Bradana swallowed hard, not wanting to accept the truth of it.
“Better,” Adair said almost bitterly, “if he does no’ find us here when he comes. It may keep him from destroying this place, which I dread to see.”
So too did Bradana dread such an occurrence. “You do no’ think this place has a chance of standing against him?”
“I would like to think so. The folk here are fine and courageous, your grandsire especially. But…”
“Aye.”
She did not want to leave Alba. The dark of this land and the light, the wild of it, was part of her, woven deep into her soul. Nor could she imagine parting from this man for any reason. Either course—leaving here or seeing him leave—would tear her in two.
With sorrow, he said, “I would no’ like to think my presence here caused the destruction of your grandsire’s holding. I do no’ think I could live wi’ that.”
And if he did go home to Erin—if she went with him—would she ever succeed in persuading him to return to Alba? Or would she live the rest of her life in exile?
How was it their two hearts, so deeply rooted in different lands, clung so to each other?
Starkly, she asked, “How long? How long will we stay in Erin, if I sail wi’ ye?”
“I cannot say. How long d’ye think it will take the desire for vengeance to subside in Mican’s heart?”
Forever, mayhap.
“My father will no’ be happy to see me returned without Kendrick’s promise to cede him what he owes in land, as did my two brothers before me. But if I return wi’ Kendrick’s stepdaughter…”
“He may decide to send ye back again.”
“He may.”
“I worry what might have happened at Kendrick’s holding. What befell my mother. To leave here without knowing.”
“Aye, ’tis hard.”
He stood there looking at her with his green-speckled eyes, waiting for her decision. He would not offer her lies or false assurances that they would return, if they went to Erin. For that was not the man he was.
“Let us handfast,” she told him at last. “Let us have this joyous time. Everyone is looking forward to it, Grandfather especially. Then…thenwill I give ye my answer.”
“Fair enough.” He walked to her and captured her hands, planted kisses in first one palm and then the other, at each corner of her mouth, each cheek, her forehead. “Remember ye but one thing, Bradana. Where one o’ us belongs, there also belongs the other.”
“Aye.” She closed her eyes against the strength of her feelings. “And ye remember the same.”
*
They were joinedlate the next afternoon, out in the open in front of Rohracht’s hall, where the sun shone down. Every member of the clan was in attendance. Rohracht’s men carried out his carved wooden chair, and he sat there, beaming, Morag at his side, while the holy man spoke the words and the knot was tied.
After, there was feasting, all the settlement could afford, and merriment. And Bradana, who at that moment could ask no more from life, so deep was her contentment, sat gazing about happily. This,thismust be what the hall had been like when it was first raised. When Rohracht, as a young man in love with Bradana’s grandmother, had been full of life and strength. Laughter and glad voices. Love.
Could it not be so again?
Still later, alone in their quarters, she and Adair lost themselves in each other, lips sliding across skin, tongues sampling and cherishing. When she took him inside her, knowing she could never completely let him go, she banished all worry from her mind.
Think about it the morrow, she told herself when she could think at all.
Little did she know, the morrow would come with a weight of sorrow.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Adair still layasleep in Bradana’s arms when the call sounded from outside the door of her quarters.
