“Anywhere, into safety.”
“—and await ye. But Katrin, it has taken me all my life to find ye. And for me to tak’ mysel’ off again not knowing what might befall ye, whether ye will ever be able to come to me—do no’ ask it.”
She said nothing, just blinked away her tears fiercely.
Swiftly he said, “Lass, ye be a strong woman, and dauntless. But ye ha’ no idea of the battles to come.”
“I should, having heard your tales.” A pit of dread opened in her stomach. “I should ken fine wha’ it means to be a warrior.” Why else did he think she feared so that he should endanger himself? An old, old fear.
He shook his head.
“Finlay, if ye maun stay, at least say ye will lay aside that sword. Engage our men wi’ your music as ye will. Wi’ yer bold tales. Wi’ your high spirits. But when we reach England and the battles commence, at least say ye will remain at the rear of the company, out o’ danger.”
He said only, “We ha’ a long march ahead o’ us, and a hard one. Best go, lass, and tak’ your rest.”
May I no’ stay here wi’ ye?But she could not speak those words. Her duty lay beside her father. She had quite boldly chosen that duty, and must stand by it.
But she swayed on her feet when she rose, and moved unsteadily as she left him, feeling every step in her soul.
Chapter Thirty
The next day,just as Reagan had predicted, they moved out in a great swarm of men, one giant, ponderous creature crawling its way across the moor, darkening the yellow autumn bracken. Many days’ travel they had yet before rendezvousing with King David and his men, and then turning southward.
Toward England.
For Katrin, looking after her father grew ever more difficult and ever more demanding as they kept up with the now-vast army. She didn’t know what Reagan considered a slow pace of travel, but she could tell Da struggled, valiantly though he tried to hide it. With every step away from Murtray, she missed her home more. And each moment, full to the brim with caring for those around her, another longing increased steadily in her heart. She ached for Finlay. Aye, to be sure, she could feel him back there among the men. But that only seemed to emphasize the distance between them. She wanted to be with him so he could gift her with one of his smiles. Caress her with those beautiful hands. Bless her with kisses. How had this happened, that he’d come to mean so much? Was it merely the physical connection forged during those four nights they’d spent together? The stories he’d told? Mayhap she hadn’t realized at the time just how deeply those had touched her.
Though she looked for any opportunity at all to pass back through the men, doctoring minor scrapes and injuries taken along the way and making sure everyone was decently fed, she won no more thanpassing encounters with Finlay, and often not even that. Sometimes at night, she could hear him play and would lie with her ears stretched, staring at the sky, almost—almost remembering something too precious to recall. But as they crossed the back of Scotland and grew wearier and wearier, more worn, those musical sessions all but ceased.
To what did she lead him? She asked herself that again and again. Should she try once more to persuade him to return home? That journey would be as naught to him. But she had no words to say that had not already been spoken, and she feared looking too hard at just why he followed her.
What, oh, what if she led him to his death? An old fear, it seemed, an ancient one.
Sometime in late September, the vast army arrived in Perth, where it became still more vast. Here, near King David’s stronghold at Scone Palace, at a place called the Bridge of Earn, the king’s forces waited, to be swelled by those from farther west.
The day was a bonny enough one for autumn in Scotland, with a blue sky scudded by clouds of white and gray, the light slanting through to show a scene worthy of stealing Katrin’s breath. She and all of Da’s men, who had already trodden so far and were so weary, fell silent against the greater undulating rush, as did the MacLeods, MacDonalds, and Campbells around them.
She barely noticed when Reagan O’Hanlon stepped up beside her. From his superior height, he slanted her a knowing look before he said, “What d’ye think o’ this, then?”
“I think I am a long way fro’ home.”
“Aye. Sorry ye came yet?”
In a way, she was. Not sorry to be standing at her da’s side, nay. But she regretted leading Finlay here, and that they seemed so very small now among this seething throng of men. So unimportant.
She did not answer him directly. “How can any army, English or otherwise, stand against so many?”
Reagan shrugged. There was no such thing, here, as privacy. Her da stood only a short distance ahead of her, straining—as did they all—for any sight of the king. She had no opportunity to clutch at Reagan and beg him,Persuade Finlay to turn back, I pray. ’Tis no’ too late.
She could not. She feared their fates were cast. So many fates…
“Where is the king?” The question was being repeated on every side.
“There,” Reagan told her. “Ye see the tents.”
Would David summon Da? Da and all the other chiefs who had risen so loyally to his call. It did not happen that way after all. No sooner had Reagan stepped away to his men, and Katrin seen to the distribution of water to all their own, than word passed from lips to ears—the king was on his rounds and would soon be there to welcome them.
In due time, another sort of hush fell, one that seemed to spread out the way a wind does across a barley field. He came with his generals, and on foot.
