Bradana shook her head. She lay down beside Adair and wrapped an arm around him. She could feel his heart beating against her wrist. Low. Low and steady.
She slept.
She woke an unmeasured amount of time later and remembered it all in one jarring jolt that brought her upright. The man in her arms still felt cold, and at that terrible moment she was sure he had gone, slipped from her while she slept most treacherously, a victim of her own weakness and exhaustion.
But he breathed yet. So did the healer, slumped upright at some distance. And Morag, not far away.
“Adair?” she whispered, but he lay without moving. “My love.”
No response. But he had stayed with her. She tried to be grateful.
When Morag awoke and found Bradana still holding Adair’s hand, she tried once more to persuade her. “Come awa’. Ye will need to relieve yoursel’ at the very least. Tak’ something to eat and drink.”
“Aye.” Bradana turned her head and looked at the woman. “I suppose I must eat, for I am carrying his child.”
“Rohracht’s great-grandchild!” Morag gasped. “All the more reason ye maun tak’ some food. For the wee one’s sake.”
“I am afraid to leave go of him. If I do…”
“For but one moment, lass. Come.”
It took all the strength Bradana possessed to let go of Adair’s hand. To place it on his chest. To step away, her arm laced with Morag’s.
Outside, it was another day. Another time, another world. She relieved herself, which had indeed become urgent. She gazed on the damage to the settlement and wondered how it could ever be put right. She felt Alba beneath her feet.
“When did they come, the attackers?” she asked Morag.
“’Two days before ye returned. Mican had been before, ye ken, demanding Adair should be given over to him. Rohracht turned him away, saying the neither o’ ye were here, but Mican did no’ seem to believe him. Indeed, he must no’ have done. He went awa’ for many days before coming back and making the demand again. During that time, we had a messenger fro’ Kendrick, come by sea. Mican had been there also, mayhap thinking ye had taken refuge wi’ him. He told us your mam had her babe—a wee girl—and though ’twas a hard delivery, they both survived.”
“Och, I am glad,” Bradana breathed. Another daughter to perhaps provide Mam with comfort.
Morag turned her gaze away from Bradana’s face. “When next Mican came, only days ago, as I say, he again demanded the both o’ ye. Rohracht told him ye had sailed off to Erin, but he did not believe it and said he would search the settlement. That was enough to start the fight.
“We should ha’ known better than to think Mican had given up on the idea o’ revenge. Even if he had no’ found ye here, I believe he would still have taken out his ire on us instead.”
Bradana nodded, staring at the portion of food one of Morag’s women had placed in her hands. Not truly seeing it.
She needed to eat if only for the sake of Adair’s child. If she lost that part of him…
She tried to choke down a barley cake. Her stomach heaved.
Morag rubbed her back gently. “Yer man is a hero. Everyone says so. If ye had no’ arrived when ye did, all would be lost.”
And if he died, all would still be lost.
“Ye can be proud o’ that, lass.”
Proud? What good the best of warriors, if dead?
“I need to get back,” she said, and turned to the door. Only to see that Mican’s head had been nailed above it. She gasped. “I asked Grandfather to burn him, mak’ him disappear.”
“And aye, his body will be burned, lass, with the rest o’ the enemy dead.”
With a shudder, Bradana passed beneath the gory trophy.
“Your belongings ha’ been brought up from along the shingle where yer boat lies,” said Morag. “Some clothing and your clàrsach.”
Her harp.
