Chapter Fifty-Eight
I t grew so still there in front of the warriors’ hall, the leaping flames of the torches sounded loud in Ardahl’s ears. He could feel the tension in Liadan’s body, pressed to his side, and sense how this affected her, even as it did him.
He held Cathair’s gaze and saw the emotions there also. The sorrow, the regret. The shame.
Tamald stepped up. “Words have been spoken here this night, words o’ truth. In light o’ them, Ardahl MacCormac, I lift from ye the sentence that had been imposed upon ye. Ye be free to live no’ Conall MacAert’s life, but your own.”
A sob broke from Mam’s throat. Ardahl’s thoughts raced. Anger, aye, that Cathair’s scheming had cost Conall’s life. That Liadan and Flanna had lost their brother. That Liadan’s mam had died still grieving her son.
But mayhap Conall and Mistress MacAert had heard this truth. He must believe they had.
And aye, as he turned to face Cathair more fully, seeking words to say, he thought he again caught a glimpse of Conall from the corner of his eye.
He could express his anger. He could cry out his grief. But Cathair had done the right thing in the end, and he would now have to carry the shame of his treachery.
Ardahl knew firsthand how hard that would be.
So he said, “I am that grateful to you, Cathair MacBain, for speaking this truth. I would never have raised a hand against Conall, dear to me as my own life. I am glad to be free o’ that blame.
“As for ye—aye, ye ha’ a life. I bid ye do good with it. Speak truth. Help others. Live as Conall might ha’ done.”
Somberly, Cathair nodded. Ardahl’s mam began to weep in earnest. Fearghal came forward and embraced Ardahl, which meant Liadan had to leave go the grip she’d taken upon his arm.
Ardahl felt the absence of her touch like another wound.
Yet—a light began to shine ahead of him, a glorious path opening wide. He had regained himself, Ardahl MacCormac. As such he might claim her, his best friend’s sister, for his wife.
Naught else mattered to him. Not the victories on the field or the place of first among warriors, or even Fearghal’s approval, showing clear in his eyes. Not Cathair’s shame.
But that the circle had closed for them here in this life, and Liadan might be his bride.
Tamald waited for Fearghal to embrace Ardahl, for his fellows to congratulate him and mumble apologies. For Dornach to come up and give him an embrace that nearly knocked him off his feet. Not till Liadan had reclaimed her place at his side and tucked her hand in his did the druid priest step up to them.
“I find I can now agree to your request to be made handfast.” A quiet smile shone in the man’s eyes. “And this rite will I perform wi’ a full and happy heart.”
Ardahl had to fight down his emotions before he could speak. “No’ half so happy as mine.” He snaked his arm around Liadan and tucked her closer to his side. Glancing into her face, he said, “I believe we should keep the joining quiet and simple, given all that has passed.”
“I disagree,” Tamald declared. “I believe it should be a grand and wondrous gathering and needs to take place just as soon as can be. For do we no’ now step into the sunlight o’ our future? And is no’ the tying o’ the knot the best way to do just that?”
His eyes twinkled. “Shall no’ the handfasting o’ the first among our warriors be well celebrated? So say I.”
*
In Chief MacMurtray’s Highland hall, a shower of crystal-clear notes trembles through the air as Finlay sets his harp from his shoulder. His tale has garnered the attention of everyone there, from the highest chief, his host, to the lowest of the servants.
He smiles around at them all and concludes, “And so a mere three days later, Ardahl MacCormac and his Liadan were made handfast in a braw ceremony. And were they no’ among the ancestors o’ this very man we honor here this night?”
He grants a nod to the chief, who smiles in pride and satisfaction.
But it is the lovely daughter of the house whom Finlay seeks with his gaze as the last notes of his song die away. It is one woman—only one.
For an instant he feels the circle of his own fate tighten around him. And he smiles because he knows love has no beginning, and no end.
“Another song!” Chief MacMurtray calls out. “Another, Master Finlay.”
Aye, he will sing his songs, and gladly, until his heart comes home.
The End