Adair bowed his head.
“Young man, I ha’ accepted ye as a grandson and think o’ ye as such. Have I no’ said I would like to leave this holding in your hands if—when I pass?”
“Grandfather,” Bradana answered before Adair could, “there may be no holding to leave, should Mican strike in revenge.”
“Women.” Rohracht closed his eyes and seemed to muse to himself. “They look too hard upon their fear and see not the glory.”
“There is no glory, Grandfather, in death.”
“Aye so, lass, there is if ’tis met in courage.” He opened his eyes to look at her again. “Ye ha’ plenty o’ courage, lass. And the man ye ha’ chosen possesses even more. Bear that in mind.”
“I will,” Bradana vowed. But Adair knew she focused only on getting him away. On her fear, still. “We will leave at once, as soon as we can prepare the boat.”
She embraced her grandfather and stepped to the door. Adair hesitated before he followed, bent over the bed, and took the old man’s hand in his, a hard grip.
“Forgive me,” he said.
“Lad, there is naught to forgive.”
There was. He deserted this valiant old man, when his sword should be sworn to his service. It was as simple—and as complicated—as that.
Rohracht’s eyes met his. “Remember, ye will always be welcomed back.”
Chapter Forty-Five
Unprepared for howmuch it hurt, Bradana watched the shore slip away. Not her last sight of Alba, not yet, for they must sail among the many islands—the slumbering dragons—that lay between this land and Erin. Her last glimpse, perhaps, of home.
She had been born and raised here in Dalriada, a land her Celtic ancestors considered foreign. Dark. Dangerous.
A land she loved quite desperately and was about to lose.
Tears stung her eyes. She’d been doing a lot of that lately, weeping—she, who had always prided herself on being stronger than tears. She could feel the land pulling at her, could feel those she loved calling.
Almost, almost did she tell Adair to turn around.
Wen was not happy about the small craft. The hound had never before been at sea, and he crouched at the bottom, afraid to move and panting wildly.
Neither was Adair happy. She could tell by his silence, and by what she sensed from his spirit.
He would prefer to stay here and die. She shook her head and half echoed her grandfather’s lament.Men.Reaching for some honorable glory.
She respected Adair’s wish to stand beside her grandfather. Indeed, she did. But did he not see the danger of it? That death could part the two of them—a possibility that terrified her beyond measure.
They sailed on, Adair’s hand steady at the tiller, and her heart slowly tore in two. Like a leaf borne on the silver breast of the sea, they bobbed their way along, and Adair concentrated on the task of sailing.
He did not look at her.
As inevitably, aye, as a leaf floating downstream, they journeyed toward Erin. What would it be like there? She had heard Adair’s fond descriptions during many a conversation. It seemed a kindly land of soft rains and gentle hills. It had birthed the man she adored.
Would she be welcome?
What would Adair’s father say to him, bringing home a wife when he was supposed to bring a grant of land?
She wished with sudden, deep longing that she’d been able to discover her mother’s fate before leaving. Had she delivered the babe safely? Was she well?
It struck Bradana then. She might never find out. She might never return.
She clung to the side of the small craft and craned to look back.
