“I want him here with me.”
Flanna came up and slipped her hand into Liadan’s. Liadan could feel her trembling.
“When I lie here, I am near him. I can still catch his scent.”
“Aye, and ye have spent the night so, but now ye will arise. There are duties to which ye must attend.”
Mam broke into sobs anew. Dathi got up from her side and spoke softly to Liadan.
“I will mix her a draught. It will soothe her enough to get her through this day.”
This day. “Aye.” Already, daylight streamed through the door. “But, Master Dathi, what o’ the days to come? The—the wake. The tributes.” For there would be many. Her brother had been well loved. “The b-burial.”
Dathi gave her a sympathetic look. “’Twill not be easy, lass. Can ye be her strength?”
“I do not know.” Could she? But who would be hers?
“I can leave more mixtures, if ye need to dose her again. Or call me back anytime.” He laid his fingers lightly on Liadan’s shoulder. “Day or night, I will come.”
They watched him mix the draught from the goods in the bundle he had brought. Watched him dose Mam and help her stretch out on Conall’s bed.
“She may sleep, or may not. Let her grieve as she might, for now.”
“Aye, Master Dathi. Thank ye.”
He eyed both of them. “And ye? Can I leave any potions for either o’ ye?”
“I am all right.” A blatant lie, but Liadan must be strong. For Mam. For Flanna. “Sister?”
Flanna merely shook her head, but after the aged healer had gone, she turned to Liadan with a look of panic in her eyes.
“Sister, what are we to do? Conall kept us in the chief’s regard and in our place here. With him gone, who will care for us? Hunt for us. Provide for us.”
Fancy Flanna, at her tender age, considering such matters. But aye, they had lost their provider as well as a light of their lives.
Fierce with belief, she said, “Chief Fearghal will not let us starve.” Yet well did she know a huge difference existed between being a family of status, which Da before his death and Conall had in turn earned for them, and mere hangers-on with the tribe. She had known a few such, considered little better than the slaves captured from enemy tribes.
She would never gain a husband so—if indeed that was what she wanted. Most women her age did desire a man and a home of her own.
She had ever desired but one man.
Turning her thoughts strictly away from that, she focused on her young sister. Would Flanna’s chances of a good marriage be ruined also, when she came of age?
So much rested upon a family’s status, which in turn pivoted on the standing of its warriors. Where a fighting man sat during feasting in the chief’s hall. What goods he claimed in spoils. Even how the shanachies praised him.
“Do not worry about that now,” she bade the pale-faced Flanna. “The chief will decide on it—or the priests will. We must try to trust them.”
Flanna appeared to find that as difficult as Liadan herself did.
“We must prepare for this day,” she told her sister, “difficult as that may be. Do you want anything to eat?”
“I cannot.”
“Nay.” If Liadan tried to take any food, she would choke on it. “Then wash and dress yourself in your finest clothing. Braid up your hair. We must look our best when the others come to honor Conall.”
Flanna’s eyes abruptly pooled with tears.
“I cannot,” she said again.
