Finlay tried to imagine it. Perhaps not so surprisingly, he could. The clash and din of battle. The raw edge of courage in a man’s heart. The determination and the narrowing of sight…
O’Hanlon, calmly eating his supper, did not brag on himself, even though those at the table gave him plenty of room for it. A modest man, mayhap. Or one so confident, he had no need to stoke his own pride. Either that or he had become hardened to the glory of what he did to earn his bread.
For there was a certain amount of glory in it. As a storyteller, Finlay both sensed and appreciated that.
Besides, as a young lad, had he not himself began with training at arms? Before he’d realized that could not possibly be his calling…
What began to bother Finlay as the meal moved along was naught about Master O’Hanlon so much as the realization that when Katringlanced toward their table, it was to the Gallowglass captain her eyes were drawn.
To be sure, she might well be checking to make certain her guest had all he needed. But it was no such mundane concern Finlay saw in her eyes.
Nay, for there he beheld interest. A measure of fascination.
Aware as he was of Katrin’s every movement, he knew when she rose and began making the rounds of the hall. Felt it when she approached their table.
She had braided her hair this night. It fell over her shoulder in a thick, ashen plait when she bent down. As did her bosom press forward inside her blue gown.
“I trust ye ha’ everything ye need, Master O’Hanlon?”
The Gallowglass looked up. As caught by her pale, clear eyes as was Finlay? For an instant the man looked taken aback, just as Finlay felt.
“Aye, mistress, thank ye.”
Finlay got to his feet and Katrin looked at him, startled. Remembering belatedly that he was also there?
“Excuse me, mistress.”
He went to his place beside the hearth and took up the harp. As always, he felt better with Brada in his hands.
He nodded toward O’Hanlon’s table, where Katrin still stood.
“In honor o’ the chief’s guest, I will gi’ ye some tunes and tales o’ Ireland this night, for yer pleasure.”
With chagrin he saw Katrin slip into the seat he had just left. Opposite the Gallowglass.
But, as he reminded himself, she would be listening tohim.
He gave them an old tale indeed of the great warrior, Cuchulain, he who during a grand and terrible battle planted his back against a stone and fought so well that even after he was killed, no enemy dared come near to him. Finlay lost himself in the music. Did he forget the lass who listened?
Not quite.
He had not figured, after winning his way here to her at last, that he would be caught in a competition for her. And he resolved not to be drawn into such. A woman’s heart was her own and must be freely given. Else it was worth naught at all.
The trouble was, this woman’s heart meant his whole world.
The spell he wove in the hall this evening must have been a strong one. For when he finished, when the guests began to leave for their beds and he took up his harp, O’Hanlon came to him.
“I did enjoy that, Master Finlay. Mistress Katrin was not mistaken—ye be a fine harper. I do not know when I have so relished an evening’s entertainment.”
“That is generous praise, Master O’Hanlon.”
“Naught but the truth. I should like to commission fro’ ye a march for our company. Wha’ is yer price?”
“I am at the moment under Chief MacMurtray’s hospitality, and nay price to one o’ his guests.”
“Aye, so, I ha’ a valiant troop who would appreciate a tune in their honor.”
“Would they so? Tell me about them.”
