Chapter Fifteen
Finlay must indeed be going mad, for he’d begun speaking to the presence in his chamber. Baring his soul to it as if it were an old friend.
“She came to me this morning, up on the height overlooking the sea. ’Twas as if my longing summoned her, almost. And she saw me. I think she truly saw me for the first time.”
The presence in the room stirred but did not answer. To be sure, it did not. Finlay glanced at the bed. It was as if he could almost see the form of a young man stretched out there.
“She maun remember in time, must she no’? How can she fail to remember, when I recall everything?” Each detail, nearly. Every time she’d looked at him. Each kiss.
Throughout time. They had both traveled in time, apart and together.
He’d spent this lifetime searching for her. Because he did remember, had done so almost from the beginning of his life. It had come to him in bits and pieces, in memories, in random longings. He’d put them together into stories, into songs. He had found names for them in the world.
He had realized who she must be.
After all that, after so many miles traveled and so many wishes made, how could it end badly?
“The wheel turns,” he told his silent companion. “No’ always to our benefit.”
And what would he do if, ultimately, she failed to remember? For he could not help but feel in some way it was up to Katrin. Their shared past was all there inside her.
She must choose it.
She carried a barrier of fear, did his love, his alanna. She must be given leave to face that, or flee.
If she refused him—refused them—he supposed he would wander the world until he grew too frail to tread the roads and his fingers could no longer dance over the strings.
He thought of the dream when he’d gathered herbs on the hill, how stiff and old he had felt.
The wheel did indeed turn. Age would find him again.
He finished preparing for supper and said to his companion, “Wish me luck.”
Luck. The word seemed to float after him as he went out the chamber door. Or was that only an echo of his own voice?
*
Seven kisses. Katrin could not reason out why those two words remained stuck in her mind. But the instant the harper entered the hall she felt it, and swung around to look at him.
His gaze found her. He smiled.
Something settled inside her, beneath her heart. He was here. She could continue with her tasks. With her world. With her life.
Swiftly, she turned back to her work, setting cups at the places along the boards. What she could not do was stand gazing at him. Much as she might wish to.
But she found that very soon she must steal another glance.
He looked very fine, this night. He wore his cloak of green with the embroidered tunic beneath, and the brown skin leggings and boots. The beads woven through his hair were, many of them, green also.
Yet none of that mattered. It was the way he moved that drew her. That smooth, somehow powerful grace.
He carried his harp—well, that was not surprising, but it made her heart leap. It meant he intended to play for them. She would soon hear his music. Fall under its spell.
Anticipation sizzled inside her, almost like that a child felt for a promised reward. She could be patient, could she not?
“Mistress Katrin?”
She jumped violently when someone spoke beside her, so near they almost touched. Reagan. How could she have missed his approach?
“Master O’Hanlon! Ye did startle me.” She was not a small woman, yet had to look up, up to meet his tawny gaze, which held a rueful light. One of his eyebrows quirked.
“Forgive me. I am not usually so easy to overlook.”
“I did no’ overlook ye, just—”
He shot a deliberate look at Finlay before returning his gaze to her face, not without a tinge of irony.
“I see that ye are distracted.”
“Just eager to make certain each of our guests has what he desires.”
That made both Reagan’s brows fly up. Only then did she realize the words might sound—well, not as she’d meant.
What did Finlay want? For he did want somewhat, on that she would bet her life. Why had he given her those kisses? The ones that even now refused to leave go of her heart.
She needed to speak with him.
“I wanted to speak with ye,” Reagan said, and she started again.
“I beg your pardon?”
He edged still closer and lowered his voice to a rumble. “I did not know if ye wanted still to meet tonight.” He hesitated. “Given what happened, I mean.”
The kiss. The attempted kiss. Och, what had befallen her life?
She was not the sort of woman who strove for male attention. She rarely fussed with her appearance and had long ago given up on any idea of a romantic marriage. She owned precisely one fine gown that she seldom wore, save for formal occasions, which, given the current state of affairs, were few.
Now she had two men giving her notice. To both of whom she was attracted, if in vastly differing ways.
She gazed at Reagan. Since the arrival of the Gallowglass, the young women of the clan had been looking after them, and especially after their commander. A whole lot of man was he. And she had heard lasses sighing after Finlay also.
Finlay.
She ached for another glance at him. Instead she gazed into Reagan’s eyes.
“I am willing to continue the training, if ye be.”
“Aye, so.” Something stirred in his eyes. “With what objective, if I may ask? Have your thoughts about going to war changed?”
“They have not.”
He disliked that. His expression settled into a frown.
She added blithely, “When I am ready, I shall speak to my father mysel’.”
That made his lips quirk between the wings of his mustache. “And who shall deem ye ready?”
“I shall, to be certain. Do I no’ mak’ all my own decisions?”
He shook his head. Before he could reply, however, the harper stepped up to them.
“Mistress Katrin, Master O’Hanlon.”
Katrin’s entire body sprang to life. She could explain it no other way. She became aware of everything about Finlay—his height, his warmth, his presence. Even the scent of him. All her senses leaped.
“Master harper.” She could do naught but look at him then. Remember the feel of his lips pressing kisses into her palms.
Her fingers involuntarily curled into fists as if trying to keep those kisses in.
But it was to Reagan he turned, not to her.
“Master O’Hanlon, I wished to let ye know I ha’ fashioned the march ye requested.”
“Have ye?” Reagan’s gaze took light.
“Aye, I would play it for the first time tonight, that ye might hear.”
“That will be grand.”
What was this, then? The harper making tunes for the Gallowglass? She’d known naught of it.
“A march, ye say?” she asked.
Reagan smiled at her. “So struck was I with Master Finlay’s playing, I petitioned it. I daresay, Master Finlay, ye have never before had a patron who is also a Gallowglass.”
“That is so, Master O’Hanlon, though many and many ha’ my patrons been.”
“I can believe it.” Reagan raised a hand to Finlay’s shoulder. “I shall look forward much to hearing.”
Finlay bowed and stepped away.
Reagan gave Katrin a searching look. Before he could speak, she did. “That was an unusual request—a tune from the harper.”
“A march,” he emphasized, “as befits a company such as we. Fierce and indestructible, we are, and hard to kill.”
She hoped so. She tossed her head. “And modest, above all.”
“Let me tell ye a wee secret, mistress.” He bent to whisper into her ear. “When ye have somewhat to boast about, there is no need to keep silent.”
Ah, Katrin thought as he too walked away toward the head table where her da waited for him—if she’d met Reagan O’Hanlon ten years ago, or even five, things might have ended far differently.
But Geordie had been alive then, and she was sure he would marry—just as soon as all the fighting was done, as he’d insisted it was unfair to leave a wife with young bairns to go off to war, and the succession secured.
She might well have tumbled head over heels for Reagan.
And then what? What, when the harper turned up? Ah, well, she was too old for all that nonsense now, was she not?
She spent the better part of supper on edge, for Finlay joined them at the head table and she remained so aware of his every word and every gesture, she could not relax.
Not until after the meal, when he took up his harp, did the tension flow away from her, as she surrendered to the beauty. To the magic.
He played and sang several songs of love, which tugged at her heart. He followed those with the promised march, a tune so bright and strong that at its finish everyone applauded spontaneously and Reagan rose to his feet to bellow his approval.
“A man of great talent, the harper,” Reagan rumbled to Katrin after he sat back down.
He certainly was.
The training session that took place later, behind the armory, started off awkwardly, some discomfort lingering from their last meeting. It soon wore off, for Reagan worked Katrin hard, only telling her when she protested, “If ye insist upon bein’ battle ready, I will make sure o’ it.”
He made no attempt to touch her again, nor to approach her in any way that was not part of the instruction. All business, was the Gallowglass this night.
The harper, though, remained on Katrin’s mind. Perhaps that was why, when they parted, she asked, “What do ye think, then, o’ the harper’s march?”
“A grand tune. I was much pleased.” Reagan crooked a brow at her. “What do ye think o’ the harper?”
Katrin went away without answering.