Like so many others, they fetched up near the spring, lost souls at sea. One of the older men took charge, sent out others to patrol the perimeter and send word when their men drew close.
More and more folk drifted in from the hills. That was when Flanna, still with Lasair and Lasair’s mother, found Liadan. Flanna flew into her sister’s arms, weeping with relief.
“Liadan! Sister! Is Mam all right? Where is she?”
Clinging to her sister, Liadan could not speak.
“Liadan? Why are ye all bandaged? Are ye sore hurt?”
“Flanna.” Liadan drew away just far enough to look into her sister’s face. It was smudged with dirt and soot, streaked by tears. “Mistress MacCormac and I made it awa’ out o’ the fighting. Mam—Mam did not.”
“What?” Flanna’s blue eyes widened impossibly. “I do not understand.”
“I left her at the hut.”
“Ye—what?”
“I left her to go and fetch the healer, ye see. I was on my way there when—”
“She is at the hut? Let us go.” Flanna started away, pulling Liadan’s hand.
“Flanna, nay. Nay, ye do no’ want to see.”
“If she is there—”
“They killed her. They killed her, Flanna.”
Suddenly, Liadan dissolved into tears. Her legs gave way and she crumpled to her knees, covered her face with her hands. Hiding. Hiding from what had happened.
“Ye left her?” Was that shock or accusation Liadan heard in Flanna’s voice? “An ailing woman? Alone?”
“Here now,” Maeve said softly. “’Tis no’ your sister’s fault.”
Flanna turned on the woman. “Ye get away from me. Your son killed our Conall. Now we have naught left.”
Lasair’s mother, still standing by, took Flanna in her arms. “Here now, here now.”
Liadan remained where she was on the ground. She wanted to fall through it. She wanted to disappear from the world. The hardest thing of all, to stay and face the truth.
The chief’s wife and young children returned to the settlement not long before their men arrived from the west. Like everyone else, Mistress Bridie looked pale with shock and strain, but she set to right away giving instructions, asking whoever was able to begin gathering the dead that they might be numbered, identified, and buried.
Still, Liadan could not make herself return to her hut. Flanna had moved away from her. Liadan and Maeve sat isolated amid all the confusion, one thought only obsessing Liadan’s mind.
Had Ardahl survived?
If he had fallen in battle, she would have nothing—nothing left. Conall gone. Mam gone. Flanna having disowned her. She would have no reason to go on.
The clouds broke and watery sunlight flooded the settlement, making it more terrible somehow. Suddenly, women began exclaiming. Calling out. Crying and running.
Their returning menfolk had arrived. A much-reduced fighting force. Limping chariots.
Liadan got to her feet, there beside the spring, and waited, trembling in every limb.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
When the messengersintercepted Fearghal’s returning forces, Ardahl could scarce believe it. He himself drove his chariot, which had survived being overturned, the traces feeling familiar in his hands. His da had taught him to drive not long after he could walk, hoping Ardahl would follow him and become a charioteer.
Ardahl, though, had wanted to be among the clan’s best warriors.
