Evelyn did not take her eyes from her father, and her smile never faltered, though she hiccoughed on a sob. “I know, Papa,” she said, her voice stretched.
“Should not have let you…” He gasped a weak breath. “…Withington. Not happy there.”
“But it’s alright now.” Evelyn gave a strained laugh through her smile and sniffed, rubbing Handaar’s palm roughly between her own. “You’ll be well soon. I’ll stay and tend you—I’ll not leave you again, I swear it!” Nick heard a croaking in her chest.
Handaar closed his eyes briefly, opened them slowly. The smell wafting up from the old warrior was black, so black. “Nick? Where…?”
Evelyn grabbed Nick’s arm, her short nails sinking through his woolen shirt, into his flesh and breaking the skin. With surprising strength, she pulled him into Handaar’s line of vision. “He’s here, Papa, see?” Nick could feel tiny rivulets of blood run down his arm, Evelyn’s voice insanely cheerful. “Say hello to Papa, Nick.”
“Hand—” Nick had to clear his throat, for it felt as though it had swollen shut. “Handaar, tell me about the raid.”
“Nick,” Handaar wheezed. “Obny is well. Fear not.”
Nick’s stomach clenched. Within the crowd, soft weeping was heard. Nick thought absently that it was his mother.
“Handaar, you must try to remember. Obny was attacked. Tell me what clan so that I might avenge you.”
“Well…all is well,” Handaar breathed again.
Nicholas squeezed his eyes shut, fought the burning there. Would the old man die before disclosing the names of his attackers? Handaar was so confused—Nick did not think he could bear the guilt if he could not repay the savages who had destroyed Obny. If need be, he would lay waste to all of Wales.
Then Handaar spoke again. “Don’gal.”
Nick edged closer until he could smell the rot in Handaar’s sighing breaths. “Was it Donegal?”
“Yea-a-a,” Handaar breathed, and his eyes closed.
Nick’s heart stopped. “Handaar?” He felt Tristan drop to his knees at his side, laying a heavy arm across Nick’s shoulders. Evelyn drew a squealing breath.
But then the old warrior’s blue orbs appeared once more, bright and snapping. He spoke slowly but clearly.
“Came to us,” Handaar wheezed another shallow intake of breath. “Don’gal. From the east.” Another wheeze. “Disguised. We opened…the gates. Didn’t know.”
“Oh, Handaar.” Nick felt he would weep. At his side, Evelyn began a fast string of whispered prayers.
Nick wrapped his fingers around the man’s hand, still held tightly in Evelyn’s. “I will right it, Handaar. I vow to you now, on my very life.”
“I know,” Handaar sighed, and his dry lips, blistered and scabbed, twitched in a weak smile. “Richard…proud.I’m proud.”
Nick felt Tristan’s arm tighten around his shoulders. He squeezed Evelyn’s and Handaar’s clasped hands, and then let go.
“Eve. Eve,” Handaar breathed, and his palm stiffened in his daughter’s grip, the fingers straightening, trembling, and then curling once more over her hand.
“I’m here, Papa,” Evelyn said.
Handaar’s eyes swam toward her face, seeming to roll over her features aimlessly.
“Beautiful girl,” he whispered, his breath crackling wetly in his throat, and a tear slid from the corner of his eyes although he had not blinked. “Love you.”
Evelyn sobbed. “I love you, Papa!”
Handaar’s eyes rolled away for an instant, showing their whites, but then came back to Evelyn’s face. “Love you…love…you. Love…” And then he spoke no more.
“Ohh,” Evelyn moaned. “Papa?Papa!”
Nick shot to his feet, knocking away Tristan’s arm as Evelyn’s shrill scream shot the close silence. The crowd gathered around Handaar moved back a pace en masse with a horrified hush. Nick’s lips tingled and buzzed, and the floor beneath his feet began to undulate.
“Nay, Papa!” Evelyn screamed. Nick blinked and the woman came into focus, gripping Handaar’s face and shaking it. “Papa, look at me!”
