Page 38 of For an Exile’s Heart (Ancient Songs #2)

A fter that, Bradana’s grandsire left his chamber often, always borne in the arms of his two braw clansmen and always smiling. Sometimes he stayed in the great hall but a short while. Other times he sat long while Bradana played the harp for him and all the company. The very spirit of the settlement altered from despairing to brightly enthusiastic. Folk went about their tasks with lighter steps, paused to exchange words, and smiled. Began to carry hope in their hearts.

That Rohracht liked and approved of Adair, Bradana could have no doubt. The two of them sat and talked together long, even laughed together from time to time.

It did her enormous good to see the both of them laugh.

Not that she could fool herself. Her grandsire was very ill, no doubt dying. But new life had been breathed into him, however long it might last.

The late summer days rolled past, and here in the small settlement, cupped in the stones at the edge of the sea as if held in Alba’s protective hand, she began to forget there was a world beyond this one. A place of danger, pain, and strife.

She did think often of those she’d left at Kendrick’s holding, and worried for her mother, but it was in a strangely distant way.

She and Morag MacFee planned the handfasting with enjoyment. It was to be a simple thing, if only because the settlement could not boast much more, but like the chief’s visits to the hall, it became a welcome diversion. The women of the household, from the servants upward, threw themselves into it enthusiastically.

Morag gave Bradana the gifts of a gown that could be altered to fit her—a task that her woman, Ciari, promptly took in hand—and combs for her hair. A broad, silver-colored ribband.

“This,” Morag said, caressing it, “is the same as was used to bind your grandfather’s hand and mine, when we were joined.”

“Och,” Bradana exclaimed, “then it is precious to ye.”

“Quite precious.” Morag raised her kindly blue eyes to Bradana’s. “I would like for ye and Adair to use it.”

Profoundly touched, Bradana accepted the ribband into her hands. “I will, but only if I might return it to ye after.”

“Aye, lass. I ask ye, do no’ wait too long for this joining. Your grandfather may seem strong now, but I fear… I fear ’twill no’ last. And I do wish for him to see ye wed.”

Bradana brought that up with Adair later. She found him standing down upon the shore, where he’d made a number of friends among the young men who kept the boats and went out fishing. When she came upon him he was alone, gazing out over the silvery waters of late afternoon with an intensity that caused her a ripple of disquiet.

For what did he look? For what did he long? The land he had lost over the water? Could such a longing come between them?

He turned and smiled at her, though, when Wen, who was with her, ran up to him.

She joined them where the running tide came up, reaching for her toes.

“Adair, is all well?” Without giving him time to answer, she went on, “Why d’ye stand here so?”

He shrugged, his eyes returning to the water, and her uneasiness grew. She did not doubt she owned this man’s heart. She wanted it given free, without reservations.

“I ha’ just been thinking,” he said.

“Och, aye?” She fixed her gaze on him. “Tell me truly if ye have any doubts about our being joined. For the handfasting is all but set. ’Tis what I came to tell ye.”

That made him withdraw his gaze from the sea and the sleeping islands beyond, and focus on her. “Doubts about joining with ye? None.” He laid his hand on her back in a gesture of reassurance. “Are we no’ already joined in every way that matters? We gave one another promises, did we not? The handfasting is naught but a formality, to my mind.”

“Then ’tis well wi’ ye if it takes place tomorrow?”

“’Tis very well.”

Bradana thought furiously. She knew this man now, knew his every expression. She could feel the very ripples in his spirit. Standing here now, she willed him to speak of anything troubling him.

And he did.

“’Tis after that which concerns me, Bradana.”

“After?”

“The handfasting. I think we should embark on a wedding trip. To Erin.”

Dismay hit Bradana a fierce blow. Quietly, she said, “I thought ye liked it here.”

“I do, all too well. I like these people and the place.”

“But ’tis no’ Erin.” Where part of him did still reside. Mayhap she did not own all of his heart after all.

“It is not. But that is not why I suggest we leave. From the first, I have feared bringing trouble down on those here. If Mican comes—”

“He has not. He may not.”

Adair shook his head. “If—when—it comes to him that those here are o’ your mother’s blood, that ye may have come here to your grandsire, he will want vengeance. He will want me.”

Bradana swallowed hard, not wanting to accept the truth of it.

“Better,” Adair said almost bitterly, “if he does no’ find us here when he comes. It may keep him from destroying this place, which I dread to see.”

So too did Bradana dread such an occurrence. “You do no’ think this place has a chance of standing against him?”

“I would like to think so. The folk here are fine and courageous, your grandsire especially. But…”

“Aye.”

She did not want to leave Alba. The dark of this land and the light, the wild of it, was part of her, woven deep into her soul. Nor could she imagine parting from this man for any reason. Either course—leaving here or seeing him leave—would tear her in two.

With sorrow, he said, “I would no’ like to think my presence here caused the destruction of your grandsire’s holding. I do no’ think I could live wi’ that.”

And if he did go home to Erin—if she went with him—would she ever succeed in persuading him to return to Alba? Or would she live the rest of her life in exile?

How was it their two hearts, so deeply rooted in different lands, clung so to each other?

Starkly, she asked, “How long? How long will we stay in Erin, if I sail wi’ ye?”

“I cannot say. How long d’ye think it will take the desire for vengeance to subside in Mican’s heart?”

Forever, mayhap.

“My father will no’ be happy to see me returned without Kendrick’s promise to cede him what he owes in land, as did my two brothers before me. But if I return wi’ Kendrick’s stepdaughter…”

“He may decide to send ye back again.”

“He may.”

“I worry what might have happened at Kendrick’s holding. What befell my mother. To leave here without knowing.”

“Aye, ’tis hard.”

He stood there looking at her with his green-speckled eyes, waiting for her decision. He would not offer her lies or false assurances that they would return, if they went to Erin. For that was not the man he was.

“Let us handfast,” she told him at last. “Let us have this joyous time. Everyone is looking forward to it, Grandfather especially. Then… then will I give ye my answer.”

“Fair enough.” He walked to her and captured her hands, planted kisses in first one palm and then the other, at each corner of her mouth, each cheek, her forehead. “Remember ye but one thing, Bradana. Where one o’ us belongs, there also belongs the other.”

“Aye.” She closed her eyes against the strength of her feelings. “And ye remember the same.”

*

They were joined late the next afternoon, out in the open in front of Rohracht’s hall, where the sun shone down. Every member of the clan was in attendance. Rohracht’s men carried out his carved wooden chair, and he sat there, beaming, Morag at his side, while the holy man spoke the words and the knot was tied.

After, there was feasting, all the settlement could afford, and merriment. And Bradana, who at that moment could ask no more from life, so deep was her contentment, sat gazing about happily. This, this must be what the hall had been like when it was first raised. When Rohracht, as a young man in love with Bradana’s grandmother, had been full of life and strength. Laughter and glad voices. Love.

Could it not be so again?

Still later, alone in their quarters, she and Adair lost themselves in each other, lips sliding across skin, tongues sampling and cherishing. When she took him inside her, knowing she could never completely let him go, she banished all worry from her mind.

Think about it the morrow , she told herself when she could think at all.

Little did she know, the morrow would come with a weight of sorrow.