At last Ardahl stirred and looked at Cullan.
“Leave off, will ye?
Cullan looked surprised, but he went silent. Ardahl wondered how long he would remain so.
He barely remembered the trip home. Cullan drove him in their chariot, one of the long line carrying wounded and dead. A stout guard had been set, manned by those least injured. Dornach, himself heavily bandaged, rode the lead chariot.
By the time their settlement came into view, Ardahl clutched the front rail in order to keep himself upright. He had nothing left but his self-respect. He would not let his fellows, or those waiting at home, see him fall.
A near thing, though. A crowd of clansfolk awaited them. The pony minders ran forward to take the animals. Ardahl leaned down and spoke to one of them.
“This pony on the left—he’s taken a cut to the chest.”
The lad nodded.
Ardahl’s da, among the finest of all charioteers, had always put the beasts ahead of himself. Ardahl could hear him now, in his head, saying to do so.
Just as he could hear Conall saying what he always had when they reached home after a sharp battle.
We ha’ done well, my lad. We ha’ done well.
Chapter Seventeen
“Flanna, run andfetch Mistress MacCormac.”
Liadan gave the order in a hushed voice, unwilling to wake either of her patients. Two of them now, for her to tend. And what misdeed might she have committed to earn this? Bad enough looking after Mam, whom she loved, without being lumbered with the serpent.
He was not a serpent, though. At least, not at the moment.
He’d been led home by a fellow warrior who would not shut up about the battle—the last thing Liadan wanted to hear—and who told her he’d been seen by a healer in the field and then by another here when they reached home.
Liadan scarcely listened to the man. She could see that Ardahl MacCormac barely kept his feet, and that by sheer determination.
She’d put him in her own bed, there being nowhere else. He’d fallen into an almost immediate sleep, and she’d fretted.
What if he died? His injuries looked grave enough. And she didn’t like the expression in his eyes. Half dazed. Half burned to the very spirit.
At first she begged Flanna to stay with her, for she did not want to be alone with these two. But Flanna went outside to vomit, then went and sat beside Mam as if she, no more than Liadan, could bear to be near Ardahl.
Why must I stay and care for him?Liadan wondered as she tended the fire, as she fussed over bandages and salves, as she made sure Ardahl was still alive.
His wounds were extensive, as she could clearly see. No doubt he had lost much blood. But, as she told herself repeatedly, he was a strong man in the prime of his life. So long as none of the wounds took poisoning, he would recover.
For now, exhaustion claimed him. He breathed deep, and naught she did or said roused him. Not until the middle of the night, when she drowsed by the fire, did he part his lips in a plaintive moan.
“Mam. Mam?”
It raised the hairs all over Liadan’s body, coming out of the silence that way. When she checked on him, she found him still senseless. Calling for his mother in his sleep.
Hardhearted she might be, at least when it came to this man. Or she might not. Either way, she could not withstand such a plea.
Were there any strictures against her inviting his mother here to help care for him? She did not know.
She would not ask.
When Flanna woke at first light, she bade her go to fetch Maeve.
“I will no’. I do no’ like to. Lasair says Ardahl no longer belongs to her.” Flanna wrinkled her nose. “He is ours now.”
