Page 31 of Promised to the Forbidden Laird

The storm struck before dawn with the ferocity of something long kept out. Wind battered Dun Ard so fiercely that it shook the shutters in their frames. Rain hammered against the western walls in sheets, finding every crack in the stone, roof, and timber.

Donaldina was out of bed before Mairi reached the door.

“What happened?”

“The outer palisade,” Mairi gasped. “Part of it has fallen. The lower cottages are flooding.”

Donaldina dragged a cloak over her night shift and hurried into the corridor. The castle had already awakened into confusion. Servants carried lanterns through the passageways, while men ran toward the courtyard fastening sword belts out of habit, though there was no enemy upon whom steel might be used.

A crash sounded somewhere beyond the western wall. The floor trembled beneath Donaldina’s bare feet. She did not pause to find shoes.

Outside, rain struck her face so hard that she paused beneath the arch, raising an arm for cover. The courtyard was a wild scene of mud, scared horses, and shouting men. Water poured from the gutters in shiny streams. Beyond the gate, the west palisade was broken and leaning against the dark, with several large timbers torn loose by the wind. One part had fallen inward, trapping part of the watch platform.

Roy stood beneath the wreckage. He was without cloak or hat, his shirt soaked through and plastered to his back. He had one shoulder beneath a fallen beam while Hamish and three MacNicol men strained beside him.

“Lift!” Roy shouted.

The timber rose. Men dragged a trapped guard from beneath it, his leg bent at an angle that made Donaldina’s stomach turn. Roy did not release the beam until the injured man had been carried clear. Then he lowered it carefully rather than letting it fall.

He continued without pause, issuing commands in his rough voice as the storm raged on. Ropes were fetched, and horses were led out of the stables. Men were sent toward the cottages below the eastern slope, where floodwaters had begun to inundate the path. Others were instructed to strengthen the grain stores to prevent water from reaching the lower doors.

Roy never reminded them he was a laird. He did not need to. Authority seemed to settle upon him naturally, not because he demanded it, but because in disorder, he became the one man who appeared to know what needed to be done next.

A cry rose beyond the gate. “The water is inside the cottages!”

Roy seized a rope and ran. Donaldina followed.

The lower path had become a stream. Water rushed around her ankles, brown with earth, broken thatch and branches torn from the hillside. Villagers struggled out of their homes, carrying blankets, baskets and whatever possessions panic allowed them to remember.

Roy waded into water above his knees. A woman stood in the doorway of the nearest cottage, screaming that her children were still inside. Before anyone could stop him, Roy forced his way through the flooded entrance.

Donaldina’s heart climbed into her throat. The roof sagged beneath the weight of rain. One wall had already begun to buckle, and each gust made the timbers groan.

“Roy!”

He disappeared inside. The seconds that followed seemed longer than the years of war. Donaldina stepped farther into the flood before Hamish seized her arm.

“He will bring them out.”

“Ye dinnae ken that.”

Hamish’s grip tightened. “I ken him.”

Then Roy emerged. A small girl clung to his neck, both arms locked around him so tightly that her face disappeared against his shoulder. He held a younger child against his chest beneath one arm, shielding the boy’s head with his hand while water streamed from his hair and face.

He carried both children through the flood as if their weight were nothing. The mother sobbed when he placed them into her arms. Roy knelt briefly to ensure the younger child was breathing properly. When the boy coughed and began to cry, Roy rose again.

He did not remain to receive thanks. He turned immediately toward the next cottage. Donaldina gathered her skirts and stepped into the water.

Hamish caught her elbow again. “Me lady⁠—”

“Find me dry blankets.”

His brows rose.

“Now.”

Perhaps command was contagious. Hamish obeyed.