“Aye. I’m back for good this time.” Nessa held her tight for a long moment before she gave in to the question burning in her mind. “Where is he? Where’s Bridei?”
Petra looked uncertain. “He said you were gone. That you weren’t coming back.”
“Well he was wrong”, she said breathlessly. “I’m back. I’m back now…where is he Petra? Please…” Why was her friend hesitating to answer? Oh god, had he moved on already? Was he with someone else?
“They’ve all gone to Dunnichen. They left yesterday.”
Her heart stuttered and then lodged somewhere in her throat.He’s gone to battle. She was too late. No…shemightbe too late. But maybe not. Maybe he would be fine. Maybe everything would be fine.
“How do I get there?”
Petra had been kind enough to distract everyone while Nessa ‘borrowed’ one of the few remaining horses in the stable. As she set out on the narrow, hilly road south, she soon realized why this particular horse had been left behind. Though the mare was steady and gentle, she was also frustratingly slow and a bit lazy. “Come on girl, a little faster. Please!”
She was terrified, and it was difficult to keep her hands steady on the reins. She had no idea what she would find when she arrived at the scene of the battle. True, history had taught her that Bridei survived; was victorious, even. But what if she had changed things somehow, just by being here, or travelling back and forth? What if he was wounded, or had even died? She shivered, the back of her throat tight and stinging with reined in emotion. What if leaving with Nathan that day turned out to be the worst mistake of her life? What if Bridei was killed and she was left here to raise a child alone? Would the people of Tallorc accept her? What if she was forced to leave and fend for herself?And…what if the love of her life never forgave her for leaving?
No, she had to stop thinking this way. She would drive herself crazy before she ever got to Dunnichen.
Bridei would be hurt and angry. He would rale against her and maybe even take her prisoner again or punish her in other ways and she couldn’t blame him for that. But she trusted fate. She would wait for him to make his way back to her. She pressed a hand to her womb, where a tiny new life trusted her to be strong and protect it at all costs. She would make sure her baby had a father that loved it just as much as she already did.
“It will all work out old girl”, she told the horse, if only to hear the sound of her own voice. “You’ll see.”
Several hours later, she stopped for the night, knowing she had nearly another full day of travel ahead of her. It was too dangerous to travel alone at night, especially with the uneven, unfamiliar terrain. She didn’t have a fire, only the blanket and a little bit of food Petra had shoved at her as she left. She nibbled at a piece of bread, but her stomach was so full of nerves that she wasn’t really hungry. Had the battle happened already? Tomorrow she would know.
Brideiwaited on the hilltop for the first sign of Ecgfrith’s army. His horse sensed the tension in the air, tossing his head and side-stepping restlessly.
“Shhh, patience now boy. It won’t be long.” He glanced behind, where he could see some of his warriors lying in wait at his command, silent and deadly. Several thousand more were just in front of him, many on horseback, ready to engage the enemy. His scouts had reported in not long ago; they were close. He gazed up at the position of the sun. It was dropping lower in the sky, and if Ecgfrith didn’t hurry up, they would either be fighting in the dark, or waiting until the next morning, which would foil his plan and put his men at even more risk.
His horse sensed his mood and danced on his hooves, anxious to run. “Soon…very soon, Lotex.” This was the moment he had been waiting for, for so long…years of planning and maneuvering, all boiled down to this one day, this one hour. And even now his thoughts returned toher. What he wouldn’t give to know she was waiting for him, safe in his home, secure in the knowledge that her man would protect her and her unborn child. He would never have the opportunity to be that man for her. He would never meet his son…
He stubbornly turned his pain into the kind of fury that would serve him well in the coming hours. She had left him. She did not deserve his smallest thought, he told himself.
At last he saw the cloud of dust on the horizon that heralded the approach of a large number of men and horses. He held his breath, waiting for exactly the right moment. When he could clearly see the shape of the first horse and rider, he raised his sword and shouted. His men knew what to do. They knew the plan inside and out—had been training for this very day for more than a year. The warriors on the front line charged forward to meet the Saxons, their battle cries rending the air. From his vantage on the hill top, Bridei watched the space between the two armies grow smaller and smaller, until at last they collided with an unearthly riot of clashing metal and screaming horses. Music to his ears.
His fingers clenched on the handle of his sword. He longed to be down there in the fray—and he would. But not yet. He watched and waited as his men below were pushed back towards the hill, slowly but steadily. They were outnumbered, and anyone fighting on the other side would see that they couldn’t hold out much longer. Ecgfrith’s men were growing bolder, pushing harder, certain of victory.
Just when it looked as if the Picts would be slaughtered, Bridei raised his sword high, put the fingers of his other hand to his mouth, and gave a sharp, clear whistle; the signal for retreat. His army began to turn and flee through the small valley at the base of the hill. The Saxon army, high on bloodlust and scenting victory, pursued them. Now was his moment. Bridei spurred his horse and galloped down the gentler slope on the far side of the hill, where the rest of his warriors waited. As the first Saxon soldiers rode through the pass, they barreled down on them, shouting and swinging their swords. From that moment on, the tide of victory changed.
Ecgfrith was there, at the center of the fray, and Bridei rode to meet him: his cousin and his mortal enemy. Lotex, sensing that this was the moment they had been waiting so long for, snorted and broke into an all-out run. Ecgfrith spurred his horse forward as well, and for a long moment there was only the sound of hooves pounding into the earth below and the harsh breathing of the stallions. Anyone watching would have seen nothing but a blur of flying dirt and limbs as the two kings hurtled toward each other, each hell bent on the other’s destruction.
Their swords met with a sickening clash and screech of metal, and later some would claim that sparks flew from the blades with the impact. It should have been an even fight, but one man had more to fight for, and more rage built up inside of his soul.
“My people will befree!”, Bridei roared into the wind as he swung a final time. The blow was swift and clean, a good death, worthy of a king. As Bridei watched his enemy fall, he felt all of the fight leave him.
This was it, then. He had accomplished what he had set out to do ten long years ago. His people would be free now, his grandfather’s lands returned. It was everything he’d always wanted—everything he’d worked so hard for. So why did he feel so hollow? Ah yes, he knew why. His heart had been ripped from his chest not long ago.
Consumed with his thoughts, he didn’t see or hear the Saxon warrior come up behind him with his sword raised.
“Bridei!” Sten was racing toward him, teeth gritted and weapon held high, a below rising in his chest. For a split second Bridei thought his own man meant to kill him, until he saw the Saxon spin around on his horse to avoid Sten’s sword. Sten finished him off easily, then slumped a little, panting with exertion and relief.
Bridei clasped his arm. “Thank you.”
Sten nodded with a tight smile that said so much more than words ever could. All was forgiven between them.
It was already dusk when the fighting finally ended. The last of Ecgfrith’s army had fled to the south, but Bridei had let them go. He had won, and Northumbria would be in upheaval for months if not years as a new king was instated. He had time now to rest and enjoy his hard-earned victory.
“What do you want us to do with Ecgfrith’s body?”
“Give him to the Christian priests. They will want to bury him in their way.” A lesser man might have cut off Ecgfrith’s head and hung it at the gates of Tallorc, but Bridei prided himself on his goodwill. In his mind, the Christian custom of burying the dead beneath the dark, heavy earth instead of setting their spirit free with fire was enough of a punishment.
