And Finlay—Finlay did not question or badger her about it. He didnot once ask her again to stay, to hold back, even though what Reagan had said haunted her. Finlay did not want her to go off to fight.
Seldom in this world could a person, man or woman, have what he or she wanted.
But when they were not alone and losing themselves in one another, Finlay seemed intent upon avoiding her. During the days so full to bursting, she barely caught sight of him. He did not show himself in the bailey and did not come to the hall for his meals. Heaven alone knew what he did with himself.
And since there were no suppers at eventide for entertainment, she did not get to hear him play. Except in her head. In her heart.
He haunted her, did the harper, and it was with her own mind that she argued.
If she did not go off with her da, if she did what Finlay, Reagan, and likely every other man in existence wanted her to and stayed home, she could prevent him from leaving and would therefore have more time with him. Nights uncounted to lie in his arms. To feel the magnificent, depthless sense of belonging that came to her, unexplained, when she was with him. The emptiness inside her that she had not even realized existed, filled.
But if she did go off to fight… Well, she feared, she feared he would not be here when she returned. If she returned.
Why go off, then?one half of her head—or perhaps it was her heart—argued. Why take a chance on losing him, and never seeing him again? Why not claim this strong, wondrous, and yet somehow fragile thing that existed between them, while she could?
Duty, or perhaps sheer female stubbornness, argued back. She could not betray herself or her loyalty to her da, not even for the sake of… Was it love she felt for Finlay? Nay, and nay, she still did not believe it could go by so ordinary a name.
As evening fell on the third day, she panicked. She had not seen hide nor hair of Finlay since they had parted at dawn that morning, hearising from her bed and slipping off to his own chamber, and the need inside her, that great and undeniable need, began to nudge her harder and harder. She paused in the act of helping the women clean up from the rough-and-ready meal that had been laid out—for the benefit of clansmen and Gallowglass soldiers alike, for the latter had already mostly packed up their camp—on a sudden flash of fear.
What if he had changed his mind and gone? What if, knowing the parting between them would be hard, he had already slipped away and up the track, over the brae?
He had said he would not. He had promised it. Would he break a promise to her?
Her heart said nay. Her fear… Well, it spoke differently.
Leaving the women to finish the task, she went up to his chamber, but he was not there. His belongings were piled neatly against one wall, the pack he wore on his back and Brada, already in her wrappings. Ready for travel.
He had not gone, not yet. But he did intend to go.
She flew on feet made clumsy by haste. Ran down to search the hall again, praying for sight of a dark-red head, a tall, graceful figure. Seeing none. The bailey next, still crowded with people. Fear rose up inside her more fiercely than before.
The garden, the kale yard, the stable, the armory, now very nearly empty of weapons. Sweat beaded on her brow. She must find him.
It was Reagan who found her instead. He stepped in front of her when she left the armory, a deep scowl on his face.
“Katrin? What is wrong with ye? Are ye ill?”
“Me? Nay.”
“Well, ye do not look—”
“Ha’ ye seen Finlay?”
Reagan’s eyes narrowed. “The harper?”
“To be sure, the harper.”
“What would he be doing out here in this tangle?”
Katrin pressed the heel of her hand to her forehead. “I do no’ ken.”
Reagan took hold of her by the shoulders and backed her up to a stone bench that stood outside the armory. “Sit. When is the last time ye took anything to eat?”
“No’ long since. I just came fro’ the great hall.”
“When is the last time ye took a rest?”
Lying in Finlay’s arms. But she could not share that. She shook her head.
