Dornach nodded. “He will, surely. I do no’ doubt ’twill all be battled to an end. But ye will fight wi’ us, aye?”
“We will. To the death, if need be.”
Dornach grimaced. “Dacha will find us no’ so easy to kill.”
*
“Aye, so,” Dornachsaid as they rode away. “We ha’ won his loyalty, and no mistake.”
Cathair said nothing. Ardahl could tell from his glances that the man had not much liked the declaration Dornach had made.
Naming Ardahl the greatest warrior of all their clan.
Aye, well, they had a score to settle, did he and Cathair. For Conall’s sake, and Ardahl’s own.
They rode into their home settlement well after full light. Fearghal came out instantly, proving he had been keeping watch for them, his expression raw with worry. It eased only marginally when he saw all three of them returned.
He hurried to them and laid a hand on the bridle of Dornach’s pony, his eyes searching those of his war chief. “All is well? The deed is accomplished?”
“It is, my chief. Brihan’s son is safe wi’ his family again.”
Fearghal looked so astonished, it was clear he had more than half expected them to fail.
“And,” Dornach went on in a low rumble, “Chief Brihan has confirmed his commitment to an alliance. He is setting up his defenses against Dacha and swears he will hold strong.”
“By all the gods!” Fearghal’s wild gaze moved among them. “Are ye all whole?”
“Brihan’s man whom he had there wi’ Dacha lost his life. And Ardahl here did a hero’s work, hanging back to mount a defense while Cathair and I got the lad clean away. He has a nasty slash to his arm.”
Fearghal turned to Ardahl. “Ye must see the healer at once. And ye have my deepest gratitude, along wi’ that o’ all the clan.”
Ardahl nodded. He wanted but one thing, not to see the healer but to go home to the small hut where he’d left his heart. The area where Fearghal had met them was busy, and his eyes searched for her everywhere.
“Aye, my chief. I would go home first—” And then he saw her. Liadan with his mam beside her, cutting a path toward him through the bustle. Mam had tears in her eyes. Liadan’s face looked bone white, her eyes full of agonized relief, as she beheld him.
She wanted to run to him, that he knew. And he wanted nothing but to take her in his arms, hold her close for the sheer reassurance of it. He could not.He could not.
Even though it would provide all the healing he might need.
Fearghal still spoke to him, going on about the ugliness of the slash to his arm. Cathair stood strangely silent.
He would have to speak with Fearghal about Cathair.
Mam reached him, embraced him. He returned her embrace gently, his eyes meeting those of the lass who stood behind her. Liadan quivered, and so many emotions brimmed in her eyes, he thought the others must see.
“Mistress MacCormac,” Fearghal said, “take him home and make sure he sees the healer.”
Once more, Dornach’s hand came down on Ardahl’s shoulder. “No guard duty for ye this night. Get some rest.”
“Aye, so.”
As the three of them walked away, Mam with her arm still around him, Ardahl heard Dornach say, “He is a hero, Chief Fearghal. Wait till I tell ye all—”
“How badly are ye hurt?” Liadan walked at Ardahl’s left side, not touching him though he wished with all his being she would.
He had injuries aplenty. The gash to his arm. One to his shoulder. The skin of his back abraded where he’d anchored himself to the tree.
He looked into her face. “It does no’ matter. None o’ that matters now.”
