“Still and all—”
“I must go begin the preparations for supper.” She turned away. He longed to reach for her hand, make her stay but a moment longer. Somehow, he refrained.
Yet she turned back almost as if she felt his desire. “Will ye play for us tonight?”
“Aye, mistress, to be sure, if your father requests it.” And would that please her? Did his music find its way to her heart?
No way to tell, for she merely nodded and went out, leaving barely a whisper behind.
She did not want him here in her brother’s room. Taking her brother’s place.
He could not help that.
He placed Brada against the wall beside the bed and explored the place. It had been thoroughly if hastily cleared. The carved wooden wardrobe over against the opposite wall stood open and empty.
What had she done with her brother’s things? Stored them, she’d said. And what did she imagine he, a wanderer, might have to fill that space?
He could not fill this space.
But after some thought, he untied his pack and went to the window to look out. The room faced the rear and a great stretch of garden. A woman worked there in what must be a space for kitchen herbs. Farther out, a kale yard and a wild tangle of flowers and fruit trees invited the eye.
He could still hear the sea. Even on a mild day such as this he could, as if it were the life’s blood of this place.
It might lull him to sleep.
He turned back to survey the chamber and almost thought he caught a glimpse of a figure there. Big and bluff and hearty, with sandy hair like his sister’s and great energy.
Ah, and would he have to share this space with a ghost?
“I mean yer sister nay harm,” he said aloud into the air of the room. “Pray, do no’ begrudge me.”
Did the air of the chamber stir? A response, mayhap.
Och, enough of such fancy. He had come here, the end of a long, long journey, to turn dreams into reality.
If he could.
Even if it were more than fancy, sharing a chamber with a spirit was not about to deter him.
*
Katrin ordered anextra board laid that night for the Gallowglass,but they did not arrive. All through the meal she half expected them to come crashing in, but by the time Finlay took up his harp, a certain peace had settled around the hall.
She’d meant to walk out once the entertainment began. Take some time away on her own. Mayhap hike up the slope to Geordie’s grave where he slept beside Ma.
When first he’d been laid there, she’d gone every day. Stood fighting tears—for a warrior, even be she female, rarely wept—and indulging in memories. Now it had been a while.
But Master Finlay’s music caught hold of her, persuaded and seduced her. He did not tell a tale this night, merely gave them glorious music that seemed to wend its way deep into her mind.
Leaning back from her bench against the wall, she closed her eyes and saw—
A small, close room made of wattle and stone. Surely she knew this place. It was dark in the tiny chamber, or nearly so. Beyond its walls, music played.
Music played, the same sort of music she listened to here in her father’s hall. Light, tripping, graceful notes. A song she knew.
A man held her in his arms. Nay, not a man—theman, the one in all the world who possessed her heart. He held her and made love to her with such sweetness, such devotion, it fair convulsed her heart.
Such love. Such belonging. Love and parting.
