She would be there.
Ferra’s breath came out in short puffs, visible in the early morning air. She was going to go to battle as well. It would be the only way she could ensure that Kaiden came back home alive and well.
So she went about her day as if it was any other day, gathering more supplies that she would carry with her into battle. Not only would she be looking to protect her husband, but all the warriors that would be joining him. They would need a healer, and she hoped to be there to save more than she lost.
Ferra never wanted to feel the way she had felt the day that the young warrior had died in her arms.
When the shadows started to lengthen, Ferra forced herself to put her work aside, intending to leave her healer hut for the keep. A knock on the door startled her, but her lips softened into a smile as she spotted her husband at the doorway.
“I thought I would find ye here,” he said, leaning against the doorway. “’Tis late, lass.”
Ferra drank in the sight of Kaiden, and her heart twisted. She couldn’t lose him. She had to protect him.
His grin died. “Wot?” he asked, his eyes sharpening. “Wot is wrong?”
She shook her head, overcome with emotion. He was hers, and she wasn’t going to let him go so easily if his life was in the balance.
Kaiden was at her side before she could take another breath, and he drew her into his arms. “I cannae help ye if ye dinnae talk tae me, lass.”
Ferra just wrapped her arms around his lean waist and pressed her face into his tunic, breathing in his scent. “I...’tis nothing, Kaiden. I’m just glad ye’re here.”
His hand slid down her back. “Are ye sure?”
“Aye.”
Ferra wasn’t sure how long they stood there, wrapped in each other’s arms, but when she finally pulled away, night was all around them. “We should start for the keep,” she said, looking up at Kaiden. “Yer da will be looking for us.”
Kaiden lifted his hand and cupped her cheek, his thumb rubbing over her skin. Ferra’s lips parted as he leaned down and brushed her mouth with his, so tenderly that she thought she would burst into tears. “Come, lass,” he murmured against her lips, not pulling back as if he didn’t want to let her go.
Ferra wanted to throw her arms around his neck and never let her husband go. It was moments like these that made her realize that she had fallen hopelessly in love with the man, a man who had stolen her heart with his thoughtful looks and tender ways that he reserved for her. He might be a warrior on the battlefield, as everyone liked to remind her, but Ferra knew that once the doors closed on their chamber at night, he was the tender Scot that she and she alone saw.
So she pressed her face into his chest. “Just a little longer, Kaiden,” she told him, her voice muffled.
His chuckle vibrated through his chest, but he resumed holding her tenderly, resting his chin on the top of her head as they stood in the silence of the healer hut where no one would find them.
15
“Tae the warriors before us,” Kaiden said as he held up the mugs of ale. “And tae those that will follow when we are dead and gone.”
The other warriors solemnly held up their mugs, each Scot waiting for Kaiden to take his first drink. All the warriors were gathered in the great hall, a tradition that had been started generations ago. Before battle, the laird would partake in a drink with his warriors, no more than one mug of ale.
No whiskey, for it would cloud one’s judgment.
No more than one ale, as a warrior needed to be in control of his own mind and his own body.
Kaiden looked out over the group that had gathered, knowing that some would not grace these doors alive again. He would want for all of them to come home, back to their families, and continue to live out their lives. But it was just wishful thinking on his part.
This was going to be a vicious, bloody battle.
So he took a large swallow of the cold ale, not pulling away until he had drained the last drop. Kaiden placed the mug on the table before him, picking up his sword where he had lain it earlier. “May the gods bless our weapons,” he murmured, holding up his sword on his upturned palms.
The sounds of swords sliding out of their scabbards filled the air, and the Scots mimicked his stance, murmuring the same words he had just uttered.
Kaiden placed his sword in its scabbard, and everyone followed suit, their boots clicking on the stone floor as they left the great hall to spend their last night with their families.
Or at least with a willing wench to warm more than their bed.
“Ye did good, mah son,” his father said, clapping him on the back. “Ye do an old man proud.”
