Chapter Forty-Two
Katrin and her party reached home on a cold, clear day with snow in the wind and the ground iron-hard beneath their feet.
She brought her da back alive, but so weak she feared every breath might be his last. Those breaths came with a hard rasp.
She was no longer sure what kept him clinging to his life.
Stubbornness, perhaps, for he had run out of any other strength.
As, in truth, had Katrin and her companions, Rabbie and Davey.
They were so tired and spent, so starved and chilled, they moved by rote more than by will.
Their makeshift litter fashioned from Brada’s wrappings had long since fallen to pieces and been replaced by one they fashioned from spruce boughs.
The three of them rotated toting their chief, to provide some respite.
Da was not as heavy as he had been, for the weight just melted from him.
Since parting with the physician’s client with the cart some distance north of Oban, they had covered most the rest of the distance on foot.
Katrin’s hands were a mess, the palms blistered over other blisters, those of her companions in like condition.
None of them spoke to one another, being too weary for words.
A stop at the fortress of a friendly neighbor to the south broke the journey, and when the chief could not persuade Katrin to leave her father for the time in his care and travel on without him, he provided a pony and litter for the rest of the distance.
Da needed to die at home in his own bed, and that could only occur soon.
When they breasted the rise that led from the headland and on down to their own holding, now accompanied by some of the neighboring MacEwan men, she could have wept. Davey did weep, the tears trickling unchecked down his face, and Rabbie turned to Katrin.
“Mistress, I did no’ think we would mak’ it. I did no’ believe.”
“’Twas your valiance, yours and Davey’s, that got us home.”
They received a fierce welcome and homecoming. Others of their men—not many—had filtered home ahead of them, and they had brought word of their chief being lost, Katrin and many others with him.
Katrin saw her father into the hands of their own physician, who looked very grave indeed at the sight of him, and went to her chamber to wash and don clean clothing, a luxury for which she had not dared let her mind reach.
But once there, she merely stood in the center of the chamber and stared.
This place. This was where she’d been with Finlay.
A glorious joining it had been, of body and spirit, which now seemed no more real than Finlay’s stories.
The dreams she’d had on the trail. Both of which had seemed as real as life.
She crumpled to the floor, where she huddled like someone broken, and sobbed.
One of the maids, Janet, found her there and tried to help her up.
Called for a bath and stripped her of her clothing, all the things she wore going straight into the fire.
Fit for naught but burning, so the kindly Janet declared.
After that, she was fed and put her to bed. There were things Katrin knew she needed to do. See to her da, be with him if—well, if. Make sure Rabbie and Davey had the reward they deserved.
But all that slipped away from her once she was laid between the clean blankets, and after the briefest of battles, she let it go.
How long she slept, she did not know. She slept without dreaming now, feeling safe for the first time in days without number. Not until Janet gently shook her awake did she remember where she was.
Home.
“Mistress, I am that sorry. ’Tis the chief. He calls for ye.”
If ever there was a sentence to draw her from her rest, it was that one. Katrin rose with her heart thumping and, pausing only to wind a shawl over her sleeping gown, went out with her hair hanging loose down her back.
Da’s chamber lay mere steps away. When she reached it, Katrin found Janet’s words had not been quite accurate. Da had not called for her; the physician had.
There were others in the room ahead of her, the place in shadow with only dim light coming through the windows. Disoriented, Katrin struggled to grasp the time of day before deciding it did not matter.
Da’s advisors were there, as was the physician, who turned to her with a look of deep regret.
“Mistress, I think his time has come. He will no’ hold on much longer.”
Already had he held on so long. All those terrible, hard, and dangerous miles from England, him wanting only to be at home.
She started forward. The physician stopped her with a hand to her arm. “’Tis no’ the wound taking him after all, nor even the fever, but an inflammation o’ the lungs. Ye can hear wi’ what difficulty he breathes.”
She could hear that, aye. All that way home, and she unable to keep him warm or dry.
She nodded and went to the side of the bed. Knelt down and took Da’s hands in hers.
He was awake, aware. His eyes met hers and clung, even as he fought for breath.
“Lass.”
“Da. Och, Da. Nay, do no’ try to speak.”
“There are things—maun be said.”
Were there? Katrin supposed so. She wanted desperately to reassure him, this man who had guided his clan so well for so long. Seeing him as he was, she wanted even more than that, for him to find relief.
“Ye ha’ a valiant heart,” he told her. “As brave as ever I ha’ seen. Thank ye for gettin’ me home.” Those words did not come easily or quickly. He fought for them.
Tears flooded Katrin’s eyes. She squeezed his fingers hard.
“I place the clan’s welfare in your hands, Katrin. There is no one I consider worthier. Promise me—”
The wheezing in his chest rose to a terrible storm and she had to wait with him through it, till he found breath to speak again.
“Anything, Da—”
“Promise me ye will marry. A good man. Someone who will stand beside ye and help ye lead.”
Och, but she did not want to give that promise. Anything but that. She did not want to wed where there could not be love, and for her, all love had fled the world.
But—
There was love, and there was duty.
Even though she knew that very well, she did not speak.
“Katrin, lass?”
“I will do my very best to defend this clan in any way I can.”
His fingers, still gripping hers, tightened spasmodically. “Lass, ye canna stand alone. Other chiefs will see it as—weakness.”
He was slipping from her, sliding through her hands. She saw the mist come to his eyes.
She gave him what promise she could. “I will wed, aye Da, if I can find the man worthy o’ the place.”
“Wise lass.” He closed his eyes before he whispered, “Och, yer ma is here, come for me. And Geordie!”
As simply as that, the breaths for which he’d been battling ceased. The chamber became horrifyingly quiet until Katrin, her head lowered to her father’s shoulder, whispered.
“Go to them, Da. Go on!”
The wheel of life turned. Of all the things she had learned, both joyful and terrible, she knew that. Finlay had told her they traveled on its torturous turning from life to life, meeting and parting, and meeting again.
Let Da meet those he loved. Let him find joy in it. But for her—
By God, she felt so alone.
She knelt there beside her father’s bed a long while until she found the strength to rise, shake off the paralyzing grief, and assume the mantle that had fallen upon her. She now led the clan, and for her da’s sake, if not for that of all the folk who relied upon her, she must do well by them.
Keep her promise? Och, well, that was another matter. For with Finlay gone, where was the man worthy of the place in her heart?