Page 36 of The Guardian

Hendry stood amidst the carnage, his chest rising and falling in ragged breaths. His sword hung from his hand, slick with blood, its weight suddenly unbearable. Around him, Ross warriors moved like ghosts, checking the fallen, binding wounds, whispering names of the dead under their breath.

He turned toward the tree line where several MacLeod prisoners had been rounded up. Their weapons stripped. Their faces a mixture of defiance, shock, and grief. Among them, one stood apart, hands bound and surrounded by three Ross warriors with swords drawn and no tolerance for nonsense.

A grizzled man with a jagged scar across his cheek, shoulders squared despite the blood caked to his brow. His eyes, cold, gray, and far too calm for a man who had just lost a war, locked on Hendry.

“Who is he?” Hendry asked as he approached. He, too, was streaked with blood and smoke, his hair wind-tossed and his jaw clenched tight.

“Donnan MacLeod,” Munro answered grimly. “Brother to the late Laird Calum. Likely the one who led the inland strike.”

Hendry approached the man slowly, the firelight flickering over his face. “Ye led yer warriors into a trap,” he said flatly. “One ye thought we’d be too blind to see.”

Donnan let out a slow breath, a cruel smile curling his lips. “And yet, we nearly split yer forces. Nearly razed yer defenses.” He turned his gaze to Hendry. “Tell me, did yer laird piss himself when he heard we were coming?”

Hendry didn’t respond. He didn’t need to.

Instead, he walked forward and backhanded Donnan across the mouth, not out of anger, but to silence the venom before it spread further. Blood smeared across the MacLeod’s chin, but his expression didn’t change.

“We will bury enough men tonight,” Hendry said coldly. “So unless ye wish to join them, hold yer tongue.”

“Ye’ll not kill him,” Munro said after a beat. “He’ll be taken back to the keep. He’ll answer to Alexander and the council.”

“Ye think a trial will stop men like me?” Donnan sneered. “We were born for war. Ye can take my head, another MacLeod will rise. Our feud does nae end here.”

“No,” Munro agreed, his voice low and even, “but ye do.”

Donnan spat at his feet but said nothing else.

The Ross warriors hauled him back toward the path leading to the keep. As they disappeared into the shadows, Hendry let out a long breath, feeling the ache of every blow, every loss, every soul left behind.

The fires still burned, but now they gave off a different light. Less warning. More vigil.

He turned his gaze skyward, the stars finally breaking through the smoke. They had won. But it hadn’t felt like a triumph.

It had felt like survival.

And tomorrow… tomorrow there would be names to speak, families to console, and a keep to fortify once more.

But tonight, they would mourn the dead and remember why they fought.