Chapter Thirty-Six
F earghal did not make any announcement about the planned venture to Brioc. Though it had always been his way to gather his folk and make speeches concerning clan affairs, this time he avoided it, saying, “Our folk ha’ endured enough wi’out suffering more uncertainty.”
He gathered Dornach and Ardahl and made his plans with them in private. He meant to send a lone messenger to Brihan of Brioc so that Brihan would be expecting him, then journey with but a small party.
As he told Dornach and Ardahl, with a rueful sort of smile, “We do no’ want to be mistaken for an attacking force.”
Be that as it may, the prospect made Ardahl uneasy. Since Fearghal had assigned Dornach the task of keeping the settlement safe in his absence—also unenviable—only four of them were to make up the party to Brioc. Fearghal himself, an older warrior named Tierney who often advised Fearghal, Ardahl, and Cathair.
The very idea of having Cathair watching his back made the hairs stand up all over Ardahl’s body.
Yet Fearghal’s mind was set. Moreover, he did not want to waste time, and at the last meeting between the three of them said, “We leave come the morn. I have spoken about it at length wi’ Tamald, as well as with my wife. Tamald says the portents are not bad. He has cast the stones thrice. My wife”—he made a face—“is far less happy.”
Dornach spoke in a grumble. “Nor, my laird chief, am I. I would ye might spare yoursel’ and let me go in your stead.”
“Ye be no’ yet healed enough to travel, and ye know it. Besides, if Brihan is to be persuaded, ’twill only be by me. ’Tis I who have forged past agreements wi’ the man.”
“Aye, Chief Fearghal, but he has already broken one o’ those agreements. If somewhat goes wrong and ye fail to return—”
“I ha’ discussed that also with the druids and my wife. If I am slain, she and Tamald together will lead the clan until my son, Rhaod, is of an age to assume the place.” He gave Ardahl a dour smile. “But Ardahl will be there to assure I am no’ slain. Aye, Ardahl?”
“I will do my best.” But they might all be slain, the four of them. Dornach was right—Brihan had already offered them treachery. Might he not look on this as an opportunity to offer more?
Dornach gave Ardahl a long and burning glare. He knew how heavy was what Fearghal asked of him.
Ardahl walked home from that meeting slowly, trying to marshal his words. Dark had already fallen. He would not have long to gather his belongings. To make his explanations.
When he entered the hut, Liadan stood bent over the fire, its light washing over her, and he was struck still for a moment, taking her in. The graceful line of chin, throat, and breast. The golden hair hanging down her back and the feeling that reached out to him from her.
Belonging.
She glanced up, and a smile of welcome transfigured her face. “Ye be late.”
“I had a meeting wi’ the chief.” Ardahl laid aside his weapons and ducked back out to wash. She would follow. She usually did.
In the soft dark around the side of the hut, he could barely see the basin. He could barely see Liadan when she joined him, but he could well feel her there.
“I missed ye.”
It had become their customary, if private, form of greeting. This time, though, she moved into his arms.
“Liadan, nay.”
“No one can see. Hold me. For a moment. Just hold me.”
He did, the need within him arising in answer to her own. Like something precious, he gathered her to him, her head to his heart.
“Liadan.” He said it hoarsely. “We must no’—”
“’Tis too dark, I tell ye, to give us away. And I need, I need—”
She kissed him, a simple press of lips to lips with nothing simple in it. And aye, desire came leaping on the heels of that more fundamental wanting, pure and powerful, enough to shake him to his toes.
Such a need as this—what did it mean? How might it be answered?
The kiss lasted forever, and not long enough. He moved away from her, backing off like a man on the edge of a cliff.
She pressed her back once more to the side of the hut. “How was your day?” she asked on a note of teasing, mocking herself for asking something so ordinary after that searing embrace.
“Interesting.” He stripped off his tunic and splashed water over himself. He did not want to tell her what he must.
Yet he must.
“I—we—leave in the morning for Brioc, that Chief Fearghal might talk wi’ Chief Brihan concerning his betrayal.”
She went dead still. No need for her to speak. Ardahl could feel her emotions all too clearly.
“I do not know how long we will be gone. Two days. More. Ye will look after Mam while I am gone?”
“Why ye?” It came as no more than a whisper in the dark.
“The chief has requested it. Because I saved his life on the field, he wishes me at his side. Master Tierney and Cathair come also.”
“Cathair! But I do no’ trust him.”
“Nor do I. ’Tis no’ myself, though, doing the choosing.”
“Can ye no’ persuade Chief Fearghal ye would be better here?”
“I canna.” He said it flatly so she would not hope. She needed to accept his duty.
“Come morning,” she whispered.
“Come morning,” he answered.
“Should somewhat go wrong there among strangers—”
He laid aside the cloth. “I shall have to lay down my life for my chief. So I am sworn.”
When she said nothing, still pressed there against the wall, he stepped up and took her shoulders between his hands.
“Liadan, I want ye to know… An honor it has been to be here wi’ ye, in Conall’s place. Ye have changed my life. Changed me.”
Silent, she went forward into his arms. Clutched him hard.
“Come, we must go inside. I need to tell my mam.”
They went in, walking separate, yet not separate. Ardahl sat down beside the fire, and his mam gave him a smile of welcome.
“Ye’ll be hungry,” she remarked.
He was, and he was not.
“Mam, I ha’ something to tell ye, hard news. Come morning, I will accompany the chief on a journey to Brioc. Just a small group o’ us, it will be. Fearghal goes to speak wi’ Chief Brihan about the future.”
“The future,” Mam repeated softly.
“Aye. Ye—ye will look after each other, ye and Liadan, while I am gone.”
And forever, if need be.
*
Later, when Mam went to bed, they pretended they could not hear her weeping. Mam, whom Ardahl had believed never cried. He and Liadan spoke in murmurs, if at all, and at last he made to bed down there by the fire.
“I will stay here with ye,” Liadan said.
“Eh?”
“Here, by the fire. As we have in the past, by the door.”
He did not argue it. A short span of time they had, before parting.
He lay stretched upon a rug with her beside him, holding his hand. A clasp in the dark that meant so much more than the press of flesh to flesh.
Should he tell her he loved her? Should he, before he went off and perhaps never after had the chance to say so?
What he felt for her was so much more than love.
Before he could make up his mind, she fell asleep with her head against his shoulder and he left her to that peace.
Morning came, and he roused to find her still there beside him. Warm and soft, and smelling of woman. The scent of belonging.
It took all his strength to rise and gather his weapons, and prepare to leave.
He stepped into his mam’s sleeping place. “I must go.”
She arose and embraced him. “I want ye to know, ye are the best son. The best any woman could hope to have.”
“Aye.” It was all he could manage.
When he turned for the door, Liadan was on her feet, the morning sun coming in the opening behind her.
“I will walk wi’ ye.”
“Liadan, I do not think—”
“I will come.”
“Best, perhaps, to say farewell here.”
Though his mam watched, Ardahl drew Liadan to him. Kissed the palms of her hands, the corners of her mouth, both cheeks, and her forehead.
“Be safe,” she implored, and he went out into the morning leaving the better part of his heart behind.