“Ha, ha,” he muttered with a wry smile, nudging her. “No, it’s a wee bit more serious than that. I might encounter anyone on the battlefield. My troop is going to the heart of the action, where the lairds will be. There’s a chance, however small, that I might meet Laird Murray. Yer father,” he added, unnecessarily.
The smile fell from Senga’s face like a stone through water. “Are ye asking me if ye should kill him or not?”
Noah clenched his jaw, looking away. “I suppose I am. In battle, anything can happen. I… I would defend myself and my life however I needed to. But there could be a situation where he’s… he’s taken captive, say. What would ye have me do?”
Senga took a long time to answer. A moment ticked by, then another, and another. The silence was broken only by the rustle and murmur of an army camp waking up around them and the rhythmicrassssp-rasssspof the veteran’s whetstone on his sword. The delay seemed longer with the silence around them.
On impulse, Noah tilted his head back and stared up at the sky. It was still almost as dark as night, but with the oncoming dawn, the stars had begun to wink out, one by one. There was a reason that the final watch of the night, just before dawn, was such a dangerous one. It was so dark, so cold, sobleakthat many men struggled to endure it. Especially if they’d already struggled through the rest of the night.
“I once thought I could never forgive,” Senga whispered at last, her voice rough. “I thought that forgiveness was weakness, and that was what my father taught me. But what the Abbess taught me was that forgiveness is anything but weakness. Forgiveness isstrength. It can be the hardest thing to do.Revenge is easy, anger is easy, but forgiveness? That takes work. So much work, but sometimes it is the only thing that can set you free. I would never have seen that without my time here, in the convent, with the Abbess.”
“She’s right,” Noah answered at last. “It is strength. I don’t know if I myself would have the strength to forgive, certainly not yer father. It’s a heavy burden, no doubt about that.”
Senga slid an arm around his shoulder, leaning against him. She rested her cheek against his shoulder, and for a few moments, they sat like that.
“Then let me carry it for ye,” she whispered. “That’s what love is all about, isn’t it? About carrying the burdens that are too heavy for each other.”
A lump formed in Noah’s throat. He swallowed hard and closed his eyes, letting the moment wash over him and warm him.
He’d always felt almost liberated before a battle. In the past, he had been confident. And why shouldn't he have been? He knew he was skilled, fearsome, and fearless. As well as that, death held no fear for him. Other men might live in fear of losing loved ones, but not Noah. He’d lost all the ones he loved.
Until now.
Now, the fear crept in, tightening his chest and clawing its way up his throat.
Abruptly, the veteran stopped sharpening his sword. He rose to his feet, neatly sliding the blade back in its sheath, and pocketed the stone. He glanced down at Noah.
“Time to go, captain,” he murmured, his voice harsh from disuse. “This is the beginning of the end. Or the end of the beginning. Either way, it’s time for action.”
Noah nodded, rising to his feet. He pulled Senga tight against him, holding her as if he were trying to memorize every curveand line of her body. She buried her face in the crook of his shoulder.
“Stay safe,” he whispered. “Don’t die.”
He felt her smile against the side of his neck.
“Same to ye. Don’t ye dare die, or I’m going to kill ye.”
He gave a bark of laughter at her nonsensical comment and tore himself away.
The battle, after all, would wait for no one.
Chapter 16
Nowhere To Go
The Dickson army had been waiting for them. In Noah’s experience, battles started very slowly, then suddenly there was a rush to the first skirmish. It was as if the soldiers, having glimpsed each other, suddenly threw caution to the wind once they knew that a fight truly was inevitable and raced towards each other.
The lines of cavalry clashed first, with clashing pikes and the screams of horses. The infantry came next, faces hidden behind heavy helmets, tartan kilts whipping around their knees. The wind had gotten up, raking across the hills, blowing the coarse grass almost flat.
Brendan was somewhere in the cavalry, plunging through the melee on his rearing warhorse.
Noah was on the ground.
Gritting his teeth and clutching his broadsword, he raced down the steep slope towards the fighting. From here, it was a knot of men, struggling and heaving against each other. There were rows and rows of men crowded up behind the fighting, pale-faced and sweating. He saw Dickson tartan hanging from a banner and strained his eyes for Murray tartan. That was at the other side of the battlefield, at least.
The ground turned to mire, causing Noah’s feet to skid. Panic shot through him as he tried to regain his balance. Slipping now, in the mud, would be a death sentence. Even if he wasn’t stabbed or hacked by a stray blow, he could drown in the mud or be crushed by the weight of the other fighters.
A hulking man in Dickson tartan tore himself away from the battle, sword dripping red, and his eyes fell on Noah. Bloodlust lit up his face, and he came racing towards him.
