Page 12 of For an Exile’s Heart (Ancient Songs #2)

V oices interrupted Bradana’s sleep, partly muffled and accompanied by a burst of laughter. She opened her eyes to the close dark of her sleeping chamber. Morning had not yet arrived, yet someone—quite clearly not the guard—bumped along outside the dun.

She’d been sleeping quite well up to this point, better than she’d expected. She thought she might lie long thinking about all that had passed between her and Adair, might flail and struggle over the impossibility of what she felt for him. But she’d dropped off instead to the memory of him holding her hand, and dreamed of the two of them lying together so in a far-distant place, fingers twined, hearts yearning.

Now she thought she recognized her stepbrothers’ voices.

Accursed fools , she thought. They must have sat up late drinking and bragging with their friends, as they tended to do, and be on their way back to their beds. Kendrick would not be pleased if he found out.

She rose at the bidding of her annoyance, went out into the corridor and to the nearest door. Wen followed her, his great head cocked and a growl sounding low in his throat.

The night air struck cool against her body, clad only in a thin sleeping gown. She could see the settlement mostly asleep, and the forms of two men, little more than shadows, moving past her.

She was about to step back and return to bed when Wen ran out, the growl increasing to a rumble.

“Wen? Come back.”

Rarely did the hound disobey her, but he did so now, heading off around the side of the dun and down the slope toward the shore.

She should not follow. She wore too few garments and, as the sky had clouded over, could barely see her way. But the hound’s behavior worried her, and a bad feeling rose from the ground upward.

“Wen? Wait for me.”

A dark gray hound was not easy to follow on a dim night. He’d stopped growling, so she could not track him by the sound. She caught mere glimpses. A hint of fur, the plume of his great tail.

They went down the path to the shore and bore right along where the men worked to repair their watercraft and sometimes gathered to drink. It grew cooler as she met the air off the water, and she shivered.

With both cold and foreboding.

Wen stopped so suddenly, she almost fell over him. He began to whine and nose about the supplies stacked along the shore above the waterline. Piles of skins and bent hazel for making curraghs. Spars and sails.

“Foolish hound, what is it? Come awa’ back to bed.”

Wen ran back to her before darting forward, his message clear. Dread flooded through her and pooled in her gut. She stood and listened but could hear nothing besides the hiss of the waves and the tumbling of the pebbles.

We are like two o’ these pebbles cast up on the shore.

She moved behind the stacks of broken wood, trying to spare her bare feet as much as she could. Wen whined and snuffled around a dark shape lying there.

Bradana swore, invoking the gods, for perhaps it was a prayer.

He lay in a heap, huddled on his side, but she knew him. Even before she touched him, she did. In an instant, she was on her knees and sweeping the hair out of his face.

Blood. The first thing she saw. A sob rose to her throat even as she sought to turn him over onto his back so she might get a better look.

“Help me.” A definite prayer now. “Help me help him.”

Wen heard and came to her assistance. Between them, they nudged Adair over onto his back. Bradana caught her breath.

Blood on his forehead and in his hair. His face had been battered. She could see little more but did not doubt his body had suffered similar treatment.

Two of them against one—or more of them, if Toren and Kerr had enlisted the help of their friends. Drunk, no doubt.

“Adair? Can ye hear me?”

No response. She clasped one of his hands and lifted it. The fingers were also battered and bloody. He’d given as good as he got. Mayhap, she hoped, the connection between them would recall him from wherever he’d gone.

But nay. No response yet. Was he breathing? Dead?

She leaned close. A hint of breath fanned her cheek. “Adair, please.”

What to do? She certainly could not lift him or drag him up the slope. To try might cause further injuries. She needed to go for help, even though everything within her protested leaving him.

“Wen, guard.”

She scrambled up, her intention to run back up to the dun. She thought better of it, though. Adair’s own men were closer.

She ran along the shore, no longer noticing the bite of the cold air or the pebbles against her feet. Adair’s men were camped along by their boat. She found them sleeping soundly.

“Come,” she called, and they sat up, groggy. “Your master is hurt. He needs ye.”

They followed her back along the shore, with her explaining breathlessly as they went.

“He’s been waylaid and beaten. Did ye hear naught?” Such a struggle would not have been silent.

“Nay, mistress.”

Wen stood over Adair, who now lay sprawled on his back like a man slain. Indeed, Bradana had to bend down and once more assure herself he still breathed.

They went in a terrible train, Bradana first, the two men carrying Adair, and Wen behind. Bradana led them straight into the great hall, where she lit the torches, making no attempt to keep quiet.

Kendrick and Tavia both came, Mam with her hair hanging down and Kendrick gasping in disbelief.

“Wha’ is this?” he asked.

“The handiwork o’ your sons. Ye had better hope they ha’ no’ killed him.”

Kendrick stared in horror from the beaten man to Bradana’s face. “How d’ye know this was the work o’ Kerr and Toren?”

“Because I heard them on their way home from it.”

Kendrick turned to his wife. “Ha’ the servant bring the healers as quick as ye can.”

*

Adair came to even before the healer arrived, while Mam was making a bed there beside the fire, and his men eased him down onto it. He regained his senses, swearing, but Bradana didn’t care. She was far too relieved to see him with his eyes open.

One eye open, that was. The other had already started to swell shut.

Improper as it was, Bradana went down on her knees beside him.

“Adair? Adair, d’ye know me?”

“Aye.”

She wanted to reach for his hand, ached to reestablish the connection they’d shared on the shore. But Kendrick was there and her mam, and Adair’s men. All hung about with worried faces. And she dared not let them see…

Kendrick moaned, “If this be the truth, that my sons ha’ done this, ’tis a terrible breach o’ honor.”

Bradana tipped up her face and looked at him. “Honor? Ye are worried for that?”

Kendrick turned to the nearest servant, several of whom had entered the room. “Go bring my sons.”

Bradana puffed out a breath. If this kept up, the hall would be crowded. “By the gods,” she said, “let the healer see him first.”

“I am all right,” Adair murmured.

He was not, though Bradana hesitated to argue it. The power of what gripped her—a kind of protective wildness—shocked her. At that moment she would have fought ten marauders to keep him safe.

Instead, she looked at him. “What happened?”

Adair clearly had trouble speaking, one side of his mouth torn and bloody, the other swollen. “I was walking. Before bed. Thinking.” His gaze met Bradana’s, and she knew exactly what he’d been thinking about. “They waylaid me.”

“Who?” Kendrick asked.

Before he could answer, the healer came hurrying in. He nudged Kendrick, Bradana, and Wen aside and performed a grim inspection.

“Ye’ll live, young master. Pray,” he told the rest of them, “gi’ me some room.” And to the servants, “I will need water, warm if possible.”

Mam already had the fire lit. The rest of them moved to the door, where the cold air spilled in.

“Ye found him?” Kendrick asked Bradana.

“Wen and I did.”

“How?”

“I heard Kerr and Toren returning from…doing that. Wen led me down to the shore.”

“Ye be certain ’twas Kerr and Toren?”

“I do no’ doubt Adair will tell ye so himsel’ when he is able.”

“Why would my sons do such a treacherous thing?”

“Ye know full well why. They are sick of relations turning up from over the water to take their lands. They wanted to make sure he’d go home.”

“Still and all.”

“They left him there in his blood.” To die? Bradana did not know. Adair was young and strong. Still, it was a shameful deed. “There behind the scraps o’ wood and all where the boats are repaired. He might no’ have been found till morning.”

“Aye, well. Your hound saw to that.”

Would Kendrick have been happier if his nephew had perished? Bradana could not tell. No doubt it would have solved a problem for him.

And hatched out another with his relations over the water.

The healer, with the help of one of Adair’s men, was shifting him on his makeshift bed. Bradana fought the desire to return to his side.

Blood on his hair. On his hands. A muffled groan.

“Father, wha’ is it?” As soon as Toren came in the door, closely followed by Kerr, Bradana knew he meant to play at innocence. She sneered inwardly.

“Where ha’ ye been?” Kendrick demanded.

“In our beds.” Toren peered past them into the hall. “What is happening, then?”

“Our guest has fallen foul o’ someone.”

“Ye do no’ say. Is he all right?”

“Has he accused us?” Kerr asked.

Bradana rolled her eyes and snorted. “Look at their hands. ’Twill tell the tale.”

Kendrick towed his sons outside, followed by Bradana and Wen. There he inspected their hands. Even by the dim light, the torn and bloodied knuckles could be seen. Both of them also carried abrasions to their faces, and Kerr’s cheek had begun to swell.

Kendrick nearly spat with aggravation. “What were ye thinking? We are under a geis of hospitality.”

“He needs to go,” Toren said.

“Aye so, but no’ wrapped in a shroud. His father is a powerful chief back in Erin. D’ye want him and a force o’ men here wi’ an axe to grind?”

“Nay.” Toren remained sullen. “But we will no’ lose our lands to him.”

“Get out o’ my sight,” Kendrick said in disgust. “Let me try to put this right.”

His sons left with alacrity. Kendrick went back inside, but Bradana stood for a moment, drinking in the cool air.

Adair would live. Precisely why that mattered so much to her, she could not tell. But it did, och aye, it did.