Liadan slid closer to him so their shoulders met, warmth against warmth. She watched the smoke from the fire rise toward the rafters through narrowed eyes.
“Liadan, I cannot tell ye what it means that ye believe in me. If I never have another chance to say—”
“Hush. I should have believed ye from the first. Conall could never have been so mistaken in his friend. Forgive me?”
“There is naught, lass, to forgive.”
She moved so her head found his shoulder. Snuggled in against him. Satisfaction and longing arose in equal measures, a staggering wave.
“Sleep,” she bade him.
But he did not. Neither of them did. Instead they dozed and roused again separately or together. Sometimes they kissed. Soft, tender kisses that said more than words ever could.
When Liadan next became fully aware, it was still dark and she lay with Ardahl’s arms wrapped around her, her body half draped over his.
Outside, someone shouted. A searing cry that raced past the hut. Liadan could not catch the words. She did not need to.
Ardahl arose immediately with a groan. She lit a rush light and he gathered his weapons. The fire had died to orange embers and the hut felt cold.
“I am coming with ye.” She took up her shawl.
“Liadan, nay.”
“’Twill afford us a few more moments together.”
“Best we speak our farewells here.”
She moved into his arms. In the dim light of the hut, she could barely see his face. But she felt the emotions that roared through him, akin to her own.
“I do not know what to say to ye,” she whispered.
“There is naught to be said.”
“If I could trade my life for your protection, I would.”
“And I for yours.” In fact, was that not what he went to do?
A vow of sorts.
She leaned up and kissed him again. One single, searing kiss to seal that unspoken vow.
Before she could blink the tears from her eyes, he was gone.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Cullan was anxious,worked up, and far too ready to chatter. In the dead of the morning before first light, Ardahl found it immeasurably annoying.
He was used to having Conall at his side at such a moment as this. Conall might have high spirits, aye, or a measure of fear and uncertainty. But he knew when to hold his tongue about it. After fighting together so long, they needed only to exchange a glance.
His heart gave a throb. Conall no longer entered battle at his side. And from where he stood now, up in the chariot, Cullan made a poor substitute.
“I ha’ rarely been so far forward in the line,” Cullan confessed, unhampered by any lack of reply from his companion. “No’ first, no. Nor even second, wi’ the chief after leading us. But up there. Can ye believe the chief is wi’ us?”
“Hush, by all the gods, that we can hear Dornach’s directions.”
“Aye, so. To be sure, we must listen.” Over the rattling of the cart, Cullan raised his voice. “Wha’ d’ye think of the team I got for us? I think they are fine ones. Among the best.”
“’Tis a grand team, aye.”
