He moved off back through the ranks, and Katrin could not help but wonder if he would encounter Finlay. If Reagan touched with him, it would be—almost—like her touching with him.
Word came down later that day that they would indeed lay siege to the Peel of Liddell, but the various factions of the army were scrambled, and the MacMurtrays, along with some of the MacLeods and other western forces, found themselves passed from the leadership of the Earl of Moray to that of Laird Robert Stewart, and left to the rear of the action. Katrin barely saw the castle that fell under attack, awooden structure with a motte and bailey. Like so much else of this venture, it did not seem real, and she had difficulty believing that some few miles ahead of her, men were dying.
She felt as if, slowly but surely, she lost track of herself. Was this what she’d come away from home to find? Bewilderment and destruction? Nay, the fight had never truly been part of it. The goal had always been protecting those she loved. Yet here, so far away from the Highlands, she feared only weariness and death might be found.
Bruised and frightened, not wanting to admit to either, she went searching for Finlay and found him deep back among the ranks, most of whom sat or sprawled on the ground. Many of the Murtray men, those who had never trained fairly for war but had spent their days fishing or farming, had a dazed and confounded look in their eyes as they listened to what happened up ahead, for little enough could be seen. Katrin recognized that look all too well, because she harbored the same feelings.
“Mistress, wha’ are they doin’?” asked Gregor, the young clansman who seemed to be always at Finlay’s side. “Will they burn down yon castle?”
“Will there be more food, fro’ inside?” asked another man before Katrin could answer.
“I hope so.”
She touched Finlay on the arm. He had fastened his green gaze to her—still bright even though he must be as exhausted as anyone—and not looked away. A rush of emotions swept her. She wanted to be with him, anywhere but here—back in her chamber, where she’d experienced ecstasy in his arms. Away in the forest. Out in a wee boat. Alive in one of the tales he had told.
“Can I speak wi’ ye?” she asked, and he nodded.
There was, nay, no privacy, nor hope of it. They stepped away, watched by many eyes, and she moved close to him, so that when she spoke, it might be for his ears alone.
“It seems the fight is at hand. If we are no’ part o’ this battle, ’tis certain we will be part o’ the next. I wanted to say—”
Whatdidshe want to say? Standing there looking up into his face, into those eyes that studied her back so patiently, so undemandingly, she did not know that there were words for what was in her heart.
“Ye need no’ follow me,” she said. They were not the right words. She needed to tell him what he meant to her, how being in his company, how lying in his arms had changed her very existence. “If it means yer life—ye need no’.”Please. Please save yourself.
He leaned close. For one glorious moment she thought he meant to kiss her, and she closed her eyes because she longed so for the sensation. Kisses to her palms. The corners of her mouth. Her cheeks and her brow.
But he only spoke in a whisper that touched her face. “I need no’. Yet, alanna, I will.”
Chapter Thirty-Two
The castle atLiddell took three days to fall to siege, and afterward was burned to the ground. Finlay, who watched it all from a distance—for not all their vast forces were required to accomplish the deed—felt sick over it, yet also hopeful. It did not seem that the English could stand against so mighty a force as theirs, even if near half the Scottish army had spread out wide to steal and pillage, mostly food. Surely they would be able to go home soon.
The Murtray army had so far not wetted their swords—or spears or hoes—but they suffered from hunger and a great deal of homesickness. Chief MacMurtray passed through their ranks often, and Finlay grew steadily more concerned about the old man’s appearance—for that was what he now appeared to be, a man aged. Like sons suddenly witnessing their father come to old age, the men around them whispered of it. Anders MacMurtray was much loved. If for no other cause, these men would fight to defend him.
Chief MacMurtray shed warmth and concern upon all of them equally. Tired as he might be, he never failed to listen to his men’s fears and concerns, or to confirm or refute the rumors that came to them with honesty. Aye, he told them, the English governor, Lord Shelby, had been executed by the Scots. And aye, much of the Scots army had spread out through the countryside in marauding waves, an action he denied to his men, hungry as they might be.
“Ha’ we nay more honor than that?” he asked.
And aye, the people of the nearby town of Carlisle had offeredKing David a ransom that they might be spared the perils of the savage Scots army. So terrified were they of the Scots, the men congratulated one another when they heard it. They supposed wreaking havoc on the English countryside would indeed be an easy task. Finlay, who had fought hard battles long, long ago, did not feel so certain.
They turned eastward toward a town called Durham, said to be a wealthy plum just sitting there for the plucking. Would further ransom be paid? This looked to be more of a venture in pillage than any series of battles.
As soon as he was able, Finlay sought out Reagan, hoping to learn his opinion of things.
“Wha’ d’ye think will happen?” he asked the Gallowglass, having found him amidst his own band of men. “Will it be all theft, pillage, and burning before we go home?”
Reagan shrugged. “If the bulk o’ the English army is indeed away in France, ’twill be a short and profitable venture, this. But”—the big Irishman hesitated and gave an odd shake of his shoulders—“I have a feeling…”
“Aye.” Finlay had it too, and put it down to warrior’s instinct, even though he had not been that for some time. “I do no’ like the feel o’ it.”
“Nor I.” Reagan looked at him. “If it does indeed grow ugly, I will do my best to protect her, harper.”
“As will I.”
Reagan raised his eyebrows. “Are ye as proficient with that sword, then, as with thecláirseach?”
“Nay.” Not any longer. “But old training does tend to return when a man needs it.”
