“Enough!” Gawen cried. He focused angry, disappointed eyes on Adair. The disappointment, Adair found the harder of the two to bear. “I did not say ye are not welcome here. But what to do now? Kendrick will be furious wi’ us—the very man who owes me a share of land. This Mican—a powerful chief, by the sound o’ it—will make naught but an enemy if we do achieve a settlement there.”
“I have good relations with Bradana’s grandsire.”
“An old man teetering on the edge o’ death, by the sound o’ it, and one whose holding may well be under attack also. Son, I despair o’ ye.”
He had, so it seemed, fully expected Adair to return in full triumph. For him to prove his worth. Adair’s heart sank.
“Perhaps,” he said steadily, “’tis best Daerg achieve his own lands. Perhaps ’tis best if I do also.”
“Ye, with what army?” Baen growled. “Did your time in Dalriada teach ye naught? It is a hard land, and all that here in Erin is held by old men.”
Gawen glanced at him. “Who are ye calling old? Adair, get out o’ my sight. Go back to wasting your time wi’ your friends and learning to play songs upon your harp.”
“I have a wife now. There will be no more playing at games.”
Gawen lifted a brow. “Then what d’ye intend to do?”
“I thought,” Adair said, surprising even himself, “I might work at training the men for the field.” In Alba, his sword had felt remarkably strong and sure in his hand. “Perhaps work wi’ the lads coming up.” It felt right, that notion, like the echo of something known long ago.
“Surely,” Baen said, “that is Daerg’s place.”
“Daerg is no warrior,” Adair returned.
“And ye be that?” Baen shot back.
“Mayhap so.”
“Och well,” Gawen said, “if that is your choice. Go now and tend your stolen bride.”
Not stolen, Adair thought angrily as he left the hall and walked out into the quiet morning. Meant for him, if ever anything was.
She’d merely been awaiting him there in Alba. Spending her time till he could find her. Till they could complete one another’s lives.
That was what mattered. Not his father’s disappointment or his brother’s attempt to cast disfavor.
Yet the very fabric of his world had changed. The whole time he’d been away, a part of him had longed for Erin. For his life here. For the beautiful hills, the soft rains, the glorious afternoons. A piece of his heart had remained here all the while.
Now his place here felt…well, sullied.
He would change that, though. He would work hard and earn a place. He could do that for Bradana’s sake.
He would show her this land he loved, and they would both be at home in Erin.
Chapter Forty-Seven
Bradana lay onher back in the bed and stared up at the rafters of the hut, trying to number the days since she’d left Alba. She failed, for her mind had fallen into confusion. It might be ten days. It might be a fortnight. She’d spent so much of the time sleeping, she could not tell.
Sleep had become her refuge and her means of hiding what she felt from Adair. He had done his best to make her feel welcome here. He had taken her and Wen on long treks over the land, sharing his love of this place. He had introduced her to his friends. He had taken her to dinner in the great hall.
She did not feel welcomed. Not by Adair’s father, the chief, and not by his brothers, both of whom she remembered far too well from their visits to Alba.
Alba.
The place haunted her. She dreamed of it at night and thought she was there again, striding over the hills or gazing out at the sea. She longed for the place during the day, even when for the sake of pity she took Wen out on her own and began, aye, to appreciate the beauties of Adair’s land.
She could not let Adair know. Could not tell him how the longing for home beset her, like a sickness. He exerted himself each day working in the field, making a place here for them both. She admired him for that and determined she would support him in it.
But it left her and Wen much alone. Lonely.
