He would have to reason with Liadan. Comfort her somehow. But he had no words of comfort.
“Son?”
From somewhere, Mam had obtained food. She knelt before Ardahl and Liadan, offering up the bowl full of choice morsels.
Ardahl’s stomach felt sick, but his hunger remained nonetheless. Raising his gaze to his mam’s, he asked, “Where did ye get all this?”
“Over there.” She jerked her head. “The women are cooking. Chief Fearghal himsel’ insisted ye should have all this. Is it true, son, what he said? Ye saved his life?”
That made Liadan stir also, and pull away to look at him.
He grimaced. “Aye, but I am no hero. Men save one another all the time in battle.” And he had not been able to save Cullan.
It was not right, was it, for him to have more than others around them? Still and all, it was how their clan functioned. In the hall, the foremost warrior sat in the highest place and received the choice portions.
He did not want to be first. Not without Conall, and mayhap not at all. Once, mayhap—but that was no longer why he fought.
Though the food might tempt Liadan and Mam.
“Here,” he told the girl beside him. “Take somewhat to eat.”
“I cannot possibly.”
“Do it for me. Lest later, when I go to my turn at guard, I will no’ be easy in my mind about ye. Ye too, Mam. Let us share this.”
They did, Liadan taking but a few bites and Mam little more. Ardahl finished the rest, unable to deny that he was ravenous.
The others around them ate and settled to attempt sleep. Children wept and women also, invisible in the night. Some folk wandered. Ardahl’s wounds made themselves felt, and the sting kept him awake, throbbing in time with his heartbeat.
Liadan dozed against his shoulder, and Mam slept at his side. Once, Liadan roused to say, “I keep seeing her. Lying there. Every time I close my eyes.”
“Aye.” He often saw Conall also, lying at his feet with the dirk in his chest. And Cullan slumped in the grass beside the chariot. Was there no end to it? “Whisht, now.”
When one of the men came and called him to take his place at watch, he had to set Liadan aside. Half asleep, she murmured a protest, and he tucked the hilt of his sword into her hands.
Out in the dark at the edge of the settlement, the night felt perilous. They formed a chain, each man just out of sight from the next and within call.
He could see the light from the bonfire, still burning. He could make out the line of the hills above and hear the rushing stream.
Beyond that could lurk anything. A hundred warriors creeping. Death come to finish them all.
When a thread of light appeared and spread in the east, he breathed a sigh of relief. That light appeared divine, as if brought by the god Lugh himself, riding in his golden chariot.
He stayed where he was till a man came to relieve him, saying the chief had decided to keep a watch in daylight also. The fellow was elderly, but he had a determined look in his eyes.
“Go on down, Master Ardahl. The women are making breakfast.”
*
The endless nightcame to a finish with a rush of golden light and sickness in the pit of Liadan’s stomach. She woke feeling cold to her bones, her hands wrapped around the hilt of Ardahl’s sword, which he had left with her when he rose to go on guard.
She sat up and, fumbling, laid the weapon on the ground beside her, drew up her knees, and pressed her forehead against them.
Where was her sister? Flanna had to be nearby, as were all the surviving members of the clan. But Flanna blamed Liadan for Mam’s death.
What could she have done differently? She’d had no idea when she left Mam that they would fall under attack. The healers’ hut had been only steps away.
Fateful steps.
