“The head o’ the Gallowglass troop has asked me to mak’ them a march.”
“Has he? O’Hanlon?” A new light entered her eyes.
“Aye, so. He has men from the five kingdoms in his group, and they do appreciate a tune.”
“A worthy challenge, I am sure. Marking so much renown. And—and valiance.”
Valiance? Did she prize that, then? In spite of all the past losses and pain, and the promise she’d won from him?
Aye, it had been a long road he’d taken to her side. And looked to prove longer even now. There was irony in it. That his story should end at this place where part of it had begun…
“I am certain,” she said softly, “ye will do a grand job and give them a fine tune. I ha’ never heard anyone play as well as ye do.”
“Thank ye, mistress.”
“As I ha’ said, yer music gets inside my head. Into my heart.” As if startled by her own words, she made to rise. “Ye must excuse me. I have many duties.”
He held her there simply by touching her hand gently where the knuckles lay upon the table, red and raw. “Ha ye hurt yersel’?”
She flushed. “Och, ’tis naught.”
“Those scrapes look sore.” And newly acquired.
“I was but clumsy and rapped mysel’ when I stirred the fire.”
He lifted his brows at her.
She got to her feet. Finlay rose also, in courtesy. “Do no’ allow me to hold ye.”Only, allow me to. In my arms, as long ago. In my heart, as always.
He ached when she left him, and his gaze followed her helplessly as she moved about the hall.
Not long after, Anders entered the room. He spoke for a moment with his daughter and then, spying Finlay, came to join him.
“Good morn, master harper.”
“Chief MacMurtray.”
A servant brought the man’s breakfast. Katrin had left the hall, which made it easier for Finlay to focus on her father.
“I was hoping for a messenger this morning,” Anders said. “Indeed, a man did arrive, but ’twas no’ from Laird Randolph.” He frowned. “I suppose ’tis too soon for any orders to come down. But,” he sighed, “we are all on tenterhooks.”
“Indeed, the situation is unsettled. Who was the messenger, if I might ask?”
“A man named Culter. He says there ha’ been dispatches from France, and the king is meeting with his advisors.” King David of Scotland had an agreement with King Phillip of France, to stand with him if required in war against the English. “I canna think ’twill be long before we do hear the battle call.”
“Aye, so.”
“And I begin to wonder, Master Finlay”—even though the chief spoke Finlay’s name, he more than half spoke to himself—“wha’ I should do when the fight does come.”
“Ye will send the Gallowglass, will ye no’?”
“Aye, but is that enough? I love my country, Master Finlay. I love it—and my wee portion o’ it—to my very bones. Always, an I determined to fight for wha’ I believe is its due, the right to self-rule. I did march out in the old days, wi’ Bruce. But now…
“Och, I had a braw son to go when I grew too aged. Stout he was, and in my own image. He told me, ‘I will tak’ up the fight, Da, in yer stead.’ For we both believed, aye, in a free Scotland. Now he is gone. Did I do wrong to send him awa’ in service to another?”
He did not speak to Finlay at all now but wrestled with his conscience and his regret.
Finlay answered softly, “If he was the man ye describe, wi’ so true and devoted a heart, I daresay ye could no’ ha’ held him.”
