Dark land. Wild land.Remember me.
All too soon, the last glimpses of the mainland and then the islands slipped from sight. Naught but silver water surrounded them. The light began to fade, hanging bright to the north, like a glow of promise. She slept, curled in the bottom of the boat beside her hound.
The next she knew, gentle hands lifted her. The soft dark of summer lay all around. The craft had come to rest at a pier made of stones, and Adair urged her up.
“Come, love—we are home.”
Home.
*
A wealth ofsensations flooded Adair when his feet met his native soil. Relief. A powerful sense of homecoming. Regret. His thoughts had been much, during their water journey, with those he’d left behind.
Mayhap Bradana was right. It was possible if Mican came in force looking for them, he would spare his aging neighbor at finding they were gone.
Or he might crush Rohracht out of thwarted anger and spite.
Something deep within Adair—so deep he barely recognized it—protested that. From whence sprang this incipient warrior in him?
No matter now. Erin extended her green arms to welcome him. Bradana was exhausted and her hound miserable. He needed to get them settled ashore.
They would stay here at the coast for the rest of the night. Morning would be soon enough to make the lengthy walk home. Then there would be explanations for his father. A place to make for himself. It was one thing being a carefree third son. Quite another being a man with a wife to support.
He had left Erin one man, and returned another.
He requested beds for the night from the man who had originally sent him, Nolan, and Flynn on their journey to Alba. So weary and bewildered was Bradana that as he helped her to the rough lodging, she asked, “Is this your home?”
“Nay, we must travel some distance inland. We will be there by midday the morrow.”
Indeed, they were all of them feeling the effects of their ordeal. As they crept—or in Wen’s case, limped—to their humble beds, Adair could think of little beyond holding Bradana for the night. And indeed, as sooner as their heads hit their borrowed blanket, they slept.
Morning came all too soon, the kind of soft, milky morning Adair imagined so often when he thought of Erin. Their host’s wife packed them a breakfast for the road, and Adair looked Bradana in the eye before they departed.
“Are ye fit for this walk? ’Twill take us most the morning, but ’tis a good road all the way home.”
She nodded, but looked uncertain.
He wished he might borrow a pony to make the way easier for her, but the men on the shore, who dealt mainly in boats, had none to spare. The sun came up behind them as they walked, and the scents Adair loved surrounded him. His heart settled within him, and some of his worry calmed.
It sprang back to life, though, as they breasted the last hill and followed the trail down into his father’s settlement. Never had it looked better to his eyes.
How would Bradana see it, though? Old and established, no doubt. Larger than either her stepfather’s or grandsire’s holding.
She did not say much. He held her hand, though, so he felt her tense.
Members of Father’s guard came running and, recognizing Adair, broke into wide smiles. After an exchange of words and some frankly curious looks for Bradana, they were walked on.
Someone must have gone running to Adair’s father, for Gawen himself came walking down from the great hall with Baen at his side. Baen spoke furiously to Gawen as they approached. Aye, Baen would recognize Bradana.
“Son!” Gawen called out even before they met. “’Tis well to see ye returned. Have ye good news for me?”
Before Adair could answer, his father raked his eyes over their ragged band, taking in the woman and the hound. “I see ye return wi’out your men—but no’ alone.”
“Father. This is my wife, Bradana. Stepdaughter to Kendrick MacCaigh.”
“Wife?” Father shot a look at Baen.
“Aye, so. Father, there is much to tell, and our party is fatigued. I pray ye let us find rest, food, and drink before I tell my tale.”
