“The women too. And I—”
She stopped speaking abruptly, so he looked up at her, hands running with water.
“I have this feeling,” she said, “one I cannot dismiss, that somewhat is going to happen. Somewhat terrible.”
“Aye, so.”
“You have it also?”
“I think everyone has it.”
Such was proved the case. By the time Ardahl awoke later in time for training, the pile of weapons inside the door had grown.
“People have been dropping them off all day,” said Liadan, busy braiding her hair. “I ha’ no idea where they all came from. Most are old and no’ very good. But better than what we had, and a far sight better than nothing.”
He stepped up to her. When she raised her arms to braid her hair, he saw a spreading bruise on one of them. He touched it softly.
“I hurt ye.”
“Nay, ’twas no’ ye. Aenodh from the chief’s house gave me a mighty swat there.”
“Liadan.” Emotions fair overwhelmed him, and he drew her to her feet. He had no idea where his mam might be. Not here. “I canna bear the thought o’ ye being battered and bashed about.”
“Is it no’ better than the thought o’ returning fro’ battle to find me dead?”
Agonized, he whispered, “Do no’ even think—”
“Yet ’tis a truth with which we live.”
“Och, lass.” He drew her into his arms and up against him, closed his eyes against the rampant feelings pounding through him. “I would give my life to defend ye. Ye know that.”
“And ye may, yet.” She backed off just far enough to gaze into his eyes. “If we have another life after this one, I pray it will be together. I ask Brigid for that every day. Life after life wi’ ye, Ardahl.”
That made him smile, if sadly. “Plait my hair for me, lass. Help me gather up all these weapons. We will go.”
Chapter Forty-Six
It rained allthat 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.
