Chapter Forty-Two
A rdahl stood in the dark amid a stand of hazel trees with his sword—Conall’s sword—in his hand. It had to be past midnight. Beyond the twisted branches of the trees, stars glittered in a field of deep blue, the vault of sky suggesting eternity. There was no moon.
A good night for attack.
Two days had passed since he’d warned Liadan off, there outside the hut, and he’d barely seen her since. Dornach had switched him to night guard, the post he now filled. During the day he slept and kept busy on the training field or sat in meetings with the chief.
Though he ached to see Liadan, at the same time he could not bear seeing her. If he saw her, he would want to touch.
Besides, if anyone observed them together, their secret would be out. The lass was not good at hiding her feelings. Each time he looked at her, he could see everything they had shared together. Every touch. Every kiss, each quiver of flesh. He wanted her unceasingly, but not so much as he missed her. The simple comfort of being in her presence. Catching the smile in her eyes…
He snatched his attention back to the present when he heard a rustle, not far off. Just a fox. No gleam of starlight on weapons. If invaders did come—
He spared a thought for his mam and Liadan, there alone in the hut. He should be there to protect them. Lay his life down for them if need be. As Conall would have done. He had taken Conall’s place, had he not? Could he do any less? Any more? Meanwhile, Liadan had his sword. Some manner of protection…
As for his love for Liadan—could this be called love? It seemed so much more. Deeper. And higher. He carried her within him now, which, curiously, did not assuage the longing.
After this night’s duty, if the morning came without an attack, he would be able to see her, at least for a short while. She might come out with him while he washed. Sit with him while he ate.
The promise of it would be enough to keep him alive.
Another rustle and he turned toward it. A movement amid the trees had his sword up hard.
“All quiet?” Cieran, his neighbor on the picket.
“By the gods, Cieran, I near took your head off.”
“Sorry. I am jumpy tonight. What a night for an attack, eh? But I can hear nothing.”
Ardahl nodded. Much easier to hear than see in the dark.
“D’ye think Dacha will be coming?” Cieran asked.
“Aye. ’Tis but a question o’ when.”
A bit diffidently—for he was among those who had denounced Ardahl after Conall’s death—Cieran asked, “Ye are close to the chief, are ye no’? D’ye think he will send us to war?”
Ardahl did not know. He did not think Fearghal had yet made up his mind. Was marching out to the attack better than sitting and waiting to be attacked?
“Either way,” he said heavily, “’twill be this season. Dacha is no’ a patient man.”
“Aye.”
“Best get off, lest someone hears us talking.” A sword in the dark could end a life quite easily.
Cieran left. Another rustle had Ardahl spinning the other way. If Cathair wanted to put a knife in his back, here was as good an opportunity as any.
Watch your back .
He imagined he heard those words again there in the dark, and spun to find himself alone. Aye, like Cieran, he was jumpy tonight.
He stood, feet spread, and forced himself to breathe quietly and evenly the way he and Conall had practiced before a battle when waiting to begin the fight. Moments when uncertainty could lay hold of a man and ruin him, if he let it.
He tried to see ahead into the future, but it was like peering through the murk at the bottom of a tarn.
Fearghal was a good chief, a strong man in his own right. Ardahl liked him. Trusted him. Dornach quickly healed from his dire injuries and would soon be back to practice adding his strength to their number, which Ardahl found vastly reassuring. Was that what Fearghal awaited before making any plans? Or did he merely await the clan’s partial recovery from the past attacks?
On the other side of the scale from Dacha’s ill intent was Cathair’s. Bad enough to fear the blade of the enemy without that of a fellow clansman.
For Cathair was no friend.
Only one thing for certain. There would be blood. There would be blood in the end.
*
When he walked home through the morning light, having been relieved of his duty, he still felt uncertain. His spirits lifted when he saw Liadan waiting for him outside the door. Och, she pretended to be sweeping out the hut, but her eyes were watchful, and when she caught sight of him, her whole demeanor changed.
His step quickened. His heart lifted. When he reached her, she ceased plying the broom and regarded him.
Och, and she should not look at him so. The whole world would see.
“All quiet?” she asked.
“Aye, for the moment. Liadan, ye should not—”
“Keep the hut clean?” Her gaze challenged him. “Here, give me your weapons and go wash. Your mam is not here at the moment.”
His pulse leaped. Might they have the gift of a short time alone? But it was daylight. Anyone might come to the door. Anyway, he’d told her they dare not be together again.
Meekly, he handed over his weapons. Went around the side of the hut.
She did not join him, and he drowned his disappointment in the cool water. When he entered the hut, still damp, she waited beside the fire and stepped past him to tie shut the door curtain.
“Liadan, we cannot—”
“Let me have this. Please, only let me have this.”
She came forward, stepping into his arms, and clutched him hard. His heartbeat accelerated alarmingly, and yet it was pure bliss. All the ache, all the longing drained from him, to be replaced by a searing physical desire.
For time unmeasured they stood so, her cheek pressed to his shoulder, arms wound around him, his arms wrapping her tight.
At last she murmured, “Each and every time ye go from me, I wonder if I will see ye again. Be wi’ ye again.”
“Aye.” He drew her still closer, wanting to feel her against him. “Life is full o’ comings and goings. We never know when.”
“Your mam will no’ be back till—”
“Liadan, we cannot.” But he wanted her. He wanted her naked here beside the fire, or anywhere else in the hut. Longed to be inside her and so end the fierce ache that plagued him.
She lifted her face and kissed him. The sweetness of it flooded his senses, eroded his caution. The taste of her filled him, both a gift and a temptation.
“I need ye inside me.”
He needed that too.
“Each time may be our last.”
“If we should be discovered—”
“They’ll think ye sleeping after night duty. Ye often do sleep in the mornings.”
“With ye at my side?”
“Ardahl.” She gazed into his eyes, speaking now without words, a second language so magical he heard it with his heart.
If his mam came—well, Mam knew how they felt about each other. Had she not given them an opportunity to be alone? Anyone else…
“Liadan.” He caught her face between his palms. “’Tis a terrible risk.”
“I do not care.”
“If one o’ Cathair’s cronies should be watching us—”
“I do not care!”
“ Alanna , ye must.” He did not want to deny her or himself. But they existed on the edge of a knife’s blade. “’Tis dangerous.”
“’Tis dangerous each and every time ye step outside that door,” she told him. “Every time I watch ye walk away from me to go on guard. Take up your sword to fight for the clan once again. Each time ye stand in the dark, prey to Cathair’s blade. Ardahl, Ardahl, gift me this.”
Unable to deny her, he took her hand and led her to her parents’ sleeping place.