Stepping to the side, Iliana grasped the arrow where it still protruded from his back. Hands shaking with the effort and eyes blurring with her own tears, she tried to snap it in two. It took three tries for her to break the stem of the arrow. Iliana was sobbing by then with each groan from her father-in-law as the shaft shifted in his body. When it finally broke in two, she dropped the end with the flights on it, then stepped around to stand before him, pausing there to brush her hand across her eyes so that she could see.

“Whist, lass, I’m the one who should be crying,” Angus chided gently.

Iliana glanced at his face then, frightened by the gray tinge to it and amazed when he managed to offer her a weak grin.

“Go ahead, finish it,” he whispered.

Straightening her shoulders, she grasped the arrowhead and pulled it out with one clean jerk, then stepped quickly out of the way as Gertie and Elgin applied cloths and pressure to the wound.

Iliana watched dully as the others worked over him, applying pressure, then the salves; one to clean the wound, and one to encourage healing. Then Gertie quickly stitched and bandaged him front and back.

Once it was finished, the others stepped back to eye him worriedly. Despite Gertie’s quick work, he had lost a good deal of bood. Even his lips seemed gray now.

“Are ye done?” he asked, grimacing.

Gertie nodded solemnly.

“Good. Then I’d best see to our visitors.” He pushed himself off the steps then, swaying but managing to gain his feet, much to the amazement of the people surrounding him. He even managed a shaky step forward. Then he collapsed like a tree under the ax.

Crying out, Iliana and the others hurried to catch him as he pitched forward, then gently eased his unconscious form to the ground.

“Laird!” Willie, the stablemaster’s son, came to a shuddering halt before them, eyes wide in horror as he saw that the man would be of little assistance.

“What is it?” Iliana asked impatiently.

The boy hesitated, then seemed to decide there was little harm in telling her. “My father sent me to tell the laird that the English are erecting a causeway. Once ’tis done, they will no doubt either ram the bridge or set it afire.

Iliana frowned and glanced toward her unconscious father-in-law.

“Go,” her mother murmured. “See what you can do. You are in charge now.”

Iliana stiffened in dismay, for her mother was right. With Angus out of action and her husband away, she was in charge. Even Allistair was not there to relieve her of the burden. ’Twas a frightening realization, made more so by the anxious expressions on the faces of those around her.

Realizing she had no choice, Iliana gathered her courage. “Where is your father?” she asked at last.

“On the wall.”