That was for Ardahl to do. But he was somewhere behind her. Glancing back, she saw that Fearghal spoke to him fiercely. She wished she could catch the words.
She turned and looked full in Cathair’s eyes. “You are certain Ardahl MacCormac did this terrible thing? Killed my brother?”
Did something flicker in the bright blue of those eyes? It might have been regret. “Aye, mistress. I saw.”
She drew a breath that made her chest hurt. “’Twould be a kindness for you to help us home.”
They went slowly, Cathair supporting Mam even as Conall might. When they reached their door, tribesfolk came flooding in, giving their condolences and embracing Mam.
When Liadan looked around again, Cathair had gone.
But Ardahl approached. His two guards flanked him still, and Liadan wondered madly if her family was to be lumbered with all three of them. But both guards, after deep nods at Mam, peeled off, leaving Ardahl standing alone.
The mourners avoided him as if he caused a sickness, stepping around him so he stood very much isolated. Alone and quiet. Did he feel no sorrow? None of this wild grief that tore at Liadan inside?
He was a serpent indeed. Never had Liadan been so mistaken as in once fancying she admired him.
Not until many moments had passed and the mourners cleared from the door did Liadan realize Ardahl’s mother had followed them. She looked small and very much stricken when she stepped up to embrace her son.
“Mam, I must stay here now.”
“But ye have to return home for your belongings. Your clothing. Your sword.”
A muscle jumped in Ardahl’s cheek. “Chief Fearghal says none of those things are mine any longer. Conall’s belongings are now mine.”
“But—”
“Mam, ye must trade my belongings as ye can for the things ye will need.”
“Not your sword.”
“Even my sword.”
“It was your father’s before ye. I will not lose it as well as—as well as ye.” Her voice broke.
“Ye may need to trade for food and the like.”
Liadan’s mother pushed up, her face ravaged by grief. “Be gone from my door, Maeve MacCormac. Your son has stolen the life o’ mine. So ye have a son no more. The priests say this is justice.”
Maeve flinched as if she’d been struck. Ardahl bent swiftly and kissed her cheek. “I love ye, Mam. I assure ye—I did not do this thing.”
With a sob, Liadan’s mam fled into their hut. Flanna followed. Even as Ardahl’s mam walked away, Liadan and Ardahl stood looking at one another.
Vile serpent,she thought again. She did not feel sympathy for him. She didnot.
But for his mam, just a bit.
Chapter Seven
Ardahl, adrift inspirit and shut into the small confines of Mistress MacAert’s hut, wondered how much farther he could fall. Just two days ago he’d been upon a height. Secure in his world, among the best of Chief Fearghal’s warriors, and working hard to secure the place of foremost. At liberty to spend time with his best friend, to laugh, and train, and drink. To look after his mam.
He had never dreamed, nay, never dreamed how things could change.
He stood just inside the door of Mistress MacAert’s hut, struggling to force his mind into acceptance of his fate. He had been here before, to be sure, more times than he could count. When they were young, he had followed Conall home for meals as often as Conall had followed him. He’d even slept here a few times.
Now he must sleep here for good. No going home. The way the druids had explained it, by dictate of Brehon law he mustbecomeConall in every way. Be son to his mother, brother to his sisters. Take up his duties. His place. Fulfill his destiny.
He, as Ardahl MacCormac, existed no more.
