It astonished him, when he fought his way upright, just how weak he felt. Dizzy in the head. No man—no warrior, whatever his disgrace—should be reduced so low.
No man of his years should have to relieve himself into an accursed pot.
Yet the midden sat at a distance. Could he make it there on his own?
“Come.” His mam supporting him, they went out into the air. Dark had fallen and the breeze felt kind against his cheek. The night made a fine cover as they went.
By the time they reached the place, he tottered. He went the last few steps on his own, knowing he would need to call on all his strength to make it back again.
Folk stared as he and Mam returned to Mistress Liadan’s hut. No one spoke; no one protested his mam’s presence at his side.
They parted at the door of the hut. Mam pulled his head down and kissed him on the face. “Ye have grown so tall from when I used to kiss ye. I scarce know ye. But och, I still love ye just the same.”
“Take care, Mam. Will I see ye tomorrow?”
“Aye. Och, aye.”
He watched her away through the dark till he could see her no more.
Chapter Eighteen
Screams woke Liadanfrom the first good sleep she’d known in days. She’d curled up beside the fire, since Flanna—who’d stayed home—had gone to lie beside Mam.
Ardahl had tried to take the place at the door, surrendering her own bed back to her, but she’d insisted he keep it one more night.
All was quiet before the screaming started. Harsh yells, bellows, shrieks. A distant, discordant clashing.
She opened her eyes, thinking the sounds followed her from whatever dream she’d been having. They did not.
A shadow shifted inside the hut. Ardahl came forward from her sleeping place, only half dressed.
She sat up and, across the fire, their eyes met.
“What—?”
“There is fighting. We are under attack.”
“Nay! We cannot be—”
“Get your mother and sister up. Swiftly now.”
He moved through the spill of moonlight coming through the smoke hole, and Liadan got a good look at him. Clad only in his leggings. Strong and quiet, but covered with wounds, the wild hair streaming loose down his back.
Conall’s sword already in his hand.
“Move!” he bade her.
The sounds outside grew louder. Terror ignited in Liadan’s heart. Aye, if this be an attack, she must get Mam and Flanna away.
She moved clumsily. When she reached Conall’s sleeping place, Flanna was already on her feet. “Liadan, what is it?”
“Attack, so Ardahl says.”
“Who—”
“Dacha.” Ardahl stood right behind them. “Get your mam up. The three o’ ye, creep out round the back. Do your best to reach the hills. Wait there till others come.”
“But—”
