Da needed to die at home in his own bed, and that could only occur soon.
When they breasted the rise that led from the headland and on down to their own holding, now accompanied by some of the neighboring MacEwan men, she could have wept. Davey did weep, the tears trickling unchecked down his face, and Rabbie turned to Katrin.
“Mistress, I did no’ think we would mak’ it. I did no’ believe.”
“’Twas your valiance, yours and Davey’s, that got us home.”
They received a fierce welcome and homecoming. Others of their men—not many—had filtered home ahead of them, and they had brought word of their chief being lost, Katrin and many others with him.
Katrin saw her father into the hands of their own physician, who looked very grave indeed at the sight of him, and went to her chamber to wash and don clean clothing, a luxury for which she had not dared let her mind reach.
But once there, she merely stood in the center of the chamber and stared.This place. This was where she’d been with Finlay. A glorious joining it had been, of body and spirit, which now seemed no more real than Finlay’s stories. The dreams she’d had on the trail. Both of which had seemed as real as life.
She crumpled to the floor, where she huddled like someone broken, and sobbed. One of the maids, Janet, found her there and tried to help her up. Called for a bath and stripped her of her clothing, all the things she wore going straight into the fire. Fit for naught but burning, so the kindly Janet declared.
After that, she was fed and put her to bed. There were things Katrin knew she needed to do. See to her da, be with him if—well,if. Make sure Rabbie and Davey had the reward they deserved.
But all that slipped away from her once she was laid between the clean blankets, and after the briefest of battles, she let it go.
How long she slept, she did not know. She slept without dreaming now, feeling safe for the first time in days without number. Not untilJanet gently shook her awake did she remember where she was.
Home.
“Mistress, I am that sorry. ’Tis the chief. He calls for ye.”
If ever there was a sentence to draw her from her rest, it was that one. Katrin rose with her heart thumping and, pausing only to wind a shawl over her sleeping gown, went out with her hair hanging loose down her back.
Da’s chamber lay mere steps away. When she reached it, Katrin found Janet’s words had not been quite accurate. Da had not called for her; the physician had.
There were others in the room ahead of her, the place in shadow with only dim light coming through the windows. Disoriented, Katrin struggled to grasp the time of day before deciding it did not matter.
Da’s advisors were there, as was the physician, who turned to her with a look of deep regret.
“Mistress, I think his time has come. He will no’ hold on much longer.”
Already had he held on so long. All those terrible, hard, and dangerous miles from England, him wanting only to be at home.
She started forward. The physician stopped her with a hand to her arm. “’Tis no’ the wound taking him after all, nor even the fever, but an inflammation o’ the lungs. Ye can hear wi’ what difficulty he breathes.”
She could hear that, aye. All that way home, and she unable to keep him warm or dry.
She nodded and went to the side of the bed. Knelt down and took Da’s hands in hers.
He was awake, aware. His eyes met hers and clung, even as he fought for breath.
“Lass.”
“Da. Och, Da. Nay, do no’ try to speak.”
“There are things—maun be said.”
Were there? Katrin supposed so. She wanted desperately to reassure him, this man who had guided his clan so well for so long. Seeing him as he was, she wanted even more than that, for him to find relief.
“Ye ha’ a valiant heart,” he told her. “As brave as ever I ha’ seen. Thank ye for gettin’ me home.” Those words did not come easily or quickly. He fought for them.
Tears flooded Katrin’s eyes. She squeezed his fingers hard.
“I place the clan’s welfare in your hands, Katrin. There is no one I consider worthier. Promise me—”
