That thought near took her to her knees. She did not know which piles of stones were which. Some had been battered and broken down by weather over the centuries. But she wandered among them, and she felt, in the pieces of the past—in their inevitability—a far deeper comfort.
As if, out of the past, her own self whispered to her.
Ye ha’ been with him, this man ye adore. Ye will be again.
On this one afternoon, an afternoon hinting at the first breath of spring, she lingered long, feeling the strength of the past like a wave buoying her up. She stood gazing out to sea, past the waves that boldly kissed the shingle, past the islands lying like sleeping dragons.
From here she could almost see Ireland. The place where it had allbegun, where lay the very roots of her love.
Have faith. Believe.
She waited till the light began to fade before she went down to take up her duties. Just above the keep she paused and gazed southward along the sea trail. And saw a flicker of movement.
Nay, but surely her eyes played tricks on her. No one was there, lest it was a member of the guard. And this traveler—he did not move like a member of the guard.
Her heart began to pound, high and hard beneath her breast—as if had not beat since she’d watched Finlay throw himself to the wolves for her sake, back in England. Nay, and nay, it could not be…
Yet conviction seized her, claimed her, a kind of knowing that came from far beyond herself. From long ago and far, far away, bringing its own certainty.
The thrill of it stole her breath. Lifted her spirit on a cresting wave that knew nothing of possible or impossible. Her eyes might wonder—but not her heart.
Faith it was that made her catch her breath and run.
She nearly stumbled over her own feet half a score times. The folk she passed stared at her. One or two called out.
“Mistress!”
“Mistress Katrin?”
Aye, she was Katrin. She was Liadan, and Bradana, and Darlei, and Hulda, all flying through time, flying toward the man she loved.
How he could be here, she did not know. How he could be alive, when she had left him standing poised to face death itself, a harper with a sword.
I will find ye, always.
*
Finlay’s feet knewthe stones of the trail, for he had walked it moretimes than he could count. His eyes knew the set of the land, the rise to his right, the broad sweep of the sea on his left.
Home. He was nearly home.
Here the rough trail turned to a path in earnest as it left the headland and sloped downward. He paused an instant, for from here he could see the keep. Murtray.
There, once, had stood a roundhouse. Over the centuries it had become a fortified house and then a keep, expanded to the proud fortress it was now. Generations of people had put their hearts and souls into it. Their love.
Emotions rose up and nearly choked him. A long while, it felt he had roamed. But had the ending ever been in doubt?
His feet marked the paces as he walked on. Here had he and Darlei strolled together. He and Hulda, so many, many years later.
The light began to fade, the kindling-spring day winding down. Here, where sea met land, where past met present, the light gathered on the breast of the water, just enough to show him the figure of a woman, running—running to him.
She flew to meet him, his love, his alanna, his dearest wife. In whatever guise, it no longer mattered.
For she brought all that was love to him.
Chapter Forty-Nine
Finlay’s steps quickenedto a run, all the weariness gathered during the long miles and the long years streaming away from him. He could no longer feel the stones of the shingle under his feet. No longer feel his connection to the world. But the wheel of destiny—och, aye, that he could feel, turning, turning beneath him, as inevitable as life and death and love.
