No chariots. Those had gone the way of things centuries ago. But the weapons were not so different, nor the skills they demanded. Finlay found himself caught up in it there beneath the tumbling sky.
Someone moved into place beside him. For an instant he thought it the presence from his chamber and he said, “Will ye look at this?”
“Aye.” Not his ghost after all, but Chief MacMurtray shifted to his side. “I maun say, I am pleased. I spent a high price for these fellows. Almost beggared us,” he added, as perhaps he should not to a wandering bard. “It looks to be worth it.”
“It certainly does. Though I am no’ the best judge, being nay a warrior.”
Anders turned and looked at him. “Ye ha’ seen a great deal, though, I do no’ doubt. And”—he smiled—“ye tell a damn good tale o’ warriors.”
“Aye, so,” Finlay agreed ruefully.
“That captain o’ theirs, now.”
Finlay picked O’Hanlon out with ease, the man fighting against two others on the far side of the field, fair hair flying. He moved with a smooth, restrained power that even among these warriors made him stand out.
“Aye, so.”
“I shall send a message to Earl Randolph today telling him we stand ready to fulfill our duty—wi’ our own men and these—when he calls.”
Finlay barely heard the chief. The beginnings of a tune started coming together in his mind. It contained the rhythm of the fight, the stomping of feet, the clash of weapons. But more than that, it heededthe beauty of what he saw. The unflinching courage. The fearlessness.
“O’Hanlon has asked me to make them a song. A march.” Forgetting himself, Finlay spoke to Anders as to a friend.
The chief stared at him, his eyes clear blue in the murky light. “Aye, so?”
“So I decided I had best get a feel for how they fight.”
“I do no’ doubt ye will ha’ a good length o’ time for it. No telling when Randolph will call upon us. We have already been waiting overlong.”
And when he did and they answered the call, not all these men would return. Despite their bright valiance. What folly was such business? Folly and glory all in one.
“I am certain ye will gi’ them a grand tune, one more than worthy o’ them.”
“Chief MacMurtray, if ye would prefer me to leave—” Finlay had to make the offer, loath as he was for it. Having traveled the five kingdoms in search of his heart’s need, he did not want to surrender it. “I will.”
“Nay, nay, ye are welcome.”
“Ye are pressed for room, and I am taking that up.”
Anders’s face tightened. “Ye tak’ only my son’s chamber, and that we were no’ using.” His hand clenched on Finlay’s shoulder. “’Tis a joy having ye here. One must leave go of sorrow when one can, aye?”
“Aye.” Finlay wanted to ask,What was your son like? Was he like the friend I knew so long ago?But that would be tantamount to pouring salt into a wound.
Better perhaps to ask Mistress Katrin. If he could locate her. If he could get her alone.
What if he said to her,Tell me o’ yer brother. I think I shared his chamber wi’ him last night?
He and Anders stood long watching the Gallowglass at practice even after the other watchers recalled their duties and moved off, orwent inside. Not until the first drops of rain fell in big, splashing plops that landed first on the sea, and then on the green grass, did Anders pull Finlay within.
“Come, breakfast will be laid by now.”
The Gallowglass worked on as if unaware of the rain.
Breakfast was, indeed, set in the hall, and Katrin was there.
That brought a lift to Finlay’s heart.
She never appeared wholly comfortable with her domestic duties, this woman. She seemed always as if she would rather be somewhere else, doing somewhat else. But she moved about them anyway, clad this morn in a plain dress with a smock tied over it like any other of the women.
