Page 40 of Connal

“You reckon that grants you leave ignore my orders?” The chief crowded him back against a wall. “We’re immortal, no’ indestructible. Lightning, ’tis hotter and more powerful than a hundred bonfires. Our captain came close to death saving your worthless arses.” As the other sentinels shuffled their feet and murmured their apologies, he made a disgusted sound. “To the garrison hall with you, now, fools. You’ll drill until I like you again, which may take a moon or four.”

“I shall go and examine Nyall,” Duncan said as the chief herded the others away. “At the very least he shall need those burns cleaned and salved.”

Fletcher had a dozen other things to do, including speaking to the watchers in the tallest tower to learn if they had spotted Connal or Valerie. At the same time he was unwilling to permit the healer suffer the pain of Nyall’s burns, and whatever more the lightning had done to him.

“He shallnae permit you touch him, as you saw. I order you leave him alone.” He seldom resorted to pulling rank, but most of the clan tended to forget that he was third in command after Connal and Shaw. “Go and assure all our vassals came safely into the stronghold, and treat anyone injured. I shall see to Nyall.”

Duncan gave him a frustrated look before he went to the stairs.

Fletcher waited to assure the healer wouldn’t backtrack before he hurried toward the captain’s quarters inside the garrison hall. The door stood open, and when he looked inside he saw Nyall pulling on a dry pair of trews. Carefully he closed the door behind him and leaned against it. The fern-like burns on the captain’s body had already darkened to red, and covered his right arm from wrist to shoulder before spilling across his chest.

“I dinnae want nor need your coddling, seneschal,” Nyall said, sounding just as cold as ever.

“I ken you left so you wouldnae inflict your pain on Duncan.” Fletcher went to walk around him, and saw the burn pattern covered half of his back. “Fack, Nyall. You look as if you’ve been inked in red. The pain?”

“’Tis like a bad scald, and I’ve bells yet ringing in my ears. The burns, they’ll heal by morning.” He turned to face him, his dark eyes now holding no trace of the strange crackling. “Wish you ken if I saw our sire after my heart stopped?”

Fletcher’s nearly did the same when he heard that. “You died?”

“Aye, for a moment or two. Didnae you hear my chief? We’re immortal, no’ indestructible,” he added in a mocking tone. He then pulled on a clean tunic and tugged on his boots. “We must track the laird and Mistress Baker before the storm washes away their trail.”

The sound of rain pounding on the window coverings made Fletcher shake his head.

“’Tis too late for that, I reckon.” He staggered to one side as Nyall pushed past him, and then hurried to follow him out. “You cannae go out in a storm. The lowlands flood, and you cannae see what ’tis rock or soil. ’Twill suck you below to suffocate you. Or wish you die buried alive?”

The captain stopped in his tracks, his hands fisting and his shoulders going rigid. “I didnae meet our sire, nor Tiree, nor anyone in the dark. ’Twas naught but naught, Fletch. ’Twas an endless abyss of black. That, ’tis what awaits us.”

He knew what it cost Nyall to admit that to him, and what he had to do now to keep him from despair.

“Go to the high tower,” he said, moving to stand beside him but keeping his gaze averted. “Brochan’s there to keep from flooding the kitchens. Even with the rain, one of you may see sign of them from there. If you do, send for me, and we shall plan from there.”

“Aye.” The captain touched his shoulder briefly before heading toward the stairs.

Fletcher rubbed the sweat from his face before he made his way to the great hall. Many of the vassals who worked outdoors, most drenched, sat wrapped in blankets and tartans in front of the hearths. Duncan moved among them, stopping and examining those who sported minor injuries. Shaw appeared in an archway, took in the scene, and then caught Fletcher’s gaze and beckoned to him.

“Lightning struck Nyall on the wall, but left him with only some light burns. He’s gone to the high tower to keep watch for the laird and Mistress Baker,” he told the chieftain as soon as he joined him. “I sent Broch to the tower, too, so he shallnae flood the kitchens and hall again.”

“Connal’s no fool. He’d take her into one of the village barns to wait out the storm.” Shaw’s eyes narrowed. “The strike didnae addle our captain?”

He thought of the strange white crackling in Nyall’s dark eyes, and wondered now if it had been a reflection of the storm outside. “He seemed sound-headed, and spoke and moved as ever. What news of the patrols?”

“They’ll take refuge in the bay and ridge caves as I trained them do.” The chieftain nodded toward the kitchens. “Advise Meg we’ll need hot brews for the sheltered, and meals if the storm doesnae soon end.”

“I’ve no’ seen her for hours.” Fletcher glanced around the hall, scanning the face of every maid before calling over the nearest. “Where’s Meg gone?”

“She left this morn to collect some oysters for stew, my lord,” the girl said, looking as worried as he was. “She’s no’ yet come back.”

Chapter Thirteen

The rain drenched both Connal and Valerie by the time they reached the shepherd’s shelter, a small stone-walled shed with a thatched roof built atop a nearby hillside. He opened the weathered door to find it empty but for a small hearth, a large chair, a rope pallet with a straw ticking, and a few candle stubs. It smelled earthy and damp, but appeared reasonably clean.

“It doesn’t look like the storm is going to stop any time soon,” Valerie said, standing in the doorway and rubbing her hands over her arms. She turned and regarded him. “Can you build a fire? I’m freezing.”

Connal surveyed the dismal amount of firewood sitting in a basket by the hearth, which would barely last an hour or two. Everything he could go out and collect nearby would be too wet to burn, and he’d have to take Valerie with him to keep his weakness from overwhelming him. On a shelf above the pallet he saw some blankets that had been left, and after taking one down and shaking it out he wrapped it around her.

“Sit on the bed,” he told her. “I’ll do what I can.”

Valerie yawned and nodded, and went to sit with her back to the wall. “Your shepherds actually sleep in these shelters during the winter?”