Some of the stories were his own.
But he had chosen differently this time on his ride around the wheel of life, had he not? Chosen as he’d been bidden.
Still and all, something about the clatter of it, the stir and the banked magnificence, caught at him. His very muscles twitched.
Long ago, long, long ago, he had trained as a warrior. A man did not forget.
He had to force himself to go inside, set up his harp, and take his place at the side table where he would sup. Along, so it seemed, with a new guest.
The man, a strapping figure who could be none other than the head of the Gallowglass troop, stood speaking with Anders MacMurtray when Finlay entered. Finlay knew enough of fighting men to grasp that he had shed much of his weaponry along with his chain mail cotte. He stood with his arms crossed on his chest speaking to Anders,the torchlight shining on his tawny hair.
Finlay’s attention was snagged when Mistress Katrin entered the hall. She wore blue tonight, undoubtedly her color, and as it always did, his very breath hitched at the sight of her.
Helpless against the feeling, he was. The feeling of wanting her.
Did she not know? Could she not feel this?
A curious sort of woman she was, a blend of the brisk and the impatient, as if with every word and every step she fought inwardly against who she was. She played the role of the dutiful daughter, but it did not quite fit.
He watched as she walked up to her father and his Gallowglass companion, and began speaking to them. Both men nodded at her. Anders went to his place at the head table.
Katrin led the Gallowglass to Finlay’s table.
Last night before beginning to sing and play, he had shared it with a number of Murtray clansmen who had been more than welcoming. The smith and the head man who cared for the ponies, and the healer. Now another place had been laid at the board.
Finlay was to have company.
He stood motionless as Katrin introduced the man, Reagan O’Hanlon. Aye, so, an Irishman, and he looked it, with that indefinable something about him that screamedIreland. A controlled kind of power he had also, and vitality Finlay could feel.
As Katrin stepped away, O’Hanlon nodded at the occupants of the table in a casual and friendly fashion.
“So ye be the harper,” he said, focusing last on Finlay. “Mistress Katrin did say ye were wondrously gifted.”
That gave Finlay a warm rush. The other occupants of the table jumped in, telling the captain about the stories Finlay had given them, all of which they well remembered.
“Never ha’ I heard the like,” the healer enthused.
“I am sorry I missed it,” O’Hanlon said with a half-smile.
“Whence in Ireland do ye hail?” Finlay asked.
“Meath. Are ye familiar with the green isle?”
“I am, and roamed there in days gone by.”
“Aye, so, I imagine a harper such as yourself covers many a league. But ye be Scots?”
“Aye, I am.”
“As ye may imagine, I have traveled far also,” O’Hanlon said. “Though I do not expect my accolades have been the same as your own.”
Finlay reckoned not.
Anders stood at the head table and spoke in welcome of the Gallowglass, telling his gathered folk of their purpose and the debt he owed to Earl Randolph. The platters began to circulate around the hall.
Finlay’s table companions plied O’Hanlon with questions. Where had he traveled? What sights had he seen? How many battles had he fought?
To which he replied, “Countless.”
