The wetness in the druid’s eyes glistened. “Ne’er in my day,” he replied, his voice as thick as Ronan’s. “Though that was more than long ago . . .”
“Nae, that day is now.” Ronan squeezed the old man’s hand, pumping. “If you are so inclined?”
A tear slid down the druid’s cheek. “With the greatest pleasure,” he said, nodding.
“Then so be it.” Ronan stepped back and snatched his discarded plaid off the grass, eager now to be gone.
He had much to explain.
First and foremost, he needed to tell his lady how much he loved her.
He’d only realized when facing Nathair that he’d never yet said the words.
But a short while later when he left his little skiff on the shore of Loch Dubh and began the long ride back to Dare, those words and any other ones he might have said flew from his mind completely.
He’d but ridden around a steep hill slope before anonion creelblocked his path.
An onion creel dressed with a plaid blanket and a tangle of leather straps.
“By the Rood!” He knuckled his eyes, but the basket remained.
Reining in at once, he swung down from his saddle, his feet not even touching the ground beforeshestepped from the trees, Buckie trotting along right beside her.
“Gelis!” He strode forward, catching her by the shoulders. “Saints, lass, I told you to stay at Dare. Do you not know the kind of danger —”
“From a band of ragged, damp-eyed old men?” She laughed, her eyes sparkling. “You were magnificent! And I cannot wait to . . . greet them properly! And the raven!” She beamed at him, taking his breath. “Who would have thought —”
“You saw?” Ronan’s jaw slipped.
“We all saw.” Valdar appeared at her side, shoulders back and chest swelled.
Others quickly joined them; Hugh MacHugh, Hector and the Dragon, and even Anice with two of the youngest kitchen laddies clutching her hands. On and on they came, stepping out from behind trees or thickets of broom and whin, until Ronan would’ve sworn the whole of Dare’s household stood before him.
Buckie wagged his tail and barked, not to be ignored.
“Think you we’d let you take on the Holders without us keeping your back?” Valdar plucked Blood Drinker from beneath his belt, brandishing it boldly. “One sly trick on their part and we’d have been on them in a wink!”
He jammed his hands on his hips, looked round. “Faster even!”
And only then did Ronan notice how well-armed his people were.
Steel glinted and shone everywhere and those unable to swing a sword clutched other weapons. Pitchforks and scythes were in abundance, and — if his eyes weren’t fooling him — even several long and sharp-ended bone stitching needles tucked beneath Anice’s belt.
Hugh MacHugh had his trusty meat cleaver and Auld Meg wielded a wicked-looking iron birthing implement, the proper use of which Ronan didn’t care to imagine.
Ronan blew out a breath, shook his head.
His heart began to thump.
And the awful tightness was spreading through his chest again. This time it not only crept upward to thicken his throat, it was also stinging his eyes.
Then he remembered three of Valdar’s words.
We all saw.
He cleared his throat, certain of something odd going on.
Something everyone knew but him.
