Morag wept. Wen hunkered down beside Bradana as close as he could get and whined.
Bradana’s heart wept.
Adair lay like one already gone from her, that look of almost holy ease on his face. She could not wish him back to pain. She should not.
She did.
“Please,” she beseeched him again, and dropped a kiss into the palm of his hand, leaned forward and kissed both corners of his mouth, his blood-splashed cheeks.
His forehead.
He did not stir.
*
The healer treatedAdair’s wound. Not the one on the side of his face or the others, nearly innumerable, that marked his arms, but that most terrible one in his gut that leaked away his life’s blood. He had to do it while Bradana still clutched Adair’s hand, for she would not leave go of him.
Morag tried to coax her away, as did her grandfather. Not far, they said. Just a few steps to give the healer room.
The healer said nothing, just worked around her and continued to let her stay, which terrified her more than anything else.
The blood on Adair’s hand had now transferred to her fingers. He felt very cold. She wanted to lie down next to him, once the bandages were in place, and keep him warm the way he had kept her warm so many times—on the trail out from Kendrick’s in Alba’s wilderness. In Erin.
People came and went from the room with hushed voices. Reporting to Grandfather about what went on outside. The aftermath of the battle. Prisoners and defenses and the pursuit of those who had fled.
The words floated around Bradana, but she didn’t truly hear them. Adair continued to lie without moving. Not so much as a flicker touched his face.
Had he already gone from her? But he still breathed, calm and quiet, and the blood seeping through the clean bandages had slowed.
His heart still beat. The heart that belonged to her.
Her grandfather, his face ashen, stooped and hugged her. “Lass, I maun go out. They are asking wha’ to do wi’ Mican’s body.”
“Burn it,” she said bitterly. “It should no’ occupy the same world as Adair.”
“Aye, so.” The old man went, moving, it seemed, by sheer willpower.
Time passed. Bradana could still hear the commotion from outside. The healer changed Adair’s bandages again and had a whispered conversation with Morag, one Bradana could hear.
“I canna believe he is still wi’ us. I did no’ think it would tak’ so long.”
“He is young and strong.” Morag’s voice throbbed with grief.
“Aye, and his heartbeat sound. Mayhap, mistress, ye should convince the lass to tak’ some rest away.”
“She will not go. Not until…”
It dropped into Bradana’s heart, into her mind, what Morag meant. That she would not stir until Adair was gone.
But she could not see a world for her and her child that did not contain him.
Stay wi’ me, she beseeched him silently.
No response showed in the calm face turned toward her.
She wanted to weep. She wanted to wail. She could do nothing but hold on.
“Lass,” Morag said a while later, “come awa’ and tak’ something to eat. The women are cooking. ’Tis near morning. Come get some rest.”
