“Come here, lass. By the powers, how ye ha’ grown!”
Bradana sank down next to the bed and into the embrace of that blue gaze. The evil smell grew stronger as she approached. Aye so, it came from him.
“Grandfather. It is good to see ye. Even though—” she faltered. “Even though it pains me to find ye in such straits.”
He studied her face closely. “I ha’ been brought low by a wee illness and shall be better soon. It does a clan ill to ha’ its chief off his feet. And even more so here in Dalriada, where he maun be vigilant every moment to keep hold o’ what he owns.”
“Aye,” Bradana agreed. The old man still had his wits, at least.
“Ye just wait, granddaughter. I will soon be on my feet again.”
Bradana glanced at Morag, whose face remained calm and expressionless. She feared the man deceived himself.
“What a wonder this is,” Rohracht went on. “Ye were but a wee thing when your mother took ye from us. Will she be coming to see us?”
“I fear not, Grandfather. Her place is with Kendrick, and when I left she was great wi’ child.”
“Aye, so. She is happy, then?” He did not wait for an answer. “Sit, lass. Sit and talk wi’ me.”
Bradana did, occupying a stool Morag brought forward for her. No doubt the mistress used it herself and often. Bradana could almost see her sitting there for great stretches of time.
She spoke to her grandsire of life back home, of her two stepbrothers and the beauty of the place, though she did not mention her marriage agreement or the trouble that pursued them. Morag stood listening quietly, her hands folded at her waist.
“Ye will stay here for a time,” Rohracht said when she wound down. “Keep me company until I am well.”
“I would like that,” Bradana said, tears pricking her eyes.
“Your granddaughter has brought a harp,” Morag said quietly. “Lass, d’ye play?”
“I do.”
“Then ye must play for me,” Rohracht said. “Your grandmother played the harp, did ye know that?”
“I did not.”
“Her father was a harper, a shanachie back in Erin when I met her. She played like a goddess. And after I brought her here from Erin, difficult as life was, she claimed she could hear Alba’s music, an ancient song that made her fall in love wi’ the place. She would play for me—”
He faltered suddenly, as if under a weight of grief too heavy to bear.
“To be sure, I will play for ye, Grandfather,” Bradana told him, wondering if a measure of her grandmother’s ability had not traveled down to her, in the blood.
“Good lass.”
“As I say, Bradana has brought a companion wi’ her,” Morag said. “A young man from Erin. Ye may wish to speak wi’ him as well.”
“Mayhap, aye, when I am no’ so tired. For now, Bradana, only let me look at ye. Ye ha’ your grandmother’s eyes. Seeing ye, ’tis almost like looking at her again.”
Another love, Bradana thought, that endured beyond death and parting. She had no doubt her grandsire held great affection for Morag—who would not so value that gentle lady?
But his heart, aye, belonged to his first love.
Would it be that way for her and Adair? Loving one another forever, beyond the bounds of a single lifetime? Aye so, for it felt she’d loved him even before she met him—that moment when her world had paused before the wheel of it began to turn once again.
The aged healer, the same who had treated Adair and Wen, shuffled in through the door.
“’Tis time for your draught, Chief Rohracht.”
“Ah, we will allow your grandfather rest, lass,” said Morag quickly. “Rohracht, let your granddaughter take her rest also. She will see ye again come morning.”
