“There is still much talk against ye.”
“I have heard it.”
Dornach’s lips twisted. “Much o’ it coming from Cathair himself. No one will yet countenance yourself at the head o’ the men.”
“It does no’ matter, Master Dornach.”
“I believe it does. There is such a thing as justice.”
“No’ for me.”
Dornach grunted. “Are ye content wi’ Cullan for a partner?”
Contentwas not the proper word. Ardahl ached for Conall back at his side.
Dornach added, “He is eager for the place.”
“Is he?” And should Ardahl expect treachery there also? Would he have to keep a watch, with Cullan beside him, for a knife in the ribs?
Or in the heart.
“Aye, so. Ye will have a care, lad. Keep clear o’ Cathair as much as ye can.”
Ardahl thought about Dornach’s words as he walked home, relived for the hundredth time that last scene between him and Conall, when his best friend would have taken his life.
He entered the hut to find all in confusion. Flanna pestered her sister, since she would no longer approach her mother with her wants. Mistress MacAert sat beside the hearth, silent as always, and Liadan bustled about trying to prepare a meal.
He wanted to duck out again. In fact, he did, leaving his weapons and going around the side of the hut to wash.
Liadan found him there not long after. He had his hair wet and his head in the basin when she joined him, and when he straightened, he caught a look in her eyes.
A look no man could mistake, however oblivious.
Well, well!He found himself attracted to her also, however inappropriate that might be. But the way she seemed to notice him while pretending not to only proved Conall’s sister was no longer a child.
“Mistress, what is it?”
Her gaze flicked over his shoulders, his damp, bare chest, and away.
“Flanna has begged a night with Lasair and Mam—well, ye ken fine how Mam is. Come have your supper. I have somewhat to tell ye.”
“Very well, so. Just let me finish here.”
She did not walk away as she should, but stood with her hands wrapped in her smock, watching as he dried off. Not till then did she turn, and he followed her inside.
Flanna was on her way out, and he pressed against the wall to allow her room. The lass had now come mostly to ignore him like part of the furnishings.
When he turned to the fire, though, he found Mistress MacAert gazing vacantly at him. Something in that stare sent a chill down his spine, and he as swiftly turned away again.
Even if Liadan began to accept him, he feared her mother did not. Would never.
He would have taken his customary place by the door, but Liadan waved him forward. The three of them sat, Liadan between Ardahl and her mother, and she spoke mostly to her mam, urging her to eat though the woman did no more than pick at her portion with skeletal fingers.
She dwindled away to naught, did Conall’s mam, and that caused a pain in Ardahl’s heart.
After they finished the meal, Liadan helped her mam away to her sleeping place before returning, bustling around briefly and settling on the rug beside Ardahl.
Leaning close, she asked, “What news from the training field this day? Any signs of possible attack?”
