Highland Sacrifice (Highland Wars Book 2) (13 page)

Macrath sprinted to the well, grabbing up another bucket as one of the guards dumped water into it. But something wasn’t right. The water—he noted this time—ismelled funny. He dipped his head closer, picking up subtle hints of oil. How could the water smell like oil?

Instantly he knew. The chill of fear he felt before turned to all-out terror.

Someone had dumped oil into the well! And a significant amount of it, too!

Tilting the bucket slightly, he could see it clearly floating on the surface of the water—oil. It’d been a trick he learned as a child when he’d been allowed to hang around the kitchens. The scullery maids had showed him, made a game out of it. Teased him when he couldn’t get it to mix in quite well enough.

“Stop!” he bellowed, charging toward those who darted to throw more watered oil on the fire.

But no one listened. He might as well not have spoken at all. He bellowed again, but just then, a loud cracking and thunder sounded from the smith’s hut. Over the din of shouts and the sounds of wood splintering as the hut collapsed, no one could hear him call out.

“Stop! The water is contaminated!” he roared. The men around him dropped their buckets and sprinted to the fire to tell the others, but it was too late.

A man tossed his bucket onto the flames, but at the same moment, a slab of wood from the hut thrust out, its flames falling on the man’s oil-soaked hands, setting him on fire.

The man screamed an ear-piercing, heart-wrenching shrill. He waved his arms in the air, only enraging the fire more. By the time Macrath reached him, the poor fellow was covered in flames from head to toe and running in wild circles. Not caring for anything other than the man’s safety, Macrath whipped off his plaid and tossed it on him, tackling him to the ground. Macrath held tight to him, rolling him along the ground, the heat of the flames singeing his skin.

The man’s screams died down with the flames and Macrath feared he was dead, but every few breaths he heard him whimper. Thank the gods. Macrath stood, only dressed in his shirt, which covered him to mid-thigh.

Carefully he pealed back the blanket, staring at the man’s charred and smoking skin. His eyes were wide, staring right into Macrath’s. His mouth opened as if to say something, but no sound came out.

“The fire is out, lad,” Macrath whispered. “Very brave you were.”

Judging by the severe burns, Macrath had serious doubts about his survival, and that cut him to the core. He’d tried to warn them, tried to get this man to stop. No good men should perish, especially when he was giving of himself.

“Get this man inside and get the healer,” he ordered Tobin, who had also rushed forward with his plaid in hand, ready to smother the flames. “Marrec, gather a group of strong men with barrels and start pulling water from the moat. We need fresh water to put out these flames.” Not that the moat was the freshest, given they filled it with their chamber pots daily, but whoever had tampered with the well could not have filled the moat with as much oil.

The guards flung open the gates and men hurried through, jumping into the moat. Wagons, filled with barrels, pulled out onto the bridge and a line of men began working, passing the containers back and forth. Already the tanner’s hut looked ready to collapse. The smithy’s hut still smoldered and popped, though it was now a shambles. The stone of the wall the huts had been lined up against was charred and smoking.

Ceana came up to him, wide-eyed, her gaze raking over him and settling on the few burn spots on his linen shirt. “Are you all right? We should have the healer look at you.”

“Nay, love. Only blisters. I’ll be fine. I’ve got to help with this fire.”

“Someone tampered with the well?” she asked, confusion marring her features.

Macrath nodded, watching as Tobin returned with the healer and they carefully carried the burned man inside.

“Someone wanted Sìtheil to burn,” Macrath said. “Someone wanted to gravely hurt us.”

“My laird, what can I do?” Kendrew asked.

The list of their enemies crashed through his mind. “Make certain our guest—Victor—is in his room, and see that the council is roused. They should be out here.”

“Oh, gods,” Ceana said, tears brimming in her eyes as she stared at the raging flames. “The fire only grows.”

“Pray, my wife. Pray, for it will take a miracle to put out this inferno.”

Already tiny sparks were starting to hop their way to the building that stood between the blaze and the storeroom.

“I’m going to help with the water, love. Stay here. When the first of the barrels returns, make sure they stop the blaze where it’s headed toward the storeroom. We have to keep it clear, sacrifice the tanner’s hut, else we’ll lose everything we need to survive this winter.”

Ceana nodded. He hated to leave her, but Kendrew would soon be back out, and he’d not be gone long.

Macrath ran toward the gate, through the archway and onto the bridge. He grabbed the first filled barrel he could. Running on pure determination, he carried it effortlessly back into the bailey.

He was not going to let his castle go down in flames.

Chapter Fourteen

IF Ceana’s dream had been a test, then what was this?

Her feet felt frozen in place. The heat of the fire pushed any winter chill away, making the bailey hot. The smoke billowing around them made it hard to breathe. Just like it had been during the fire game in the forest weeks ago. But they’d won that time. She had her doubts about whether they’d be successful this time.

The man who’d been burned was inside now. She’d seen the extent of his injuries and was not hopeful he’d make it through the next hour, let alone the night.

“Is anyone else hurt?” she inquired, walking around the bailey, checking on the people.

Children clutched their mother’s skirts until their mothers bade them be still so they could go and help the men.

The men dashed from the bridge, covered in foul-smelling moat water, and hastened to toss it onto the flames in great stinking waves.

They were lucky no one else appeared to be hurt. She sent a silent prayer up to the gods that the only casualty of the night would be the poor burned man inside.

“My lady.” Kendrew returned from inside the castle, his brow furrowed, lips thin and white.

“Is Victor still inside?” She peered around his shoulder. Seeing that no one accompanied him, she was flooded with relief.

Kendrew met her gaze with a serious expression. “He is still locked in his room. The guard who was posted there remains and reports that he served him supper and then locked the door behind him. There is no way he could have escaped, my lady. I’m afraid it was not he who did this.”

Wicked disappointment crept into her bones. She’d wanted badly for Victor to be the one at fault so they might rid of him from their lives for good. The man had hurt Macrath for too long. “No secret doors in the chamber?” she asked, on the off-chance there was.

“Nay, my lady. ’Tis why we chose it as his prison.” Kendrew looked just as disappointed as she.

“And the guard has been there all night? He did not take a break nor leave to speak with anyone? Use the privy?”

“Nay, my lady, he has been there all night.”

“Gods’ teeth!” she cursed, running her hands through her wild hair.

Victor could not have been the one to fill the well with oil, nor the one to set the blaze. She pressed her lips together in displeasure. Life would have been so much easier if it had been Victor. If she’d learned on thing swiftly as a child, however, it was that life was never easy. And life at Sìtheil was beyond hard. How had the people survived for so long? She supposed they’d never known any different and that in itself made her sad. If she had to sacrifice every ounce of happiness for the rest of her living days, she would see to it that these people found joy.

“What of the council members?” she asked.

Kendrew blew out a heavy breath—that in itself was enough to show her his response would not be what she wanted. “They all appeared to be asleep. They are dressing now.”

Ceana shook her head, hands on her hips, and glared at the castle. “Nay. There is no way they would have slept through the chaos out here and the ringing of the warning bells.”

Kendrew nodded curtly. “I agree, my lady. What—” But his words were cut short by the next round of filthy men returning from the moat. They charged the flames with battle cries on their lips.

Ceana sucked in a ragged breath. The blaze had already spread to the corner of the store room.

Water was tossed with vigor on the sparks. The glow sizzled and popped, challenging the men as to whether it would fizzle out or not. But finally, with bucket after bucket tossed, the fire did begin to abate.

“My lady, I must give them aid.”

“Aye, go.”

Kendrew ran through the gate to the moat, with Ceana staring after him and feeling helpless.

But she wasn’t weak; she could do something to help. “Ladies, more buckets!” Ceana shouted.

A system followed. Men lined up from the moat to the fire in groups of ten. The water buckets and barrels were passed down the line, the last man tossing it onto the flames. The women then took the empty buckets and returned them to the moat to be refilled.

The fire started to abate, flames now put out on the outside of the storeroom. Ceana ordered a group of men to check inside and extinguish any fire there so that none of their goods were damaged. The lines continued to fight the fire on the other buildings, slowly pushing it backward. The tanner’s hut finally collapsed in a thunderous burst, sparks, embers and ash rushed out in a cloud.

“Jump back!” Ceana warned, not wanting anyone else to get burned.

All were weary enough from the burned man’s ordeal and heeded her warning, leaping back enough to be out of harm’s way.

The rubble settled and men, though coughing hard now, immediately continued tossing water onto the fires.

Hours passed this way until finally, when the sun began to rise on the horizon, the last of the burning embers were stomped out.

Ceana stumbled back, exhausted, hot, thirsty. Her throat was parched, her lungs scorched. She’d not noticed how much until now, but breathing in the smoke of the inferno for hours had left her insides raw.

Everyone’s skin had long since turned to black, hers included. Their eyes and teeth white and glowing. She held out her hands, examining the soot that was caked there, only the nail beds showing pink.

The council still had not emerged, despite their assurances to Kendrew. She found it rather curious—well, downright suspicious. She didn’t care who they were, or what they had planned for her. Not aiding in the fire was wrong and she was going to tell them so. Without hesitation, she marched toward the castle, intent on ripping all five of them from their beds if she had to.

“Ceana.”

Startled, she turned to see her husband, linen shirt and plaid soaked. Someone must have given him another to wear after he’d used his to save the burning man from death. Streaks of black ran through the wet of his skin on his face and clothes. She sprinted toward him, collapsed in his outstretched arms, relieved the fire had been put out and that they were still alive.

Sobs threatened, but she held them at bay, knowing that once they started it would be even harder to make them cease.

They held each other for several moments, their chests rising and falling in a similar rhythm. Their hearts pounded as one. She gripped him tight, not wanting to let go. Macrath buried his face in her hair and it was only when she started to cough again that he pulled away a little with a hack of his own.

He stared down at her and gave a weak smile. “You’re a mess,” he said, swiping stray locks of wild, soot-covered hair from around her face.

Ceana smiled back. “So are you.” With the sleeve of her gown she wiped away some of the soot from his face. “I fear I’m only making it worse.”

Macrath rested his forehead against hers. “I would have no less. I cannot be the shining prince at the ball, when my poor wife looks like the impoverished princess not allowed to attend. We are equals now and always.”

“I’m glad you see it that way. Besides, I could not have you be prettier than me.” She knew he’d felt for some time that he was not on equal ground with her, given his being born a bastard, but she’d never seen him as anything less. Gods, half the time, she put him on a throne more illustrious than her own. “’Twill be a while afore we can clean up.”

“Aye,” he murmured. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.” She kissed him briefly on the chin.

“Any word on Victor?”

She nodded. “Kendrew said he was still in his chamber and the guard posted said he’d not been out.”

Macrath frowned, creating creases in the ash on his forehead. “And what of the council?”

Ceana gritted her teeth. “They were alerted but never came out here.”

“Bastards.”

“Do you think they were behind it? I feel they were.” She wanted to string them up. Wanted to hear them beg for mercy, and then she would decide whether or not they received it. Ceana was done with the council’s manipulations and plays of power.

“Aye,” Macrath said, fury lacing his tone. “But they’ll never admit it and anyone who saw them or helped them will be too afraid to come forward. Or worse, they have more allies within the clan who would do their bidding.”

“So they will get away with it.” Bitterness filled her. Once more, Beatrice and her merry band of wastrels were going to get away with murder.

Macrath bared his teeth. “Nay, lass. We will not let them get away with it. We’ll punish them, even if it takes some time to do so.”

“My laird,” Marrec interrupted.

Ceana and Macrath pulled away from each other completely and faced their people, who’d gathered in a wide circle around them. Their faces were also soot-covered their shoulders sagged with exhaustion, clothes filth-covered. Coughs and whispers echoed in the group.

“Apologies for the interruption,” Marrec said.

“You have no need to apologize,” Ceana said.

Marrec knelt before them. “Without you having figured out it was oil in the well, the fire would still rage, and more than one of us would be hurt, most likely dead. We must thank you for your bravery and leadership.”

The clansmen and women nodded, kneeling to the ground, their hands over their hearts.

“You saved us,” a woman called out. “The gods blessed you and us when you became victors and princes of this land.”

Ceana slipped her hand into Macrath’s, threading her fingers between his.

“We all saved us,” Macrath said.

She nodded her agreement. “If we’d not worked together, as a clan should, then we’d not have been able to fight this fire.”

“Clan Morrison!” Macrath bellowed, thrusting his fist into the air.

A hundred, and counting, fists pushed toward the sky and the air thrummed with their mighty shout. “Clan Morrison!”

Until that moment, Ceana had doubted the strength of their bond with their people. If the council had thought to weaken them, to prove that Macrath and Ceana were not fit to rule Sìtheil, they had gone about it the wrong way. For this night, Ceana and Macrath had proved victorious. On top of that, their clan appeared to support them completely. They’d done more than simply beat the flames; they’d shattered the doubt, too.

Macrath held up his hand for silence and the clan rapidly hushed to hear what he had to say. “Someone poured oil into our well,” he explained. “This person, or
persons
, deliberately destroyed our water supply in hopes we’d not be able to put out the fire they most likely set. This was an act of treason against not only your princess, and myself, but against you! This was an act of war against Sìtheil.”

The people nodded, shouting out as they stood. “Aye! They tried to hurt us!”

“My husband nearly died!”

“We could have all died!”

“Our stores could have been destroyed and where would we be then?”

All through their responses, Macrath and Ceana nodded. With his choice of words—though they were the truth—her husband was further fortifying their bond with their clan, deepening their respect.

“This is
our
land. This is
our
castle.” Macrath jutted his finger toward the storehouse. “Those are
our
goods. And they tried to take them from us. But we will not let them make sacrifices of us all. We will fight back.”

“Who?” called out someone from the crowd.

“Aye, my laird, who?”

“Who did it?”

The numerous questions tossed from the masses begged an answer she wasn’t certain they could give.

“Look among you,” Ceana called out. “Who is here and who is not?”

“Did you see anything suspicious? Hear anything?” Macrath asked. “If you did, you may feel too threatened to come forward. Know this, we will protect you.”

“But do not simply point the blame at your neighbor. We must all work together in this. We must find who would have done this and see justice met out!” Ceana said.

Loud rumblings started amongst the people. ’Twas at that moment the five council members stepped outside of the castle’s great doors and stood on the platform there as if it were they who ruled and not her and Macrath.

The five of them were dressed in their finery, standing above the people, looking down their noses as if those in the courtyard were nothing more than the filth they were covered in.

Several gasps sounded from the clan. Ceana could only guess they had finally noticed the council had not been among them. That the council was clean while they were dirty. The bastards had not been bathed in ash as the people were. The council had not witnessed one of their own go up in flames.

Nay, while they suffered and labored, the council had not helped but stayed indoors, with no care to what the losses could have been.

Macrath held up his hand for silence and the crowd hushed.

Ceana slowly faced the five fully, and Macrath did so as well. They no longer held hands but that didn’t matter. They were close enough that their energy held each other up. And thank the gods they had each other.