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“Do ye also remember the scratches it gave ye for yer troubles?” Mairi asked. “Ye were covered head to toe with them; it took ye weeks to heal.”
Chrisdean knew precisely where Mairi was taking the conversation, and he shook his head softly.
“Mairi . . . ye ken that I canna send them there alone,” Chrisdean said, even if they wouldn’t be alone, even if they would all have each other. “Forgive me, but I must go with them. I must. And . . . and for everythin’ else, I can only ask ye to forgive me, as weel.”
“What else?” Mairi asked, her brow pleating.
“For bein’ so absorbed in my work,” Chrisdean said. “For forgettin’ to talk to ye, for . . . for always bein’ busy with somethin’ else. For not always bein’ there.”
Mairi sighed, shaking her head as she smiled at Chrisdean. She grabbed his hand once more, this time clasping it tightly between her own. “Ye’re a silly lad,” she said, her voice fonder than he had heard it in a long time. “Ye dinna need to tell me anythin’ for me to ken. Even when ye’re busy, even when the world is goin’ so fast that ye dinna think it can stop . . . even when ye’re angry with me or yer pain takes away yer words . . . even then, I always ken.”
Chrisdean didn’t want Mairi to see him cry, and so he blinked back the tears that threatened to spill from his eyes, glancing away from her. For a long time, neither spoke, and Chrisdean was grateful that she seemed to understand that silence was preferable to any words they could exchange.
He had never doubted Mairi’s love for him but knowing that she didn’t doubt his love for her had lifted a weight off his shoulders.
In the end, though, Chrisdean had to break the pleasant, comfortable silence that had grown between them, no matter how much he wished that he could enjoy Mairi’s comfort for much longer.
“I must speak to Brock,” he said, much to Mairi’s chagrin. She didn’t want him to try and convince Brock to take him along, but Chrisdean had to. “I must. I willna rest until I ken that they willna leave without me.”
“Yer father was as stubborn as ye are, ye ken,” Mairi said with a heavy sigh. “I’d say I wish ye’d be more like yer maither, but yer maither was just as stubborn as him. It’s na wonder that ye came out like this.”
“If I wasna here to keep ye on yer toes, then yer life would be dull,” Chrisdean pointed out.
“And if ye werena always keepin’ me on me toes, perhaps I could sleep at night.”
Mairi’s words were like another stab, and the guilt that Chrisdean had managed to quiet down was coming back at full force. “I dinna want ye to worry,” he said. “I ken that ye will, na matter what I say, but I’m the Laird of this clan, Mairi. It’s me duty to fight with me men, and it’s me duty to die with them if it comes to it. That’s how it is. Ye dinna tell Brock to stay home, do ye?”
“I’d think ye’d have more sense than Brock,” Mairi said. “I never try to keep ye here, Chrisdean. Only when ye’re severely injured. What good will ye be to them?”
Chrisdean shook his head. He knew that the two of them would never come to an agreement about it, and he didn’t see a reason to fight. He didn’t want to upset Mairi even more.
“I’m fine,” he assured her, and he had lost track of how many times he had said the same thing to her, and so often it had been a lie. “Ye were sayin’ the same thing when I was younger, when I first became the Laird. Ye didna want me to go anywhere!”
“Ye were too young,” Mairi said, still holding onto her opinion years later. “Ye may na be young noo, but ye need rest. Ye need to recover.”
“I’m fine.”
Chrisdean hissed the words through his teeth, and Mairi didn’t argue with him that time. She must have been tired of fighting him, Chrisdean thought, tired of insisting when she knew that he wouldn’t change his mind.
“Verra weel,” Mairi said. “I’ll leave Brock to deal with ye, then. Perhaps he’ll be able to talk some sense into ye. But first, I’ll call the healer, have him take a look at yer wounds.”
Chrisdean nodded. He needed something to dull the pain, and he wanted to stand and walk, stretch his legs, but he wouldn’t do so without the healer’s approval. He wanted to make sure that he rested as much as he could before he left with Brock and his men so that he would be in the best possible shape to fight.
“Where’s Nimue?” Mairi asked as she stood and headed for the door. “I thought the lass wouldna leave yer side yesterday.”
“Ye havena seen her?” Chrisdean asked with a small frown. “She went to bring me some herbs last night, but I havena seen her since then. Perhaps she’s still asleep.”
“Aye, I’ll see if I can find her,” Mairi said. “I’m sure she’ll want to ken that ye’re awake.”
“Thank ye, Mairi,” Chrisdean said, just as she opened the door to leave. “And dinna be too angry with me.”
The look Mairi gave him was a stern one, but she couldn’t stop the fondness from bleeding into it. It made Chrisdean smile and then laugh as she slammed the door in retaliation.
His laugh soon turned into a cough, his wound burning with every puff of breath. He knew that riding would be difficult with that wound on his side, let alone fighting. He would be slower and weaker, and the pain would stop him from using his sword to its full potential, but he had trained himself well and for a long time. He had to believe that no matter his injuries, he was still a better fighter than any man in the English army.
He had to believe it; otherwise, his fear for his own life would stop him from joining his men.
Chrisdean pushed his own worries and the worries that Mairi had voiced out of his mind. It wasn’t the time for worries, he told himself.
It was time for revenge.
