“Not there. She hates me, with good reason.”
“Without reason.”
“Even so.”
“Then where will ye go?” He could not spare the worry for her, with so much else gone wrong.
Mam said nothing.
“Will any o’ your friends take ye in?”
“They have turned against me.”
Ardahl cursed all of them under his breath.
Dornach appeared. The war chief looked a mess, covered in soot and filthy wounds. But he had survived, which seemed a minor miracle.
He eyed Ardahl gravely. “Ye need your wounds tended. Ye should no’ be on your feet.”
“I am well enough.”
“Liar! Mistress, see your son is tended.”
Desperate, Ardahl said, “I must return to my post at Mistress MacAert’s hut. Master Dornach, my mother refuses to go there with me.”
The big man turned to the woman. “Mistress, my good wife and I would be pleased to house ye, for the time.”
“Will ye?” Relief poured through Ardahl.
“To be sure. Our hut did no’ burn, and save for the smoke, we are whole. We have the room. My wife is taking others in.”
“I would be most grateful,” Ardahl said.
“And ye”—Dornach eyed Ardahl again—“get back to Mistress MacAert, if ye will but first get ye to the healers and have them tend ye.”
Ah, but if he went straight to Mistress MacAert’s, might he not get care there? Mistress Liadan’s hands upon him as before. The thought sent him dizzy in the head.
“I will be available for guard duty or patrol—”
Dornach touched his arm. “Ye will no’, for the time. My orders. Mistress MacCormac, if ye will come along o’ me…”
Kindness,Ardahl thought as Dornach led Mam away. Who would have thought it of the gruff war chief?
He met a number of blank stares as he walked back through the settlement. Women wept. Children were silent. Warriors stood in hard knots, talking fiercely.
Of revenge, no doubt.
Someone ran past him, crying out to all who would listen, “Aodh is dead! The high priest is slain!”
Was it so? A staggering loss.
He approached Conall’s hut and stood for a moment, unwilling to enter. The door, pinned open to admit the air, emitted not a sound.
Were the women in?
Aye, so he discovered when he ducked his head and entered. He left his weapons beside the door and took a moment to absorb the scene.
Mistress MacAert, well awake, sat beside the hearth place, the expression on her face as blank as if she still slept. Her eyes found him and he expected some reaction, an outcry. But she made none.
