“I waited at the pony sheds half the night to get the team I wanted. I had no’ first choice, nay. But I was able to claim those upon which I’d set my eye.”
Ardahl nodded, hoping his silence would invite his companion’s. Ahead of them, Dornach shot a displeased look over his shoulder.
“And a fine cart also,” Cullan went on, oblivious. “Was this no’ the one ye always shared wi’ Conall?”
Ardahl was going to strangle Cullan before they ever got to the battle, at this rate.
“Whisht,” he advised. “Master Dornach does no’ like chatter.”
“Right ye be. D’ye think when we get there, Master Dornach will assign us to the flank, like before?”
“I do not know.”
At the head of the column of chariots and the men afoot, Chief Fearghal raised his hand. They broke into a trot. The men behind the chariots took up a jog.
“I think—” Cullan began.
Ardahl lost whatever he said in the rattle of the carts, the passage of the cool air against his cheeks. The beating of his own heart.
He thought of Liadan. How could he do aught but think of her when she’d spent the night in his arms? Something fragile and immeasurably strong had been born between them.
He fought for her, if no one else.
As good a cause as any,said a voice at his side. His right side, away from Cullan.
He turned to find that Conall stood there. At least, it looked like Conall, in a dim, light-rimmed guise. He had his fair hair all braided up and his sword at his side. Ready for battle.
Nay, it was but a glint of his sword. For had not Ardahl himself claimed that?
A glint. A shade.
There should not be room for him in the small wicker cart, yet there he stood, as ever.
He’s a half-decent driver,Conall said, jerking his head at Cullen,but I do no’ doubt he will drive ye mad.
Not knowing how to reply, and so astonished he had to clutch the wooden bar across the front of the vehicle, Ardahl said nothing.
But he thought words at his ghostly companion.Wha’ are yet doing here?
I could no’ let ye go into a battle wi’out me, could I? Especially such a battle as this.
Will it be bad?
Aye, so. Though there will be bright spots o’ courage and valor. There usually are.
Desperate to disbelieve what he was hearing and seeing, Ardahl clutched the crossbar all the harder. In his left ear, Cullan still chattered, unaware of any extra passenger.
Ye must tell someone, Conall.
I just did.
Nay, I mean tell Dornach. Or the chief. Go and tell them this battle will be hard. Treacherous.
Conall—or his shade—shot him a look from the corners of his eyes, a look so typical it made Ardahl ache.Ye think they would believe what they canna see?
Aye—Ardahl paused in his thoughts.Nay.
Only ye can see me. We ha’ a bond. I must tell ye—
