Still another, older woman: “Will ye, great war chief, also come to our doors and steal our cots and cook pots?”
“To be sure, nay!” Dornach bellowed. “Those are things ye are meant to have.”
“And who can say,” demanded an aged man in the crowd, “what a woman is meant to have? When I leave my daughter in order to take my place at guard, I do no’ like thinking on her being defenseless.”
“No’ defenseless! We are her defense. Ye and me.”
Everyone there stared at Dornach. The number of new graves attested to the success of that argument. The number of hearts broken.
“Look,” he said, “’tis this way. Wha’ if I leave Mistress Liadan that fine sword and she tries to use it during an attack? Wha’ if she fails? Her opponent will take the weapon from her. Then Dacha will ha’ a fine sword to use against us.”
“Or,” another aged woman proposed, “she may learn to defend hersel’ and kill one or two o’ the invading bastards.”
Dornach shook his head. “I will ha’ to speak wi’ Chief Fearghal about it. Meanwhile, Mistress Liadan, give me the sword.”
“I will not.”
“Then gi’ it to Master Ardahl. ’Twas first his.”
“It was. Mine now.”
Clearly frustrated, Dornach turned on Ardahl. “Wha’ kind o’ fool gives a sword to a woman?”
“Mayhap one,” said a younger man, a member of the guard, “who hopes she will survive.”
Dornach tossed his hands in the air. “We will see about this.”
He marched off. Everyone there eyed one another.
The guard called, “I am surprised, Ardahl, he did no’ order ye off to your post.”
Ardahl said, “I expect he did no’ think of it. Liadan”—he eyed her—“d’ye want to carry on while we ha’ the time?”
Did she want more bruises? Further embarrassment?
If anyone could teach her, it was this man.
“Aye.” She lifted her chin and the sword. “Let us carry on.”
Murmurs of approval sounded all around. Surprisingly, their audience moved off.
“There now.” Ardahl’s hazel eyes met Liadan’s. “First hurdle crossed. There will be others. Come.”
She set herself for endurance.
*
Ardahl had nodoubt that Dornach had gone straight to the chief with his complaint, and after he’d sent home a visibly wilting Liadan—with the sword—he awaited chastisement. He waited while he paced the boundary of the settlement, through the night, but not so much as a stray fox disturbed him.
Not till morning when he headed home beneath the first threads of morning light did a lad run up to him.
“Chief Fearghal wishes to see ye.”
His stomach tightened. He did not want to fall out with Fearghal, one of the few men who approved of him. He’d already stood in opposition with the other man who approved of him—Dornach—over the matter.
“Aye, so,” he told the lad, and redirected his steps.
The chief and his family had moved into what had been the warriors’ meeting hall, after the great hall was burned. In theway of such things, the warriors still congregated there, hanging about the door of the place.
