Page 36 of For an Exile’s Heart (Ancient Songs #2)

W ell scrubbed and wearing clean clothing, with her hair untangled and plaited at great cost in pain, Bradana followed her step-grandmother into the alcove at the rear of the hall. The place where her grandsire lay.

The space smelled of many things. Tinctures and medicines. The herbs that had been scattered on the floor in an effort no doubt to sweeten the air. And something much worse that lay beneath it all.

Bradana’s gaze moved to the figure on the sleeping bench. When last she’d seen her grandsire, he’d been tall and vigorous with eyes as blue as her own, and a son—her Uncle Darroch—to match him.

Now she tried to weigh that image against the new impressions coming at her. The white head on the bolster. The face that had once been strong and handsome, deeply creased by pain.

“Rohracht?” Morag said. “Only look who has come. ’Tis your granddaughter, Bradana.”

“Eh?”

“Your granddaughter.”

“Bradana?” He fought his way up in the bed, gazing at Bradana in some surprise. Morag hurried to help him. “Granddaughter, is my daughter also here?”

“Nay, Grandfather.” Bradana moved forward softly, distressed to see him in such a state. “She is with Kendrick yet.”

Well enough, Bradana hoped, though she could not dismiss the memory of that last image. Had Mother birthed the baby early?

“I brought you this, to prove who I am.” In her hand she had tucked the blue brooch Mother had given her before her marriage, and now she held it out. Surely he would recognize it.

His blue eyes came up to meet hers. He smiled. “Lass, I ha’ no need to look at that. Ye ha’ the look o’ her about ye—yer mam, I mean.”

In her calm voice, Morag said, “Bradana has traveled far wi’ a companion to see ye.”

Bradana flicked a look at the woman. Aye, so, Morag did not wish her to worry the man.

“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.”

“Aye, Grandfather, I will.” Bradana smiled at the old man in the bed. “And I will bring my harp.”

*

She and Adair were given a sleeping place together, proving that Morag did indeed understand the nature of their relationship. Full as Bradana’s mind was when they retired to it, she did not think it would take her long to succumb to the comfort of such a place after their days of sharing a ragged blanket on the ground.

Indeed, she could ask very little more than to be lying in the dark beneath a secure roof with a full belly and Wen stretched out beside her—holding Adair’s hand in the dark.

Yet for a short while, she could not stop talking. She told Adair about her encounter with her grandfather and lamented the misfortunes here, the death of her uncle and his son that rendered the holding all too vulnerable.

“If my grandsire dies— when he dies,” she corrected herself carefully, “I do no’ doubt Mican will move in. ’Tis what he is waiting for, no doubt.”

Adair said nothing, just lay with his fingers laced through hers.

“Grandfather told me my grandmother’s sire was a shanachie in Erin. And she played the harp, just like me.”

“Well, is that no’ a wonder? A gift, the things that come down through the blood.”

“Just what I thought.” Bradana turned her face to him there in the dark, even though she could not see him well. “Did ye mean what ye said back there, to Mistress MacFee?”

“What did I say?”

“That if she would give ye the lend o’ a boat, ye would be awa’ back there, to Erin.” She could not keep the agony from her voice. “Would ye leave me?”

“I said we would be awa’ to Erin.”

“But Alba is my home. Its music runs through my blood.”

“Love, I did no’ say we would stay there forever. Just to take refuge for a time, until the strife here may die down.”

And if he returned to the land he loved, would he ever agree to leave there again?

He raised the hand he held to his lips and planted a kiss there. “Do no’ fret for it now. Let us take some rest while we may.”

He gathered her in his arms and she melted against him, unable to resist the warmth of the emotions that united them.

But a black cloud remained hanging on her horizon.