Only he was not upon the wheel. He was its hub.
It lifted her beyond herself and somehow, at the same time, took her deep within. When he broke into O’Hanlon’s march, she lifted her voice in song, matching to it the words they had made together.
She did it without true intention, the impulse drawn up from her heart. Finlay approved it with his gaze upon her face, a thousand emotions resting in his eyes.
Come all ye who would valiant be
Who would follow the train o’ bright glory.
Where battle brings us gory fates
We follow them both soon and late.
The Gallowglass gang to die!
For fight they will wi’ sword or spear,
With blade and axe, their numbers dear.
The heart o’ courage lingers here.
We follow them wi’ strength o’ eye.
They lead us on to victory,
May the Gallowglass never die!
After the second or third time through, the men around them took it up. The song grew—so very much like the swell of that ocean to which she’d likened it. In this time of the unknowable and the unbearable, the Gallowglass were, to these soldiers, a guiding star. And aye, to their fates would they follow them.
At length, some of the men wandered off to sleep. Others lingered, perhaps valuing a high heart more than rest. When many had taken themselves off or rolled into their plaids where they sat, Katrin foundherself with Finlay, the two of them as good as alone.
Even the fires had died down. Finlay set Brada aside and wrapped her carefully in her leather covering.
Katrin supposed she too should stir, climb to her feet, and return to her father. She wanted, with all her being, to stay where she was. To drink in the company of this man, soak up his presence. Comfort beyond comfort.
When he looked at her, his gaze seeming to caress her face, it was almost—almost as good as a touch.
“Ye ken,” she told him softly so as not to disturb those around them, “there is still time for ye to turn back.”
“And ye,” he said implacably.
“I do no’ feel I can.”
“Nor I.”
“Finlay—ye be no’ a warrior. Nor sworn to my father. Ye might go on your way off north out o’ all this to some other chief’s hall. There might ye ride out the storm that besets us, play yer music. And after”—she drew a breath, long and unsteady—“I will find ye.”
“I am no’ sworn to your father, nay.” Finlay let that implication hang in the air, and Katrin felt the impact as she took his meaning. They had made no promises to one another, not even when they lay in each other’s arms, when they were joined into one being.
It came to her now that mayhap they did not need promises.
Tears came to her eyes. “Please. ’Twould do me much good to know ye are safe.”
“I would do most anything for ye, Katrin. No’ that.”
“Why?” she asked, desperate.
“Ye wish me to go into the north—”
