Would ever there come a time when such desires were laid aside and men reached instead for peace?
There in the watery sunlight, she shook her head. Men were men. And men such as Dacha or indeed Cathair cared little for whom they destroyed.
A flame of anger flared within her when she thought on Cathair.
Please, Brigid, great goddess. Help me as ye will. Let Cathair meet justice for the harm he has caused and the harm he would do.
A soft breeze stirred the hair at her cheek. An answer? Another promise?
Ardahl slept away the rest of that day. Liadan checked on him many times where he lay on the sleeping bench they had twice shared. His mam also remained nearby, her worry visible in her eyes. They spoke little, reluctant to disturb his sleep, but they shared their worry silently.
Outside, the settlement bustled with unaccustomed activity. Fearghal understood full well the outcome of what he had wrought. Dacha would exact a price for last night’s work—first from Brihan. Then from this clan.
She shivered over it as she stepped out to fetch water. Men hurried everywhere, all of them armed. Women wore fearful, distracted expressions on their faces. When she reached the spring, she beheld a sight. Cathair, who must also have taken his rest, was up on his feet, armed like the other men. In deep conversation with Brasha.
Indeed, so intent was their exchange, they did not notice Liadan across the way. Cathair, his white-blond head bent, held his face just above Brasha’s. She had laid her hand upon his wrist in a gesture of claiming.
No one seeing them so could ever deem them anything but lovers. But of what did they speak?
Liadan trembled. With all her being she wanted to approach and confront them. To charge them with what they had done, the shame and dishonor of it, that had cost her beloved brother’s life.
She could not. Because they would meet her accusations with feigned hurt and denial. Ardahl was right. They would have to speak first with the druids.
Yet a combination of hate and superstitious fear caused her skin to prickle all over as she passed by them to fill her ewer. An awareness—almost a premonition—of harm to come.
When she straightened from filling her ewer, she caught Brasha looking at her, eyes narrowed as if she too felt the discord between them, approaching like a storm.
Chapter Fifty-One
Ardahl woke fromhis long sleep feeling worse than when he’d gone to his rest. He lay still for a moment with his eyes wide open, mentally prodding each individual wound. Recalling those moments at Dacha when Conall had fought at his side.
Near impossible as it was to believe, he could not find it in his heart to doubt.
He could hear rain pounding on the roof of the hut and hushed voices beyond the sleeping place. He glimpsed firelight leaping.
His mam and Liadan.
Liadan.
At the sounding of her name in his mind, he dissolved into pure longing. Longing for her. The breath in his lungs quickened, and his beating heart. Even his aching body.
What if they could not convince the druids to believe his account, and lift his sentence?
He felt that, aye, he might have been able to convince Aodh. But Aodh lay dead.
If he could never be with Liadan rightly, then he would take no other wife, have no children, and live alone—for a life lived thus, loving her, would be better than anything else he could hope to achieve.
He stretched on his sleeping bench and groaned involuntarily. Liadan’s face appeared around the curtain as if she’d been listening for him.
“Ah, so ye have come awake, then. How did ye sleep?”
“Well.”
She tiptoed in and sat on the edge of the bench. Reaching out, she touched his jaw, a quick caress before laying her hand on his bare chest.
“The healer left a draught, if ye woke in pain. Shall I bring it?”
“Nay, I need naught more than you here wi’ me.” He wove his fingers through hers and held tight. His mam still bustled in the next room, else he would have taken Liadan in his arms. Kissed her. “What is happening out there?”
