Page 32 of The Highlander’s Savage Vow
"Moira, gather whoever else needs immediate shelter and send them with Duncan. We'll make room fer everyone who needs it."
"But me lady, surely ye cannae house all of us?—"
"We can and we will." Iona's voice brooked no argument. "Now go. Get those children somewhere warm."
As Duncan organized the evacuation of the most vulnerable, Iona picked her way through the flooded village, Ruaridh at her side. The scope of the damage was overwhelming—years of careful work destroyed in a single night of rain.
Ruaridh was knee-deep in muddy water as he helped pull a cart free from the debris. His shirt clung to his shoulders, and mud streaked his face, but he worked with the same methodical determination he brought to everything.
"The grain stores?" she asked him when he returned, noting the collapsed roof of what had been the communal granary.
"Gone," Ruaridh replied grimly. "And most of the winter fodder fer the livestock too."
"Then we'll have tae share ours." She paused beside a woman trying to salvage cooking pots from the ruins of her home. "Mistress? I'm Lady MacDuff. Are ye and yer family well?"
The woman looked up with tears streaming down her face. "Aye, me lady, we're alive. But everything else..." She gestured helplessly at the destruction around them.
"Things can be replaced," Iona said gently, crouching down to help retrieve a battered pot from the mud. "What matters is that ye and yers are safe. We'll rebuild, and we'll dae it together."
They worked through the morning, organizing relief efforts and assessing damage.
Iona found herself naturally taking charge of the humanitarian efforts while Ruaridh coordinated the more practical matters of rescue and salvage.
She could not help repeatedly glancing across the village to where Ruaridh coordinated the more dangerous rescue work, her heart catching each time she saw him disappear into a damaged building or wade into deeper water.
"Over here!" someone called from near the old oak tree. "There's a lad trapped!"
Iona hurried toward the commotion, finding a crowd gathered around a partially collapsed stone wall. Beneath it, she could hear muffled crying.
"It's wee Jamie," someone explained. "He was trying tae save his dog when the wall came down."
"Can ye hear me, Jamie?" Iona called, kneeling in the mud beside the rubble. "It's Iona MacDuff. Ye’re going tae be fine, lad."
A small voice answered from beneath the stones. "Me lady? I cannae get out, and I cannae find Rascal!"
"We'll find yer dog, I promise. But first we need tae get ye free." She looked up at the men gathering around them. "Carefully now. We dinnae want tae shift the wrong stone."
It took nearly an hour of painstaking work to free the boy, who emerged muddy but miraculously uninjured. Iona wrapped him in her own cloak while the men continued searching for his missing dog.
"He's just a mongrel," Jamie sniffled against her shoulder. "But he's me best friend in the whole world."
"Then we'll find him," Iona promised, smoothing the boy's wet hair. "What daes he look like?"
"Brown and white, with one ear that stands up and one that flops down. And he's got a white patch on his nose that looks like a star."
"A very distinctive dog then. We'll?—"
"Woof!"
The sound came from behind them, and they turned to see a muddy, bedraggled creature that could only be Rascal limping toward them, his tail wagging furiously despite his obvious exhaustion.
"Rascal!" Jamie launched himself from Iona's arms toward his dog, both of them ending up in a joyful, muddy heap.
"Well," she said, wiping tears from her own eyes as she watched the reunion, "that's one problem solved."
Mid-afternoon, word came that the mill dam was threatening to give way completely.
Ruaridh looked to her across the village square, and she nodded her understanding before he even spoke.
He had to go—the dam was too important to ignore, and he was needed there.
She watched him gather a group of men and disappear toward the river, her heart tight with worry but proud of his dedication to their people.
The afternoon passed in a blur of similar scenes—families reunited, possessions salvaged, temporary shelters arranged. Iona threw herself into the work with an energy that surprised even her, discovering a capacity for leadership she hadn't known she possessed.
"Me lady," an elderly man approached as the sun began to sink toward the horizon. "I wanted tae thank ye and Master Ruaridh. Fer what ye've done taeday."
"There's nay need fer thanks. We're all clan here."
"Aye, but ye got yer hands dirty alongside ours. That means something tae folk like us."
Similar conversations followed throughout the evening as they prepared to return to the castle. Families that had lost everything expressing gratitude not just for material help, but for the fact that their future laird and lady had stood with them in their darkest hour.
"Ready?" Ruaridh asked as they prepared to mount their horses for the journey home.
"Aye." Iona looked back at the village, where temporary shelters now dotted the landscape and cooking fires sent smoke spiraling into the clearing sky. "Though I think we'll be back tomorrow. And the day after that, until everyone's properly housed again."
"Of course we will," he agreed, and something in his voice made her look at him more closely.
"What?"
"Naething. It's just..." He helped her into her saddle, his hands lingering on her waist. "Watching ye taeday, seeing how ye handled everything—ye were magnificent."
"I was daeing what needed tae be done."
"Aye, ye were. And ye did it like ye were born tae it." His green eyes held an admiration that made her chest warm. "These people will follow ye anywhere after today."
As they rode back toward the castle through the muddy twilight, Iona reflected on the day's events.
She'd come to the village thinking she needed to earn their respect.
Instead, she'd discovered something far more valuable—she'd found her place among them.
Not as a lady looking down from above, but as someone willing to stand beside them when times were hard.
It was, she realized, exactly where she belonged.