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He glanced at the map. “That would take a great many marks.”
“Do you ever regret not going to the New World?”
He shrugged. “Regret is a very specific thing. The adventure of it lures, aye, but in the end, there are adventures everywhere. I had an opportunity to go, and did not choose it, so nay, I do not regret it.”
“Well, I am glad you are here,” she said lightly, as lightly as one could say she was glad her heart had come to find her body.
He tossed a card onto the table and sat back, his gaze traveling leisurely down her gown. “After all this, you’re glad I’m here?”
“I am glad.”
They smiled at each other.
“And you, sir, are you glad you met me?” She examined her cards. “After all our troubles?”
“I would die for you.”
She looked up, the blood draining from her face. “Do not say such things,” she said, then, to her horror, a tear splashed out and fell on the table.
He pushed back his chair and reached for her, pulled her around the table, down into his lap.
“Do not say such things,” she insisted. He kissed her mouth, then her cheeks, her ear. “Do not say such terrible things.” She held his face as he so often had hers. “Promise you will live for me. What does your dying serve?”
“I promise,” he said with an easy smile.
She tightened her hands around his face. “Vow it.”
“I vow it,” he said, and even as he kissed her, he was lifting her to her feet, taking her to their room.
Only later did she realize she had not asked the far more important question, Given a choice between Rardove and me, which would you choose?
CHAPTER Thirty-Eight
AODH WAS UP on the walls before dawn. The weather was gloomy to say the least. Large, smoky-black clouds patrolled the horizon like sullen sentinels. Down on the ground, the army assembled in the valley. A somber mood prevailed in-castle, a far cry from the festivities and enthusiasm of the past days.
“I think they will try a feint to the west side,” Ré was saying, pointing.
Aodh nodded. As they talked, he counted. He had almost two hundred men in-castle, likely another a hundred or so Irish allies inhabiting the woods around the castle. More Irish were coming, but it would take time to amass them. For now, Rardove was on its own.
The English army had at least five hundred.
Still, even from this distance, unease could be detected in the invaders camp: the army never settled, sentries walked the perimeter constantly, and a low hum hovered over the land.
“I set up villagers to listen for attempts to undermine the castle…”
Ré voice drifted off as he stared over Aodh’s shoulder. Aodh turned to see what had rendered his captain speechless.
Katarina was striding up to them…in armor. She had a handful of arrows clutched in her hand and a bow slung over her shoulder. Guns were strapped to her hips.
“Feeling barbaric?” he inquired as she drew up, and nodded to the weapons. And the armor. And the guns.
She smiled and tucked a few loose sprays of hair back behind her ear. “I am.”
“Katy, you should not be up here.”
“Certes I should,” she exclaimed.
He blew out a breath. “I should send you back down.”
