Chapter Twenty-Six
Quarrie clawed the tumbled hair out of his face and tried to blink the grit from his eyes. The night just past had been a long one, the battle fierce. A battle fought not with sword and shield, but with will and determination.
Da’s rages—and his fever—grew steadily more intense. Quarrie did not know how much more mere flesh could stand.
He left the chamber where his father had at last fallen into a restless sleep and stepped out into the larger room of his parents’ quarters. Ma stood at the window staring out, her shoulders drooping.
His comrade-in-arms during the battle just past, she had been. And it had cost her.
He crossed to the window and stood beside her, gazing out. Dawn bled across the sky from the east, lighting the sea from ink black to misty gray. Any sails there? Quarrie had to admit that for once he scarcely cared.
“He is dying,” Ma said, the words stark even though she whispered them.
Da had been dying a long while. Neither of them had wanted to admit it. A strong man, Airlee MacMurtray. Yet now that strength began to wane.
“One o’ these nights,” she went on, “we will lose him.”
“Aye.” Quarrie had feared it would be last night. Before the healer had come.
“It is the pain that drives him mad.”
The healer had once more suggested they amputate the leg, which he insisted rotted from within.
“It will never heal,” he’d told them in an urgent whisper, “if it has not by now. Best to take it off and try to stem the poison.”
Quarrie had shuddered. Such an act would end Da’s every hope of ever fighting again.
As would death.
It made him think of Hulda Elvarsdottir. Da might have slain her beloved brother, but by God, he had paid the price.
Everything made Quarrie think of Hulda Elvarsdottir.
He shrugged her out of his mind and put his arm around Ma. “Here now. Cry it out if ye need to. There is no one to see.”
Da refused to let them reveal to their clansfolk just how bad his condition had become. So when Ma went forth and answered their questions about their chief, she had always to put on a brave face. Quarrie did believe her woman knew the truth, and that Ma must have wept in her arms many times.
Her next words to Quarrie supported that belief. “I do no’ think I ha’ any tears left.” She rubbed at one of her cheeks absently. Da’s flailing hand had once more caught her there. Such was his strength in his pain-racked rages, he had fair knocked her sideways.
Quarrie drew her in against him and held her tight. A few moments respite only. He knew very well that as soon as he left to go about the morning’s business, she would be back beside the bed watching the man she loved sleep.
From the refuge of Quarrie’s arms, she whispered, “Son, are we ready? If he had perished last night, or should we lose him during this night to come—are ye ready to be chief?”
A question Quarrie had tried to face these many days now. One he should not have had to contemplate for a score of years yet. Da was so strong, so vital.
Was he ready?
“Do no’ worry yoursel’ for that, at least,” he murmured to her. “I shall tak’ up my duty when the moment comes.”
“I maun worry for it. All his life, he has lived first for this clan. When first we began courting—he said to me, Einid, we canna deal together unless ye understand, the clan will always come first. Our love second. I accepted that and ha’ lived by it. Even now…”
Aye, even now Da put the clan first, his concern for the defense of it making him hide his pain. Mayhap that was what made the fever rages so terrible. They had to break through a lifelong restraint.
“I will be ready,” Quarrie vowed.
She drew away far enough to gaze into his eyes. “We shall have to speak wi’ him, ye and I. Later today when he wakes. Ye maun assure him ye ha’ things in hand and will be the chief he needs ye to be, so that he can let go and—and cease suffering.”
The tears in her eyes spilled over. What would happen to this woman after the man she adored was gone? She had lived so many years putting him and his duties first. Caring for him, these past months.
So perilous was love.
“Aye,” Quarrie said softly. “I will come back.” They would try to talk to Da before the fever ramped up for the night and brought the madness again. “Ye get some rest while ye can. Lie down beside him while he is quiet.”
He should have followed his own advice, taken a few moments of sleep, however fleeting. Instead, after leaving his mother he choked down a breakfast he did not want and went out.
The sun was well up by then on what looked to be a clear, calm day. Quarrie’s gaze moved at once to the sea. Before he could send it ranging far, a cry came from the walls.
“A ship. A ship!”
His heart leaped in his chest, and all the night’s weariness flew. Nay, not an attack. Not now. He fairly flew up the treacherous stone stairs and joined Borald on the wall facing west.
“Where? How many?”
“But the one.” Borald’s face had settled into grim lines. “There. Just come round Oileán Iur.”
Quarrie’s heart thudded still more violently. Could it be? But nay…
A black sail, aye, poised there in the strong morning light. Only it was not truly black—likely striped like the last one, which had been red and white.
He blinked to clear his tired eyes and blinked again. Not Hulda’s ship, nay. This one had a different silhouette. Slightly smaller, and it sat differently in the water.
Not her, then.
How dare he think she would come back to him? They were enemies.
Were they not?
“Just the one,” he breathed at Borald. Men were running along the wall, spreading the word. “Looks to be, unless others are hiding among the isles.”
This one showed itself to them quite deliberately. Taunting them, perhaps, with its presence. Small and agile, it moved out from the isle, the same where Hulda’s boat had taken shelter when he was captive on it, and headed southward under strong oars.
It would pass them by.
Men shouted now, all around them, giving the alarm. Quarrie stood transfixed.
It could not be her. It could not. At this time of year, with the full of summer upon them, scores of Norse boats might pass by. So long as they did not stop…
This one looked as if it would not. Indeed, it made a fine, braw show as it slid past the rocks that guarded the settlement, showing itself.
The sails were plain brown. The dragon head at the prow showed stubby teeth in a grimace.
The shields ranged along the side facing the shore showed a wealth of bright colors, as if newly made.
So close did the boat pass that Quarrie could see the people aboard. Most of them rowing. Someone at the tiller. Another figure striding the deck.
Nay. It could not be. He could not know her at such a distance.
Only he did. His spirit leaped to the knowledge, and his heart.
She stood gazing directly at him as the vessel slipped by, her eyes finding him on the wall. Fancy, surely. It could not be so.
The morning light made flax of her fair hair. He could feel her.
“Showing himsel’ to us,” Borald murmured. “D’ye think there are more?”
“Mayhap. Yet they are passing us by,” Quarrie managed to reply.
“Aye, so, there may be others in hiding. This one may be taking our measure.”
“Mayhap.”
Had she returned with the promised—threatened—fleet?
“Prepare the guard. Keep watch.”
Neither order was truly necessary. The men prepared on their own as word spread. But though they kept watch long after, no other boats appeared and the one slid away to the south, leaving not so much as a trail behind.
She had wanted him to see her. Quarrie could not dismiss that thought from his mind. All this while, had she held him in her mind even as he held her? Had he imagined it all? No proof that had been Hulda he spied on that deck.
Only he knew.
Later, when he returned to his parents’ chamber, he found word of the sighting had penetrated even here. Da, now awake, knew of it, and they were the first words out of his mouth.
“A longboat? But one?”
“But one, Da,” Quarrie reassured him.
“Showing itsel’ to us, aye? But why?”
That was the question that remained in Quarrie’s mind. He could think of only one reason. “Taking our measure, no doubt. Must ha’ decided we look too strong to tak’ on.”
“There is danger everywhere. I maun get to the walls.” Even though night had not yet come, a fitful flush already stained Da’s face—the fever flaring. He groaned. “If only I was no’ in so much pain. Son, help me up.”
When Quarrie did not move to obey, his father directed a stern look at him. “Lend me the strength o’ yer shoulder.”
“Da, I will not.”
“Eh?”
Ma slipped past Quarrie and sat on the edge of the bed. She laid a restraining hand on her husband’s chest.
“My darling, my dear one, ye ken how I love ye.”
That stilled him and caused him to fix his gaze to her face.
“All these years, I ha’ loved ye. Without fail.”
“Without fail,” Da repeated.
“I ha’ watched ye guard this clan like a fierce father and watched ye fight for it time after time.
Ye told me often ’tis why ye were born. And ye spared yoursel’ naught in it.
But I tell ye now, Airlee, it is time to stop fighting.
Yer pain…” She moved her hand from his chest to his cheek.
“Yer pain is more than any man should bear.”
Da said nothing, but abruptly and quite disquietingly, his eyes filled with tears.
Quarrie did not know that he had ever seen his father weep. Och, tears of anger at times, or frustration. Tears shed when Kyle died or over the death of a loyal comrade, fallen. Naught like to this.
Ma went on. “Ye ha’ a fine son to tak’ yer place. Strong he is, and as steadfast as they come. Ye may trust in him and—and tak’ yer rest.”
Quarrie drew a breath. Might he become the chief his father was? Could anyone? But Ma could no longer watch this man suffer. Nor could he.
Da said, his gaze still fixed to Ma’s, “The healer wishes to tak’ my leg. Even then he says it may not cure me. The poison is all through my body. I am sorry, Einid. I was no’ strong enough. I failed ye.”
“Ye did no’ fail.” She leaned forward and kissed him full on the lips. “So braw a heart as yours could no’ fail.”
“What happened to your face? Your bonny face.” He reached up and touched her cheek tenderly. “Did I harm ye?”
“Never. Ye never harmed me. It was a blessed day when first ye smiled at me, Airlee MacMurtray. And each day since.”
“’Twas ye who smiled at me. Remember?”
“Ye were swimmin’ in the sea, the bunch o’ ye lads.” She dimpled. “And had taken off all yer clothes. To be sure, I did smile at ye.”
“My bonny lass.” Da turned fierce eyes on Quarrie, all the tears now burned away. “Ye will look after yer ma? Tak’ care of her and o’ this clan. I will ha’ yer promise.”
“I promise to do my best, Da.”
“Aye, son, we ha’ fought this thing together, but I think the battle is near done.”
*
It ended for him later that same night. He had quieted as if at last his heart had found peace. Both Quarrie and his ma sat with him, Ma holding his hand. The fever burned bright, flushing his skin.
And then the hoarse breaths just stopped. Burned up entirely, his spirit fled his body. Quarrie almost swore he saw it go.
Ma wept tears of weariness and relief.
Quarrie shifted beneath the new weight that descended upon him.