“He wanted ye out o’ his way,” she breathed. “Cathair did. So he could be assured the place of first among Fearghal’s warriors. I knew that, on some level I did.”
“Aye, as did I. I just could no’ reason out how. But it did not work the way they planned. In the end, when Conall and I struggled together, he could no’ bring himself to kill me. The dagger ended up in his own heart instead o’ mine.”
“Despite her lies,” Liadan whispered. “He loved ye too well, despite the hate she tried to foster.”
“Aye, so. Liadan, I believe—I must believe—that love is always stronger than hate. And I do love ye, my beautiful lass.”
He kissed her then, the kind of kiss for which her heart had longed all the while he was away. A long, slow kiss it was, lips parting lips, the one of them drinking from the other. Giving and taking in equal measures as it would always, always be between them.
He kissed her until his breath became her own. Until she could no longer tell where her lips ended and his began. Until their very spirits melded and found depthless peace.
Only then did he withdraw far enough to drop small kisses into the palms of her hands, at each corner of her mouth, her cheeks. Her forehead.
“We must bring this to the druids,” she told him then. “Brasha and Cathair must pay for the terrible thing they ha’ done.”
“Aye, so they must.”
“I admit, I would rather exact justice myself.”
“As would I,” he agreed. “But that will not serve us well. Liadan, I have been thinking all the way home. If we can persuade the druids to withdraw Aodh’s sentence upon me—”
“We might be together.” She lit up at the very idea, her spirit soaring. “Och, Ardahl, d’ye think we can?”
“I do not know whether the druids will believe such a tale as I ha’ to tell.”
“If anyone will, it should be men who speak wi’ the gods, and interpret their signs.”
“Mayhap. If ’tis meant for us.”
She gazed once more into his eyes. “It has to be.”
“But, Liadan”—he gathered her hands into his—“there will be trouble coming. Battles, fierce ones. Dacha will no’ take the rescue of Brihan’s lad, nor Brihan turning away from him, lightly. Brihan has vowed to set up a defense, and we will join him on our own border, but—”
“The battle may come here,” she finished for him. “Again.”
“Aye. Just so ye know, should I fall, I will find ye. Somehow. In the next life.”
“Ye have promised it, and I believe it.”
He dropped more kisses into the palms of her hands, one after the other.
“And now, let us get your wounds cleaned. Your mam will be coming soon with the healer.” And Liadan would have to behave as if he meant no more to her than a foster brother.
She could do so. Surely she was strong enough, for she carried his promise in her heart.
*
The healer arrived,and a painful session followed. Liadan did not stay for it—it would not be proper for her to see Ardahl stripped down as good as naked, but his mam remained with him. Liadan stood out front of the hut in the thin sunshine and uttered a prayer of gratitude to Brigid.
Thank ye, great goddess, for bringing him back to me.
Far to the west, she could see rain clouds gathering. Aye, it would be from there the trouble came. The heartache. The death.
Away from the direction of the training field, someone shouted what sounded like orders. Dornach, setting the defense? Assigning his men?
Ardahl would have to fight again. He was strong, aye, this man she adored. A fine warrior. But blood and bone and sinew could endure only so much. She had witnessed the death of too many. Seen those she loved die.
If Ardahl was right, and love proved stronger than hate, should it not overcome greed also? The harm that came of a man wanting more and more land. Desiring to lord it over others. To be first among his fellows.
