As soon as Cathair stepped away, a woman bulled her way forward and greeted him. Even from a distance she looked haughty and beautiful.
Brasha.
Liadan lost sight of the pair when Ardahl stepped through the crowd, Conall’s sword in his hand, eyes searching. Searching. He found them and came directly to join them.
“Mam. Mistress Liadan.” Calm words with nothing calm about them.
“Son, I am happy to see ye returned. Ye will be hungry.”
“Aye.”
“Come ye home wi’ us.”
Liadan ached to touch him, longed to press herself into his arms, but could not. Not even his mam embraced him here in front of so many onlookers.
So she paced sedately at his side, just absorbing his presence. The scent of him in the soft gloaming. Each and every breath he took.
“How went the talk at Brioc?” Maeve asked.
“I will explain anon.”
No other words passed among them. When they reached the hut, Liadan turned to him at last.
“Gi’ me your weapons. Go and wash.”
He nodded and unburdened himself into her hands. Maeve ducked inside. Liadan followed, but only long enough to lay the weapons aside.
“Go,” Maeve told her then.
Liadan caught up with Ardahl round the side of the hut, where she helped him remove his tunic. And there, in the soft dark, she moved into his arms.
“I was so afraid.”
“Aye.”
They kissed, every other consideration flown before the urgency of it. The terrible, unceasing longing inside her eased.
“Liadan.” He trapped her face between his hands. Too dark to see one another clearly, but she did not need to see what she could feel. “I should ha’ told ye before I left—”
That he loved her? Would he speak that word?
“’Tis well, Ardahl. I know.”
“Do ye?” He kissed one side of her mouth in that way he had, then the other. Her forehead, her eyes, as if the kisses were blessings. “Do ye?”
“I believe my heart knows. Here—wash yoursel’, come in, and take your rest.”
She stood there while he scrubbed down, unable to pull herself away.
“Was the meeting most terrible?”
“Aye. The news is no’ mine to tell.”
“Your mam will say naught. Nor will I. Are we in trouble?”
He straightened from the basin and used the cloth she handed him to dry off. “Deep trouble, aye.”
She puffed out a breath. What had become of her world? What, since Conall’s death?
