“I ha’ my knife,” Bradana went on, still breathless from hurrying. “But if there is to be an attack, I will no’ be caught defenseless.” Deep was that conviction, and fundamental. She would arm herself, stand with Adair, if she must.
Morag looked sick with fear. But she said, “Come. We will find something.”
Outside, the beautiful morning seemed strangely muted. People rushed about—all the men at arms with weapons on their shoulders—heading for the great hall, and women following in a hush.
Bradana and Wen followed them.
“Your grandfather will insist on getting up to fight,” Morag told Bradana as they hurried. “He was already at it when he sent me to ye.”
“He is too weak.”
“Do no’ let him hear ye say that. Come.”
At the hall, Morag veered and led Bradana around the side to a dusty room clearly used for storage. Here they found weapons—swords and spears, axes and shields—many of them broken. Indeed, one of the men ran in while they stood there, looked startled to see them, and grabbed a sword and shield before darting out again.
Bradana began to search through the weaponry. She doubted she could manage both a sword and a heavy shield. But she would be cursed rather than stand helpless.
“Come,” she told Morag, barely noticing that the woman also snatched up a weapon.
Back at the front of the hall, Rohracht had emerged with Adair at his side. The old man wore his light armor and looked pale and unsteady, but determined.
Bradana ran to him. “Grandfather? Is it certain ’tis Mican who comes?”
“Aye.”
“Mayhap he wishes only to talk. It may no’ mean battle.”
Her grandsire looked at her, blue eyes clear in his set face. “If we can kill him now, we may set his clan back on its heels and remove the threat.”
Bradana fell back a step. Her gentle grandfather’s leap to aggression hit her hard.
She looked at Adair and saw the regret in his eyes. Sudden fear convulsed her heart. They’d not been married a day—need she face losing him?
She asked, “Must this go to battle?”
“Unless ye can convince your grandsire to let us leave, and spare all here.”
Rohracht laid his hand on Bradana’s arm. “This, as I ha’ told him, granddaughter, I will no’ do. I see ye be armed. Ye fight wi’ us?”
He must be mad, Bradana thought fleetingly. But no madder than she.
“I do.”
Rohracht gave a nod. Supported by one of his men, he moved forward.
Adair took his place at Bradana’s side. “I do no’ suppose there is any sense in asking ye to fall back?”
“Nay. Adair, can we win this?”
“By what the guards say, Mican has come wi’ only a small force now. If your grandfather’s intention is to run him off, we may prevail.”
“He will never survive a battle.”
“Nay. That is why I must stand for him.” Adair turned and looked Bradana full in the eyes. A look of regret it was, and promise. “My love, I would no’ have traded this time with ye for any amount o’ riches. If I am to fall—”
“Nay!”
“—know that I will find ye. I will find ye again in spirit. If no’ in this lifetime, then in the next.”
