“What d’ye think she was about?” he demanded of Liadan. “I ha’ a mind to ask her.”
“As do I. Indeed, I had to bite my tongue to keep from challenging her on it. Yet folk handle grief in different ways, and all I have with which to accuse her is rumor.”
Ardahl snarled. “Rumor I well believe.”
“As do I.” Just like she had before, Liadan laid her fingers on Ardahl’s forearm, as if to calm him. “I will keep talking and gossiping and digging. ’Tis far easier for me to do than ye. We will find the truth.”
We. Ardahl took a rare comfort from the word. He had felt so alone since losing Conall and being sentenced to take his place.
He covered Liadan’s hand, still resting on his forearm, with his own. “I canna help thinking—”
“What?”
“Whether all this business wi’ Brasha had any bearing on what happened there at the training field, that last day. Conall’s anger wi’ me.”
Acknowledgment filled her eyes. “As do I. But would Conall no’ rather have been angry wi’ Brasha? With Cathair, if he found out.”
“Aye, so. And he did not confide in me as he so often had.”
“Or in me.”
Ardahl looked at her gravely. They two were left. He could only be grateful he had Liadan on his side.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Arare earlysummer’s day it was when Fearghal called them all together the next morning. The sun shone golden across the land, setting the river to sparkling, and fair-weather clouds sailed like white curraghs across the sea of blue. A soft, gentle breeze brushed Ardahl’s cheek as he joined the crowd of mostly men and a few women near the spring.
Indeed, Liadan stood beside him. He had just been leaving for training when the call came, and she’d come along with him, leaving her mam behind.
This, since the hall had burned, had become the unofficial meeting place for the clan. Fearghal, with Dornach and the two druids flanking him, stood to one side, awaiting his people as they filtered in.
His gaze roamed from face to face as he allowed them to still before speaking.
“My people! This is a call to arms. Since the last raid, Dacha’s men have been haunting our western border, where Brihan Brioc allows him to be. Naught we have done has succeeded in chasing him from there. I have consulted with my advisors and our holy men. Indeed, we were up all the night. We will ride out in force and chase Dacha from our border. Not only that, we will pursue him through Brihan’s lands. If our closest neighbor has chosen to side wi’ our enemy, we will show him no mercy.”
A thrill went through Ardahl, followed swiftly by a feeling of sick dread. To choose such a course—an attack as opposedto defense—Fearghal must be very certain Brihan had indeed turned against him.
That meant war against not one tribe, but two.
The crowd stirred and muttered with what Ardahl took as approval. Many among the warriors had been arguing in private for such a campaign, wondering why Fearghal did not call them up.
They had their answer now.
Yet Fearghal looked wary and, to Ardahl’s eyes, not entirely confident. Dornach’s gaze, which roamed the crowd made up mostly of his warriors, looked hard.
And the holy men? It seemed very strange seeing just the two of them standing there without Aodh. Aodh, who had always led them. Who rarely allowed any uncertainty to show.
Who had sentenced Ardahl to his current fate.
Before he could contemplate that further, Liadan grabbed his arm. He’d grown accustomed now to her touch when she treated his hurts, or when she reached out impulsively while they spoke together.
She touched him casually, so he told himself, as a sister might a brother. Now, though, the touch seemed to ground him, and to unite them.
“We will ride out with a full complement of chariots and as many men as we can spare.” For the count of ten heartbeats, Fearghal gazed at his people, hard-eyed. “Make your farewells and settle your households. No’ all o’ ye will be coming back.”
The air trembled as it received those words. Someone called, “Chief Fearghal, when do we leave?”
“Before dawn tomorrow.”
