“Me wee bairn needs me,” she wept, reaching for Dermot.
Sin cast a grateful look to Callie, then he took Dermot’s arm and hauled him to the small council room near the stairs.
None too gently, he sat the boy down in a chair, then went to slam the door closed.
“Wipe your face,” Sin said, his voice harsh. “If you’re man enough to lead an army into battle, then you’re man enough to sit there and not weepover it.”
Dermot wiped his ragged and torn tunic sleeve across his face, the gesture so childlike that Sin realized just what he was dealing with. At ten-and-six, he had been battle-hardened and empty. Death meant nothing to him.
But the boy before him had never known such. He’d been pampered and coddled by all of his family and clan. The little raids they had perpetrated had been meant to frighten the English and had amounted to nothing more than property damage.
Tonight had been a hard birth for Dermot.
Dermot sniffed back his tears and drew a ragged breath.
Sin softened his tone as he spoke. “Now tell me what happened.”
To his credit, Dermot pulled himself together and faced him like a man. “We went to capture Henry to use as a hostage.”
“Your brilliant plan?”
Dermot nodded. “We knew he was headed to Oxley and we’d been waiting in the valley, knowing he’d have to come through there to reach it. So we thought we would extend him our hospitality.”
“How did the fighting start?”
The boy’s lips quivered. “We stopped them and asked them to turn Henry over. They laughed at me, and the next thing I knew, the English attacked us.”
It was on the tip of his tongue to ask him how he could be so stupid as to think they would just hand over their king, but Sin withheld his caustic sarcasm.
Dermot drew another deep breath. “I tried to tell the others to run, but they wouldn’t listen. They kept yelling to kill the king. I got scared and...”
“Ran?”
He nodded. “I met Aster in the woods. He thought he could stop the others. He thought they would listen.” Tears seeped quietly from his eyes. “You bastards, you killed him.”
“Nay,” Sin said gently, “fate killed him. It wasn’t you nor I nor anyone else. You haven’t been in battle to know the mindset that takes over a soldier. The bloodlust, fear and self-preservation that knot your gut and make you do unspeakable things.”
Unfortunately, the boy knew it now.
Dermot looked up at him with a maturity that surprised him. “What am I to do? I’m dead, aren’t I?”
Sin drew a deep breath as he considered the matter. God help him, but he saw no other resolution. “Do you want me to lie to you?”
He shook his head. “How do you stand living with the knowledge of the men you have killed?”
“I honestly don’t know. I try not to think about it, but when I do, I try to rationalize it. I tell myself that had I not killed them, they would have killed me. As for the others... Again, I had no choice. Had I not done it, my life would have ended by a means that would make even an executioner have nightmares.”
Sin moved to sit on the edge of the desk, and he eyed the boy with compassion. “The cloak of leadership is a hard one to wear. But once donned, you can’t just shrug it off casually.”
“Meaning?”
“You have to bear the consequences of your decisions. Those men believed in you and followed you because they thought you were worthy of leading them. If you choose to run away from this and hide, it will be a slap to every man who was with you tonight. To every man who thought you were worth the cost of his life.”
Dermot sat quietly for a long time, thinking on those words. “I wish I could do this day over.”
“I know, lad. Many are the times I’ve had the same thought.”
Dermot met Sin’s gaze. “If you’ll let me change my clothes and wash my face, I’ll go quietly to your king.”
