“I will leave when ye do.”
Disappointment touched her. But nay, she had no right to ask him to stay, if she was not willing also to hold back at his request.
“Where will ye go?” Could she find him, if she returned home?
He slid out from under her and rose from the bed, moving with that wonderful, supple grace. Helpless, she could not keep from following him with her eyes.
He said, “Wherever ye do.”
“What?”
He stood looking at her where she still sprawled, his skin turned golden by the first light spilling through the window.
“I am coming wi’ ye.”
She sat up abruptly. “Wha’—”
“I will join the fighting men. Yer da’s troops.”
“But—nay.” Her heart sank so violently, she thought she would be sick. “Ye canna—”
He cocked an eyebrow at her. “Why no’?”
“Ye are nay a warrior.”
“Troops frequently tak’ pipers and such wi’ them.”
“Pipers. Drummers. Nay—”
“Katrin.” He fixed her with a look like green obsidian. “If ye go, I go also. Given wha’ we ha’ shared these past four nights, ye canna expect me to do otherwise.”
“Och.” Horrified, she tossed her hands into the air. “Ye canna mean it. Ye say this only in a last bid to—to convince me to stay back.”
“I do no’. I ken better.”
“I canna stay back.”
“I ken that fine. And so, neither can I.”
She scrambled out of the bed and laid hold of him. “Finlay, be reasonable.”
“Am I ever unreasonable?”
“I should ha’ said nay.”
“Is there ever aught reasonable in war, when it comes to it?”
“’Tis a thing called up by duty o’ the heart.”
“Ye see that now, do ye?”
On some level she had always seen it, always known it. A man fought to defend what he loved. Geordie had. She felt compelled to. And he? “Aye.”
He shook his head. “Men—as well as women—who go to war know that as there are winners, there must also be losers, and men die.”
“No’ ye.”
“Why no’?”
