Chapter Forty-Six
I t rained all that night. Liadan, curled up in her parents’ sleeping place, which had now become her own, could think of naught but Ardahl standing out in the wet. She slept little and opened her ears continually to catch any sounds of attack above the crashing of the rain.
She hurt from head to toe and had more bruises than she could readily count, but they ached less than her heart.
Ardahl. If they could not be together in this life, if that fate were denied to them, would there be another?
Could she grow old finding solace in a future of which she could not be certain?
Before dawn, she rose and dressed. Checked on Maeve, who still slept in Flanna’s old place. Stirred up the fire and heated water so that when Ardahl came, he could wash beside the hearth, in out of the rain. Here with her.
He did not come.
Delayed, she thought at first. Perhaps more clansfolk had stopped to give him weapons. But when Maeve arose, when the dawn came struggling through the heavy clouds and eventually the rain ceased, she wrapped herself in her shawl and went out.
The whole world dripped with water. From the roofs of the huts that yet stood, from the branches of the hazel and rowan trees. Smoke hung in a blanket over the settlement, morning fires such as hers struggling to rise in the heavy air. Away over the hills that surrounded this place, the clouds rolled.
She felt a sudden hitch at her heart. She loved this place most deeply—she did, despite all the fear and the pain. Its beauty lay deep within her on days such as this as well as bright, sunny ones.
Home. Belonging. How could it be wrong, to fight for it?
Yet now she sensed something amiss. Men straggled home from watch, Ardahl not among them.
Dread crawled up her spine, making it difficult to breathe. She could not live without him. She could not .
Even if she could never lie with him again, hold him to her, or kiss him, sharing this world with him might be just enough. If she lost him from it—
No reason to go on. The man she’d believed a traitorous serpent had become important to her existence.
A member of the guard passed, a man she knew named Muirin, husband to one of her friends. She ran forward.
“Muirin? Ye were on watch, were ye no’? Was all quiet?”
He was wet to the skin and looked at her with a hint of impatience. He must want to get home. “Aye, Liadan. Though—” His gaze became haunted. “There is somewhat—just hanging out in the dark, ye ken? No’ being able to hear above the rain made it a bad night.”
“Aye, so. Did ye see Ardahl MacCormac there?”
He shook his head. “His post is no’ near to mine.”
“But did he come in wi’ the rest o’ ye? He has not reached home.”
Muirin’s eyes sharpened. “I have not seen him. Have ye reason to worry for him?”
She shook her head, and he went on his way. Liadan stopped others, asking each the same in turn.
At last one man told her, “I think he has gone off to the chief’s place.”
“Fearghal’s? Why?”
“Summoned there, was he no’?”
He hurried off also, and she directed her steps to the former warriors’ hall, which lay just beyond the spring. People went in and out, but she did not see Ardahl. She wanted to push her way in, to set eyes on him if he were there—if only to reassure herself he was well. But she dared not make her interest too plain.
One of Conall’s former friends stood at the door. He had always shown an interest in her, and smiled when she stepped up to him.
“Good morning, Brecad.”
“Mistress Liadan.”
“Is Ardahl within?”
His smile faded. “He is. Summoned by the chief. There is a meeting going on.”
“A meeting?”
“Aye, so. The chief, some of his advisors, the druids.”
The dread in Liadan’s stomach stirred and grew claws. “Aye, then. I will wait.”
He looked curious but asked nothing. Everyone knew Ardahl had taken Conall’s place.
She kicked her heels near the spring, keeping an eye on the hall. The area still served as a gathering place for those with no roofs, though construction went apace. They looked wet and miserable.
At last men began to leave the hall in ones and twos. The two surviving druids together. Other advisors. Cathair.
Another prick went up Liadan’s spine. What was he doing there?
Finally, Ardahl and Dornach appeared together. Ardahl with his weapons still on his shoulder. She waited till the two men parted with a few words spoken, before she fell into step with Ardahl.
He shot her an assessing look, and she another right back at him.
“What happened? Ye did no’ come home. I thought—well, I do no’ know what I thought.”
His lips formed a hard line and his eyes were guarded. She knew this man now. She knew him.
“What is it? Somewhat is amiss.”
“I canna say.”
“To be sure, ye can. Has something terrible happened?”
“Liadan, I ha’ been ordered to keep silent.”
That made her stop walking and face him. “Even wi’ me?”
They stood so for several long moments with the bustle all around them, while her heart beat up high in her chest. Alone, but not alone.
“Ye know ye can tell me anything.”
“Let us get home, then.”
The sick feeling in Liadan’s gut did not subside while she helped Ardahl stack his weapons. When he greeted his mother. While Liadan watched him wash there beside the fire, passing him the pot of soap when he needed it.
“Come and tak’ your breakfast,” his mother bade him then, and Liadan had to discipline herself hard while they all sat together and he ate. “Ye were over late getting home,” Maeve observed.
“The chief asked to speak wi’ me.”
His mam gave him a look but asked nothing more. After shooting a second look at Liadan, she got to her feet. “Aye, well, get some sleep. I ha’ a few visits to make.”
She went out, and silence settled between Liadan and Ardahl. He shoved the remainder of his breakfast aside.
There on the deerskin beside the hearth, Liadan scooted closer to him. She reached out and took his hand. So strong. Deeply and permanently calloused where he gripped the hilt of his sword.
“Liadan, ye canna breathe a word o’ this to anyone. Not my mam. No one.”
“Very well, so.”
“We are going to mount a raid. A secret one.”
The breath caught in Liadan’s throat. “On Dacha?”
“Aye.”
“And Chief Fearghal wants ye to take part in this?”
He hesitated a moment. “Aye.”
“Why is it secret? Why does he no’ announce it to all the clan?” As he always did. Fearghal tended to be open with his intentions and to share them with his people.
Ardahl rubbed Liadan’s knuckles with his thumb. “’Tis no ordinary raid, this. No one can know about it. Fearghal has been in secret talks by a messenger back and forth, with Brihan Brioc.”
“Brihan Brioc—who betrayed us. Who attacked us. His men killed my mam!”
“Aye. Liadan, if ye do no’ want to hear the rest o’ it—”
“I do. I do.” She dropped her head, fighting her emotions. He went on steadily, barely above a whisper.
“Fearghal has negotiated a new alliance between himself and Brihan. I think he believes we cannot withstand both Dacha and Brihan’s forces combined. Bad enough when Brihan merely held himself apart and let Dacha cross his lands to move against us.
“But the proposed alliance rests upon Brihan getting the return of his young son, held prisoner by Dacha. The boy is the reason, the only reason Brihan has fallen in wi’ Dacha and become our enemy.”
Liadan raised her head in sudden horror, searching his face. “This raid—”
“’Tis meant to be a rescue. We are to go in and find the boy. Get him away.”
We . Fearghal had, aye, included Ardahl in this terrible plan. Horror stopped Liadan’s breath entirely. For an instant, her heart faltered.
“’Tis madness,” she whispered when she could. “To go into Dacha’s lands. ’Tis certain death.”
Ardahl’s lips twisted in a wry grimace. “Mayhap not. Brihan has some o’ his own men there at Dacha’s holding, negotiators. One o’ them has been working on this scheme to free the boy. A small force, so he believes, can get in and out wi’ the lad, if that force be quick and careful enough. If no one knows we are there.”
“Fearghal chose ye to be part o’ this because he thinks ye will be quick and careful enough.”
“Aye.”
“Ye and who else? Will Fearghal go?”
“Nay.” Ardahl’s lips twisted again. “No’ this time.”
“Nay! Because he knows it is too risky.”
“His people need him, Liadan.”
She took a moment, the space of twenty heartbeats, before she said, “I need ye, Ardahl. I need ye. Like breath. More than that.”
He slid his hands up from her fingers to her shoulders. Seeking to lend comfort.
“’Tis to be a small party that can travel under cover. Dornach claims he is well enough to go.”
That was good. Dornach, a fierce fighter, also favored Ardahl.
But against Dacha’s whole clan? “Who else?”
“Cathair.”
“Cathair! But he—” Once again she momentarily lost the capability for speech. “He threatened ye.”
“Aye.”
“What better opportunity for him to put a knife in your back? Claim it happened there by an enemy’s hand.”
Ardahl said nothing.
“Ardahl—” She scuttled still closer, captured his face between her hands. “Ye canna do this. Ye canna risk yourself this way. It is madness.”
“I have no choice. No choice, Liadan. I am sworn to Fearghal.”
“And does that mean ye must offer yourself up for certain death?”
“Aye. If he asks it, it does.”
“Ardahl. My darling.” She had never before used such a name to address him. “I admire your loyalty. Your courage.”
“’Tis somewhat beyond loyalty, Liadan. It is fealty. A sacred vow.”
“And if Cathair does no’ hold his duty as sacredly? If he sees this as an opportunity to be rid o’ ye? Or if—if this negotiator Brihan has there wi’ Dacha betrays him? If Dacha has turned the man either through bribery or threat? If he tells Dacha of the plan, that ye will be coming?”
“Aye. There are a thousand ways it can fail.”
“And but a thin chance it will succeed.”
She crawled onto his knees, right up against him. Should someone come into the hut unexpectedly, it would cause outrage.
What was that compared with the risk of losing him?
She held him tight, seeking something beyond mere kisses, beyond the physical. She needed the very warmth of his soul. His arms folded around her and drew her in.
“I do no’ want ye to go from me. I fear—I fear if ye do, I will never—”
“Hush, alanna . Do no’ say it.”
Nay, she would not give voice—and more power—to this terror that gripped her heart.
“When? When d’ye go?”
“Tomorrow night, when we are thought to be on watch.” He bent his head tenderly and peered into her face. “’Twill help me if ye keep faith. Believe this will work. He is but a young lad, and there alone.”
“I believe in you.” She would, till she died and beyond.