And foolish to pay them, Katrin thought. They did not come cheap. And now she would have to feed them—and feed the harper, if he was required to entertain them—until they marched out to fight this proxy war.
The preparation for which had cost her brother’s life.
The pain of that kept on hitting her over and over again, sometimes when she least expected it. In a curious way, it seemed a very oldhurt, as well as a fresh one—a thing Katrin felt more than understood.
This war would beggar them before it was done, in both people and silver. Already too many lost. Not that she did not believe in the cause, she who possessed a loyal Scots heart. But…
She looked again at the bard. He stood yet on his feet, waiting patiently for her to speak. Ah, well, she expected a man who dwelt on the sufferance of others must acquire patience.
Yet when he looked at her, something besides patience lay in those green eyes.
“The long and the short of it is, master harper, if ye are to stay I shall have to move ye from yer lodgings. I can fit two soldiers at least into the hut where ye are staying. I understand most will billet out in the bailey, but”—she looked at her father—“O’Hanlon, ye said the leader is called, has requested lodging for his officers.”
“’Tis no’ a problem,” Finlay said promptly.
Would he now choose to leave? Realize hers was a household under fierce demand and take himself off out of the way despite Da’s insistence?
“I can fit in any small space ye can spare.”
“Nonsense,” said Da, speaking before Katrin could. “Daughter, ye will put him in Geordie’s room.”
“What?” Katrin drew a breath, and a scalding heat flooded through her. Ma used to say that was one of her faults—she reacted too swiftly and often without due thought, when her emotions became involved.
In this instance, her emotions were valid.
No one had entered her brother’s chamber since his body had been brought home. Well, only herself in order to finger his belongings once or twice, to catch his scent. To throw herself on his bed and weep.
Geordie had been one of the few who knew her, truly knew her and accepted all she was.
Gone.
For the harper to step into his place—och, nay!
Finlay watched her face closely, and Da said with a carelessness that did not fool her, “We need the space, aye? And ’tis no’ as if yer brother will be back again.”
“But—” Katrin sucked in another breath between clenched teeth.
Finlay said, “I can sleep outside if need be. Or in the stable. ’Tis no’ as if I have not done so many a time.”
“No’ beneath my roof!” Da thundered. “Such an honored and gifted guest as Master Finlay shall be offered the best accommodation we can provide.”
“Aye, Da.” Katrin did not look at Finlay now but at a spot in the air over his left shoulder. “Ye will ha’ to gi’ me a bit o’ time. That chamber has no’ been touched since—”
“There is nay hurry, mistress. We ha’ the day long.”
Hehad the day long to sit here beside the fire and talk with Da until, presumably, he was required to weave more beautiful music. A luxury they could not at this time afford.
But such decisions were scarcely up to her. She needed merely to make what her father decided upon happen. A singularly frustrating position in which to be.
“Sit back down and finish yer breakfast,” she told the bard. “I will let ye know when to gather yer things and shift to—to the chamber here in the house.”
He did not move until she walked away from him. She might well consider such a man, limited in his autonomy, to be weak. But aye, there was something about Master Finlay that, despite his gentle voice and biddable demeanor, declared him anything but weak.
He had spun tales of strong warriors and fearless women—all supposedly her own ancestors—as if he knew and understood them. As if he too possessed an utterly loyal and unflinching heart. A loving one. So how could she declare him weak?
There must be steel at the core of that graceful frame, and strengthbehind those green eyes.
And why was she still thinking of the harper when she had so much else to do?
