Page 32 of Promised to the Forbidden Laird

Donaldina spent the next hours moving among the villagers. She carried children into Dun Ard, tore linen for wounds, and helped older women climb the steep path to shelter. Rain soaked her gown until the wool dragged heavily at her legs, but there was no time to feel cold.

A little boy refused to release Donaldina’s hand after she carried him through the gate.

“Me dog is still there,” he whispered.

Donaldina looked toward the flooded cottages. Before she could answer, Roy passed them carrying a coil of rope.

He heard.

“What color?” he asked the child.

The boy blinked. “Brown.”

“Large?”

“Small. With one white paw.”

Roy nodded and continued down the slope. Donaldina stared after him.

“He cannae mean tae search for a dog now,” Mairi froze.

Yet less than twenty minutes later Roy returned with a shivering terrier tucked beneath his arm. The boy’s cry of relief rose above the storm. Roy set the animal down and moved away before the family could thank him.

Donaldina watched him disappear again into the rain. After that, whenever she looked for Roy, he was always working. He helped lift fallen beams alongside ordinary laborers. He climbed the damaged palisade with MacNicol carpenters, holding timbers steady as others fastened them. When a cart got stuck in the mud, he joined the villagers, pushing with his shoulder until the wheels finally broke free.

No task appeared beneath him. No hardship was delegated merely because another man possessed less rank.

By midday, mud covered him from boots to throat. Blood marked one palm where rope had stripped the skin. A tear ran across one sleeve, revealing a dark bruise beneath. Still, men began turning toward him before decisions were made.

“Where should these timbers go?”

“The eastern ditch is overflowing.”

“We need more men at the cottages.”

Donaldina joined the line reinforcing the western wall, passing stones hand to hand while wind drove rain beneath her cloak. Roy saw her there and frowned.

“Ye should be inside.”

“So should ye.”

“I am working.”

“So am I.”

“This is heavy labor.”

She took another stone from the man beside her. “I didnae mistake it for embroidery.”

Roy’s expression hardened, but not out of real anger. Moments later, he stepped in to move the heavier stones away from her. Donaldina saw and let it happen, knowing protesting would only waste time.

When a gust ripped part of the temporary cover, Roy climbed the scaffold to secure it, the structure swaying under him.

Donaldina’s hands paused at the next stone. He stood tall above the courtyard, rain pounding his face, one arm around a post and the other pulling the rope. Below, men moved as if his safety was guaranteed. She knew better now that his confidence didn't mean he was invincible. The scaffold shifted, and her breath caught. Roy looked down, saw her watching, and pulled the rope once more. When he finally descended, she turned away before he touched the ground.

“Ye were staring,” he smirked.

“I was ensuring ye didnae fall upon anyone.”