Chapter 15 The Beginning Of The End
The Beginning Of The End
Nobody had slept much, unsurprisingly. Dawn hadn’t yet arrived, but there was a lighter tinge to the sky than before, a hint of the oncoming sunrise.
The Grahame camp spread over the west side of the convent, the tents low and mostly camouflaged. Of course, a camp for an army of this size couldn’t be entirely camouflaged, but they’d done a decent enough work.
Noah strode through the camp, glancing from side to side, watchful. The men were waking up, but some were still sleeping, trying to catch a few minutes’ extra sleep. He didn’t blame them. Battle was an exhausting thing.
They knew that the Dickson army was drawn up towards the east, about half a mile from where the Grahames were camped.
Noah had gone himself. That was the role of captain, not to just rely on hearsay, but to find out for himself.
He’d seen the way the Dicksons were arrayed and guessed from the way the tents were set out that Laird Dickson had brought his satellite clans for the last battle.
He’d spotted Strafford and Jame tartan, and Murray, of course.
There was no sign of Urquhart. Perhaps they’d abandoned him at the last battle.
Well, it didn’t matter. Even without Urquhart, the Dickson army outnumbered theirs.
At that moment, Brendan appeared out of the shadows between the tents and fell into step beside Noah.
“The Kenneth army is here,” he murmured.
Noah’s heart leapt. “That’s wonderful news. How many?”
“Not enough. But our odds are better than they were.”
Better odds were an improvement on bad odds, Noah thought glumly.
“Where are they?” he said aloud.
“Coming in from the south. Thomas, Struan, and Una are gone to greet them. They’ll fight alongside them. Kyla’s been told to stay in the convent with the sisters, and I hope that Senga will do the same.”
He huffed. “Not likely, is it? Senga does as she pleases.”
“Well, she’ll be safer inside. Not to say that the convent will be untouched, but they have thick walls and strong gates. If we fall, they’ll be besieged, but it should at least buy them some time.”
Some time until what? Noah wanted to ask. If we fall, what comes next?
He knew the answer, of course. Nothing. Nothing came next.
They were the last line of defense. There would be no more rebellion after the Kenneth and Grahame armies were crushed.
The pockets of resistance would fade away, people pretending that they’d never called for Laird Dickson’s blood, that they’d never called him a tyrant. That they’d never resisted.
At least if that happens, I won’t be alive to see it, Noah thought, swallowing past a lump in his throat.
“Ye should address the men,” Brendan added.
Noah tensed. “Why me? Ye are their Laird.”
“Oh, I’ll address them too. But ye are their captain, and that means something, dinnae ye think?”
“I suppose so,” Noah managed at last.
Movement shifted in the gray pre-dawn light, and both of their hands were on their sword hilts before Noah recognized the shape.
“Senga, lass,” he huffed. “Ye should not creep up on men on the morning of battle. Ye might get yer head taken off by accident.”
She tutted. “Pleasantly put.”
Brendan melted away, no doubt to give them some time together.
“He seems calm,” Senga remarked, nodding after him.
Noah sighed. “He’s said his goodbyes to his love. Freya waits for him back at the Keep, so I suppose for Brendan, that battle started then. This is merely the crisis.”
“What do ye think of our chances?”
He shrugged. “They’re not bad. The Kenneth troops arrived, but they must have traveled all night, so they’ll be tired. We’re outnumbered, but not overwhelmed. There’s hope.”
Senga let out a ragged sigh. “Good. Hope is good.”
He reached out to take her hands, pulling her gently towards him.
“I want ye to go back to the convent,” he whispered, meeting her eye. “Hide. Stay safe.”
Senga glanced away, swallowing hard. “The Abbess talked to us about this.”
“Ah, she told ye to stay inside? Clever woman.”
“Aye, but she also told us that somebody had to stay outside to be ready to flee if something went wrong. Ye see, if ye lose this battle, the convent will be besieged. It’s likely that everybody inside will die.
The Abbess wanted…” She paused, swallowing again, and let her eyes briefly flutter closed.
“She wanted somebody to survive so that our story could be told. She wanted people to know what had happened to us. She said that stories were important, that words lived on when people did not.”
Noah felt as though he knew where this conversation was going. “And who did she choose?” he managed, voice hoarse. “To be the survivor. To tell the tale. To stay outside.”
“Sister Abigail,” Senga answered simply, then met his eye. “And me.”
Noah closed his eyes momentarily. “So, the plan is…”
“I wait outside, on a hill, watching the battle. I’ll be saddled up on Bluebell and ready to run.
If the battle is lost, I flee. Sister Abigail will watch from another location, and she’ll flee separately.
Our aim is to spread the news, that’s all.
I’ll likely be caught and killed later, but best not to think about that now. ”
Noah bit back a curse. “The Abbess should not have made ye do this.”
“She is not making anybody do anything. She chose us but said that we were free to choose our own fates. The assumption is that everybody inside the convent will die anyway.”
There was a moment of silence between them. Noah leaned forward, pressing his forehead against hers.
“Stay safe, my love,” he whispered. “Please. For me.”
“Ye have the audacity to ask me to stay safe?” Senga whispered. “Ye are going into battle.”
“Aye, as I’ve done a hundred times before.”
“It only takes one bad battle. I cannot watch ye die, Noah. I can’t. Losing ye once was too painful. I don’t know if I’d survive a second time.”
He let out a ragged sigh, nodding. After a moment or two, they pulled apart.
Noah led her to a nearby campfire, where only a single, grizzled veteran sat there, painstakingly sharpening his sword.
He didn’t even glance at them as they sat down, and Noah had a feeling that the veteran wasn’t even seeing them at all.
He was only locked inside his own world, his gaze inward-looking.
“There was something I wanted to speak to ye about,” Noah said slowly.
Senga’s eyebrow quirked. “About whether I’d remarry if ye left me a widow?” she said, joking, but there was an edge to her voice. “The answer is yes, but not right away.”
“Ha, ha,” he muttered with a wry smile, nudging her.
“No, it’s a wee bit more serious than that.
I might encounter anyone on the battlefield.
My troop is going to the heart of the action, where the lairds will be.
There’s a chance, however small, that I might meet Laird Murray. Yer father,” he added, unnecessarily.
The smile fell from Senga’s face like a stone through water. “Are ye asking me if ye should kill him or not?”
Noah clenched his jaw, looking away. “I suppose I am. In battle, anything can happen. I… I would defend myself and my life however I needed to. But there could be a situation where he’s… he’s taken captive, say. What would ye have me do?”
Senga took a long time to answer. A moment ticked by, then another, and another. The silence was broken only by the rustle and murmur of an army camp waking up around them and the rhythmic rassssp-rassssp of the veteran’s whetstone on his sword. The delay seemed longer with the silence around them.
On impulse, Noah tilted his head back and stared up at the sky.
It was still almost as dark as night, but with the oncoming dawn, the stars had begun to wink out, one by one.
There was a reason that the final watch of the night, just before dawn, was such a dangerous one.
It was so dark, so cold, so bleak that many men struggled to endure it.
Especially if they’d already struggled through the rest of the night.
“I once thought I could never forgive,” Senga whispered at last, her voice rough.
“I thought that forgiveness was weakness, and that was what my father taught me. But what the Abbess taught me was that forgiveness is anything but weakness. Forgiveness is strength. It can be the hardest thing to do. Revenge is easy, anger is easy, but forgiveness? That takes work. So much work, but sometimes it is the only thing that can set you free. I would never have seen that without my time here, in the convent, with the Abbess.”
“She’s right,” Noah answered at last. “It is strength. I don’t know if I myself would have the strength to forgive, certainly not yer father. It’s a heavy burden, no doubt about that.”
Senga slid an arm around his shoulder, leaning against him. She rested her cheek against his shoulder, and for a few moments, they sat like that.
“Then let me carry it for ye,” she whispered. “That’s what love is all about, isn’t it? About carrying the burdens that are too heavy for each other.”
A lump formed in Noah’s throat. He swallowed hard and closed his eyes, letting the moment wash over him and warm him.
He’d always felt almost liberated before a battle.
In the past, he had been confident. And why shouldn't he have been? He knew he was skilled, fearsome, and fearless. As well as that, death held no fear for him. Other men might live in fear of losing loved ones, but not Noah. He’d lost all the ones he loved.
Until now.
Now, the fear crept in, tightening his chest and clawing its way up his throat.
Abruptly, the veteran stopped sharpening his sword. He rose to his feet, neatly sliding the blade back in its sheath, and pocketed the stone. He glanced down at Noah.
“Time to go, captain,” he murmured, his voice harsh from disuse. “This is the beginning of the end. Or the end of the beginning. Either way, it’s time for action.”
Noah nodded, rising to his feet. He pulled Senga tight against him, holding her as if he were trying to memorize every curve and line of her body. She buried her face in the crook of his shoulder.
“Stay safe,” he whispered. “Don’t die.”
He felt her smile against the side of his neck.
“Same to ye. Don’t ye dare die, or I’m going to kill ye.”
He gave a bark of laughter at her nonsensical comment and tore himself away.
The battle, after all, would wait for no one.