Chapter Thirty-Nine
D ark had begun to gather on the backs of the hills before Fearghal’s party returned. Liadan, who had found excuses to roam around the settlement throughout the day, was near the spring when the first cries came. Despite the chief’s desire for a measure of secrecy, members of the guard had been watching all day. They passed the word ahead of the arriving party, into the settlement.
Though Liadan ran forward, she was not the only one and could not get close—not close enough. Did they come whole, injured, or on their shields? Would she see both chariots?
Aye. When she glimpsed the heads of all four ponies and the men in the carts, she near fell down with the power of her relief.
The chief was there, already giving orders. And aye—Ardahl beside him. She could not glimpse him easily with so many in the way, but he moved briskly. She caught sight of him leaping down, then pausing as a tall man with very fair hair spoke to him.
Cathair.
Despite her glorious happiness at having Ardahl back, a chill went through her.
“They ha’ returned, then?”
Maeve stood beside her, composed and quiet, only the light in her eyes betraying her happiness.
“Aye.”
“We will let him finish wi’ his chief and come to us, eh?”
“Cathair is there. I do no’ trust Cathair.”
Maeve looked at her.
As soon as Cathair stepped away, a woman bulled her way forward and greeted him. Even from a distance she looked haughty and beautiful.
Brasha.
Liadan lost sight of the pair when Ardahl stepped through the crowd, Conall’s sword in his hand, eyes searching. Searching. He found them and came directly to join them.
“Mam. Mistress Liadan.” Calm words with nothing calm about them.
“Son, I am happy to see ye returned. Ye will be hungry.”
“Aye.”
“Come ye home wi’ us.”
Liadan ached to touch him, longed to press herself into his arms, but could not. Not even his mam embraced him here in front of so many onlookers.
So she paced sedately at his side, just absorbing his presence. The scent of him in the soft gloaming. Each and every breath he took.
“How went the talk at Brioc?” Maeve asked.
“I will explain anon.”
No other words passed among them. When they reached the hut, Liadan turned to him at last.
“Gi’ me your weapons. Go and wash.”
He nodded and unburdened himself into her hands. Maeve ducked inside. Liadan followed, but only long enough to lay the weapons aside.
“Go,” Maeve told her then.
Liadan caught up with Ardahl round the side of the hut, where she helped him remove his tunic. And there, in the soft dark, she moved into his arms.
“I was so afraid.”
“Aye.”
They kissed, every other consideration flown before the urgency of it. The terrible, unceasing longing inside her eased.
“Liadan.” He trapped her face between his hands. Too dark to see one another clearly, but she did not need to see what she could feel. “I should ha’ told ye before I left—”
That he loved her? Would he speak that word?
“’Tis well, Ardahl. I know.”
“Do ye?” He kissed one side of her mouth in that way he had, then the other. Her forehead, her eyes, as if the kisses were blessings. “Do ye?”
“I believe my heart knows. Here—wash yoursel’, come in, and take your rest.”
She stood there while he scrubbed down, unable to pull herself away.
“Was the meeting most terrible?”
“Aye. The news is no’ mine to tell.”
“Your mam will say naught. Nor will I. Are we in trouble?”
He straightened from the basin and used the cloth she handed him to dry off. “Deep trouble, aye.”
She puffed out a breath. What had become of her world? What, since Conall’s death?
No matter. Ardahl remained in her world. She could endure anything.
*
They ate beside the fire, the three of them together, and Ardahl told them in a low, even voice what had taken place at Brioc.
As might be expected, the first thing Mam said when Ardahl finished was, “And who would blame the man? His son.”
“Still and all, it does naught to help our position.”
“What will Chief Fearghal do?”
“Set a strong guard, I imagine, even as Brihan suggested. But”—Ardahl hesitated—“’tis summer. I believe Dacha will make best use o’ the season. He will try to finish his task while the weather does hold.”
“Conquer us, ye mean?” Liadan stared at him, her beautiful eyes wide.
“We are in peril indeed,” Mam whispered, and shot Ardahl a look that spoke of her love for him. “But at least ye ha’ returned to us safely, aye? Let us look no further than that now.”
Difficult not to look farther, though. In Ardahl’s head, he could see Dacha’s warriors arrayed, ready to cross Brihan’s lands and swoop in upon them. Countless chariots. Many, many fighting men. Could they withstand it?
When they finished their meal, Mam tidied away the remains before getting to her feet. “I ha’ just remembered,” she announced abruptly, “I promised to call in upon Mistress Maehan, who does not feel well.” She eyed the couple beside the fire kindly. “I’d best go to her. And I do no’ doubt she will want me to sit wi’ her all the night.”
Ardahl did his best not to look at Liadan.
“But Mistress MacCormac,” Liadan half babbled, “are ye certain?”
“Aye, I am that. I am sorry to say ye will no’ see me before morning.”
She knew, Ardahl thought. She knew how he felt for Liadan. Guessed what they would do here alone tonight. A staggering wave of gratitude hit him.
Mam bent and embraced him. “Son, I am so glad to have ye home.”
She gathered a few things into a basket and went out softly. Liadan arose from the fireside and tied the door curtain shut behind her. When she turned back to Ardahl, her face was alight.
“That was kind of her.”
“Aye.”
“D’ye think she knows—”
“I hope not but—aye, I expect so.”
“D’ye think anyone else will come looking for ye this night? Asking about the meeting, or guard duty, perhaps.”
“I expect they would sooner go to the chief.”
“Then”—she came and knelt beside him—“’tis a gift she has given us.”
“Aye. Liadan, I want—”
“As do I. I have been famished, Ardahl, for the taste o’ ye. Hungry for the feel. Do no’ say nay.”
He would not. He could not. But first…
He caught her shoulders between his hands. “After I left this morning, I regretted no’ saying all I wished to ye.”
She leaned forward so her lips were but a breath from his, so her eyes gazed deep into his eyes.
“Wha’ is there to say?”
“That whatever happens now or in the future, whether I live or die—I will return to ye, Liadan. Somehow, I will find ye. Even if I have to search this world and the other world.”
She made a gusty sound in her throat. “That sounds like a promise.”
“It is. A promise. A vow. One the gods themselves will help me to keep.”
“Och, Ardahl, I will wait for ye—forever if I must. This also do I promise.”
“Aye, then, lass. Aye.”
His relief at the words given was overwhelmed when she moved into his arms, when her mouth met his. He went over backward with her atop him, a wondrous armful of warmth.
“But for now, Ardahl, we are together. And we have all the night long.”