Katrin supposed she should be impressed at being in the presence of the king of all Scotland, a man whom she had never before so much as dreamed of meeting. And, aye, her first sight of him surprised her. A young man was David, overly large in his regalia with the appearance of a warrior. Not unhandsome, with a brown beard and a decidedly long nose.
She should have been reassured by his manner, by the fact that he showed fully willing to stand at the head of his men and would, in fact, lead them across the marches into England. The king of all Scotland! For aye, he moved confidently among the new arrivals and showed little doubt in their cause.
Katrin watched as her da went forward and was greeted by his liege lord, she as silent as the men around her. She noticed a man taking the place at her side no more than she had noted Reagan’s arrival earlier. Not till he spoke in a musical voice did she start, herheart leaping.
“Men who call themselves chiefs and kings make the decisions and send those who harbor true hearts to meet their fates,” he mused very softly indeed. “So ’tis. So it has ever been.”
Katrin gave him a close look. “Ye can turn back yet. There is still time.” She had seen others deserting along the way. No one tried to stop them.
Finlay shook his head, not looking at her now.
“Why not? Finlay, please—”
For answer, he reached out and linked his fingers through hers, where they hung at her side. Fierce, hot tears stung her eyes. They stood so, linked amid the swarm of men.
Da came back to her armed with a modicum of information. They would camp and muster here a few days before the troops would be assigned to various leaders, and they would move off south to England.
Word flowing through the ranks as they set out to make a decidedly poor camp was that England stood near empty of defenders, all King Edward’s men sent over the water to France, caught in the continuing conflict there.
This should be easy, whispered men to other men as night fell and those from one contingent mingled and spoke with the others. There would be spoils. The English would learn of what the Scots were made and would not try to subdue them again. A blow for Scottish autonomy.
But even before night fell on that wide, open plain, an air of unreality descended upon Katrin. It felt not as if she was part of a great, undulating sea of men, about to attack England, but as if she moved through one of Finlay’s stories. None of this could truly be happening. She must be dreaming back in her own bed at the keep, musing on words the bard had said, not marching toward death and pain and devastation. She would wake and go about her duties, as familiar toher as breathing.
Yet even that next morning, which dawned wet and much cooler, such a waking did not come.
Finlay had once more attained a distance from her, back among the ranks. Though she tried several times to seek him out, she still had many distractions, including both Da and the immediate needs of their men. Da and Reagan, in company with Earl Randolph, went forward to meet with the king in the white tent. When Da returned, he confirmed they would soon move out southward, for England.
Not liking the exhaustion in her father’s eyes, or the way he moved, Katrin soon sought out Reagan. His men sat in a rough circle, paying little heed to the pandemonium around them, calmly playing at dice and talking among themselves in low voices. Several of them, including Daffid and a man called Malcolm, gave her friendly nods. Reagan got to his feet and stepped to her side as soon as he noticed her.
“What is it?”
“Da says we will leave here soon. How far is it to England?”
He gave her a look, all hard-eyed and steady. “Far.”
“I am no longer certain Da can make it. It has been days since he’s had enough to eat.” Since any of them had. “Wha’ condition will he be in when we arrive?”
“Give the man some credit.” The wings of Reagan’s mustache twitched. “He is stronger than ye think, and as stubborn as yourself.”
“I do no’ suppose ye can talk him into going home before we cross the marches.”
“I do not suppose I can.”
“Then—is there any chance ye can find him a mount? Surely Earl Randolph would stretch to such, for so loyal a vassal.”
Reagan examined her with tawny-eyed sympathy. “I ha’ already tried. Your father says he will not ride when his men are walking.” He hesitated. “Ye have to give him respect for it.”
Och, why and why had she ever started on this accursed journey? She should have kept herself, her da and—and Finlay home.
Too late now. She found herself on the wheel of fate.
Reagan laid a hand on her shoulder. “Trust, lass. Perhaps ’tis a lesson, this, ye need to learn.”
Chapter Thirty-One
They crossed theborder into England on a cool, windy day that promised rain, without Finlay even realizing his feet met foreign soil. In the past, he had been in England a time or two, though not to stay. It was not a harper’s country, and he’d always ducked back to Wales or Scotland as soon as he might.
This seemed completely different.
