with a steadying breath, where the soldiers were still gathering the wounded. She bumped her way through the crowd, shoving people aside without care until she got to the injured men.

There’s Finley. He . . . he’s still alive.

There were two men on each side, holding him up and dragging him along, but out of all the soldiers who had been injured, he was the only one who could still stay upright and, if not walk, then stumble his way inside. Etna’s breath caught in her throat when she first saw him when she saw the carnage that had taken place. There was so much blood, their clothes drenched with it, their faces and hands painted crimson. Etna could hardly stand to look at it, the sight making her stomach churn.

“Etna?” Finley asked when he saw her as they were dragging him away, and though Etna reached out to him with her hand, she didn’t dare touch him, fearing that she would end up hurting him more. Instead, she let the two men take him into the castle and then searched for Lochlan.

She soon found him giving the last orders to his men. For a few moments, Etna simply watched him as he went from their fearless General to a man who had just seen all his fellow soldiers get wounded, standing at the edge of death. The shift was instantaneous, and the moment he had finished talking to his men, he froze, gaze fixed on an invisible horizon.

“Lochlan?” Etna asked softly as she approached him. It took him a few moments to notice her, but when he did, he shifted once more into the role of the General. “What happened?”

“Ambush,” Lochlan said. “Or perhaps the brigands were heading to the village, and when they spotted us, they decided to attack. I dinna ken. All I ken is that we all almost died.”

Etna scanned him carefully, her gaze looking for any injuries, but she couldn’t see any. “Shouldna ye have the healer take a look at ye?” she asked.

“Na. I’m fine,” Lochlan said. “I dinna get injured. Besides, they need him more than I do.”

Etna hesitated for a moment, but then the itch to ask about Finley was too much to ignore. “And . . . and the Laird?”

At the mention of Finley, Lochlan froze once more. Etna could see him clenching his jaw, hands curling into fists. “He’s injured. I willna lie to ye, it’s verra bad. They’re all doin’ verra bad.”

It was all that Etna needed to hear. In the years that she had spent alone with her father, in a village that was far away from any healers, she had come to learn many useful things, both from books and from practice. If there was anyone in that castle who could help, it would be her, she knew.

“Take me to them,” she said as she pulled her sleeves up. “I can help.”

Lochlan wasted no time taking her to the healer at the promise of help. Once there, Etna stopped dead in her tracks once more, the sight of the men and the smell of old blood startling her.

There’s na time for this. I canna allow meself to be shaken.

She would have all the time she would need later to process what she had seen and—though she hoped she wouldn’t have to—grieve. As long as she was in that room, she had to focus all her attention on the wounded.

Finley, being the Laird, was already being tended to by the healer, and so Etna began to work on the other men with the help of some of the servants, who were under the healer’s command. She cleaned their wounds and bandaged them the entire time, trying to reassure them that everything would be alright, even though she didn’t know for sure if they would all survive.

Despite her best efforts, some wounds wouldn’t stop bleeding, fractures that she couldn’t fix, so many injuries that could take their lives.

It was only when the healer was done with Finley and began to help the rest of the men, though, that Etna finally allowed herself to stop and, once she was certain that everything was under control with the soldiers, she walked over to Finley, sitting by his side.

He didn’t look well. He was pale, alarmingly so, and his lips were dry and chapped. The dried blood still clung to his skin in splotches, and Etna wondered how much of it was his and how much was the blood of his enemies.

When her gaze drifted to the wound on his side, she winced. She couldn’t imagine the kind of pain that he was in, even after the healer had given him something to soothe him.

“Etna . . .”

When Finley spoke, his voice was slow and thick, struggling to come out.

“Hush,” Etna told him. “Dinna speak. Ye should keep yer strength.”

“It’s fine,” Finley said. “It’s na as bad as it looks.”

“I think it is, me Laird,” Etna told him. It was better than lying to him, better than reassuring him that he was well and having him trying to stand and help. “Ye should rest. I’ll stay here if ye need me.”

Etna looked at her hands, noticing for the first time that she, too, was covered in blood up to her elbows. The front of her dress was ruined, and sweat dripped down between her shoulder blades, one that was brought forth by fear.

She remembered what Malina had told her that very morning, that Finley was a kind man. In her rage, Etna hadn’t listened, but now that she was seeing his gaze drift constantly back to his men, his expression pained from something more than just his injuries, she understood.

He cares. He cares for his people. He just doesna ken how to show it.

It didn’t take long for Lochlan to take Finley to his own chambers with the help of two of their clansmen. Etna followed dutifully behind them, and she was glad that Lochlan didn’t ask her why she was staying by Finley’s side.

She didn’t even have the answer to that question. All she knew was that she wanted to be there for him, to make sure that he would survive the night, even though she was certain that everyone would be keeping an eye on him until he recovered. The need to stay with him was overpowering, and even though she was exhausted by all the work, she was determined to stay awake and watch over him.

“I’ll be comin’ to see him,” Lochlan told her, just as Etna pulled a chair closer to Finley’s bed. The moment his head had hit the pillow, he had fallen asleep, and it was a blessing. Any time he spent not being in pain was good in Etna’s mind. “Ye dinna have to stay here, Etna. Ye can get some rest.”

“I’ll be fine,” she assured him, waving a hand dismissively. Even after cleaning all the blood off her, she still fancied that she saw it on her skin, clinging onto her. “Ye dinna have to worry. I ken how to take care of him if somethin’ happens.”

With a grateful nod, Lochlan left, closing the door quietly and leaving Etna alone with Finley. She watched him, reluctant to look away in case his condition worsened within moments, but it soon became clear to her that he had fallen into a peaceful sleep, and so she didn’t want to disturb him.

For a long while, she stayed quiet, gazing at Finley and at the sky that she could see from the window. The entire castle had calmed down since the arrival of the soldiers, but Etna knew that everyone was still agitated, that it was all far from over.

How could the brigands have kent that Finley and the others would be passin’ by that verra moment? Perhaps there really is a spy in the castle.

Finley’s suspicions didn’t seem so farfetched anymore, and Etna knew that Lochlan saw it the same way. The incident had forced a weight on his shoulders, a burden that he would have to carry alone until Finley recovered.

It wasn’t until later that night, almost at the crack of dawn, that Etna noticed something was wrong. Finley was drenched in sweat, and when she stood to press a hand on his forehead, she found that he was burning up.

Her first instinct was to fetch the healer, but before she could pull back, Finley’s hand shot out and grabbed her arm, stopping her.

“Me Laird . . . I must go alert the healer,” Etna said in a soothing voice, trying to break Finley’s grip. “Ye have a fever. I’ll call him to tend to ye.”

“Na,” Finley said, shaking his head fervently. “Dinna leave.”

Etna didn’t know what to do. As much as she wanted to call the healer, Finley’s grip was strong and his voice demanding. In the end, she decided to appease him for a while, and so she sat back down, grabbing the rag that she had placed earlier on the bedside table and dabbing it in some water before she wiped Finley’s forehead, cooling him down.

“I . . . I didna mean to,” Finley said then, and Etna frowned, leaning closer. His voice was barely a whisper at first, sounding breathless, but the more he spoke, the louder he became. “I didna, I swear. But it’s done, it’s all done.”

“What’s done, me Laird?” Etna asked. “Dinna blame yerself for what happened. Ye couldna have kent that there was an ambush and . . . and all the men are alive! They’re still alive.”

“Anna . . .”

Anna? His late wife?

“I killed her,” Finley said then, clear as day, his eyes wide as he grabbed Etna once more. “I killed her, and noo she’s gone.”

“I think it’s best if ye leave noo, Etna.”

The voice came from the door, and Etna whipped her head to see Arlene standing there, her hands clasped tightly in front of her.