Page 40 of For an Exile’s Heart (Ancient Songs #2)

“I need a weapon,” Bradana croaked as she finished dressing and bundled her hair into a hasty knot. Adair had gone out ahead of her to join Grandfather, but Morag had lingered, twisting her hands in her smock and looking distraught.

Wen, also still with Bradana, stared up at her and whined.

“I ha’ my knife,” Bradana went on, still breathless from hurrying. “But if there is to be an attack, I will no’ be caught defenseless.” Deep was that conviction, and fundamental. She would arm herself, stand with Adair, if she must.

Morag looked sick with fear. But she said, “Come. We will find something.”

Outside, the beautiful morning seemed strangely muted. People rushed about—all the men at arms with weapons on their shoulders—heading for the great hall, and women following in a hush.

Bradana and Wen followed them.

“Your grandfather will insist on getting up to fight,” Morag told Bradana as they hurried. “He was already at it when he sent me to ye.”

“He is too weak.”

“Do no’ let him hear ye say that. Come.”

At the hall, Morag veered and led Bradana around the side to a dusty room clearly used for storage. Here they found weapons—swords and spears, axes and shields—many of them broken. Indeed, one of the men ran in while they stood there, looked startled to see them, and grabbed a sword and shield before darting out again.

Bradana began to search through the weaponry. She doubted she could manage both a sword and a heavy shield. But she would be cursed rather than stand helpless.

“Come,” she told Morag, barely noticing that the woman also snatched up a weapon.

Back at the front of the hall, Rohracht had emerged with Adair at his side. The old man wore his light armor and looked pale and unsteady, but determined.

Bradana ran to him. “Grandfather? Is it certain ’tis Mican who comes?”

“Aye.”

“Mayhap he wishes only to talk. It may no’ mean battle.”

Her grandsire looked at her, blue eyes clear in his set face. “If we can kill him now, we may set his clan back on its heels and remove the threat.”

Bradana fell back a step. Her gentle grandfather’s leap to aggression hit her hard.

She looked at Adair and saw the regret in his eyes. Sudden fear convulsed her heart. They’d not been married a day—need she face losing him?

She asked, “Must this go to battle?”

“Unless ye can convince your grandsire to let us leave, and spare all here.”

Rohracht laid his hand on Bradana’s arm. “This, as I ha’ told him, granddaughter, I will no’ do. I see ye be armed. Ye fight wi’ us?”

He must be mad , Bradana thought fleetingly. But no madder than she.

“I do.”

Rohracht gave a nod. Supported by one of his men, he moved forward.

Adair took his place at Bradana’s side. “I do no’ suppose there is any sense in asking ye to fall back?”

“Nay. Adair, can we win this?”

“By what the guards say, Mican has come wi’ only a small force now. If your grandfather’s intention is to run him off, we may prevail.”

“He will never survive a battle.”

“Nay. That is why I must stand for him.” Adair turned and looked Bradana full in the eyes. A look of regret it was, and promise. “My love, I would no’ have traded this time with ye for any amount o’ riches. If I am to fall—”

“Nay!”

“—know that I will find ye. I will find ye again in spirit. If no’ in this lifetime, then in the next.”

She had no chance to reply. Two members of the guard came running, both sweating heavily and looking grim.

“They come!”

“Aye.” Rohracht stepped forward. “Then let us meet them.”

*

“Rohracht MacFee!” Mican bawled out as he and his band of men approached, escorted by members of Rohracht’s guard. None of them looked happy, and Bradana wondered if there had already been a scuffle between the two forces. The MacGillean men led their ponies, and several of them—for she hastily numbered them at nearly a score—rested their hands on their weapons.

Rohracht called out, his voice sounding reedy despite his best efforts, “Wha’ are ye doing, Mican MacGillean, on my land? Ye be no’ welcome here.”

Mican scowled. He wore an embittered expression, all too visible in the clear morning light, still more heavily lined than when Bradana had glimpsed him in the forest. His eyes scanned the group that had come out to meet him—visibly frail Rohracht with his guard gathered around him. But Bradana had pulled Adair a step behind. Mican did not at once see them.

“I ha’ business wi’ ye,” Mican called, “and wish to talk.”

Bradana’s heart leaped. Mayhap they could avoid a battle.

But her grandsire called back, “I ha’ naught to say to ye. We were allies once. Your father and I both founded our holdings here in Dalriada within years o’ each other. Since his death, ye ha’ turned on us and striven to take my lands. Your son killed my grandson. So ye can turn yoursel’ right around and begone.”

“My son, Earrach, is dead.”

“Aye, so, death comes to us all in the end.”

“’Tis my belief ye ha’ something I want—Earrach’s killer. We ha’ tracked him here. And I believe he is wi’ your granddaughter. Turn the bastard over to me and we shall go awa’ without dealing ye any harm.”

“Naught is here but belongs here wi’ me.” Rohracht’s voice now sounded steady, but from where Bradana stood behind him, she could see him trembling with strain.

How long could the valiant old man last?

Beside her, Adair stood stiff and tense, his arm like iron beneath her fingers. She clutched him in order to hold him back, even though she knew she could not for long.

Mican scanned the crowd again, catching sight of something that interested him. “That hound—I know that hound. It belongs to yer granddaughter.”

Bradana shifted and, too late, sought to draw Wen back by the scruff of his neck.

“If my granddaughter be here,” Rohracht called, “wha’ is it to ye?”

“I want the Erin-born whoreson who is in her company.”

Before Bradana could prevent it, Adair stepped forward. He did it deliberately, and took his place beside Rohracht, standing straight and tall.

“Here I be. Wha’ would ye have of me? I battled and took down your son in a fair fight, Mican MacGillean. Have ye so little honor, ye would now come grumping and whining over it?”

Mican’s gaze fastened to Adair, and even across the space that separated them, Bradana could see the rage engulf him.

“No’ a fair fight!” he seethed. “Ye got between my son and his betrothed, where ye had no business to be.”

“I will no’ stand by and watch a man abuse a woman, especially one who wants no part o’ him.”

Mican sneered. “And one ye wanted for yerself. I suppose ye ha’ had her now, and filthy she is from it. I ha’ no interest in her, but I want yer blood.”

Adair spread his hands. They were empty, his sword now thrust through the loop at his belt. “Then take me.”

Sickness roiled in Bradana’s gut. She stepped forward also. “But ye will ha’ to fight me to get him.”

For an instant, Mican looked like he wanted to laugh. Before he could, Rohracht said, “And me.”

“And me.” The man at Rohracht’s side.

“And me.”

“And me!”

Other members of the guard stepped up.

An ugly look transformed Mican’s face into a scowl. He drew his sword. The sound of it whispering forth was followed by that of his men following suit.

They teetered on the edge of a battle. Of death. To the root of her soul, Bradana knew this beautiful morning could be torn asunder in violence and blood.

She heard herself say, “Tak’ me instead.”

Everyone there stared at her, including Adair, who stood so close she could feel his heat and his emotions.

“Nay,” he said, low.

“Nay,” Mican said. “’Tis no’ ye I want.” He pointed at Adair with his sword. “His head will decorate my hall before the sun goes down this night.”

Adair drew his sword, which made no sound.

Bradana took another swift step forward. “’Twas I who refused your son and broke the marriage agreement,” she told Mican fiercely, “and I who should pay the price. Take me wi’ ye. Punish me as ye will. Leave my grandsire’s lands alone.”

Better that, so her heart cried within her, than those she loved should pay a high price. Her grandfather who could barely stand. His people who had welcomed them so warmly.

Adair.

She lived to be with him, but she would sacrifice herself a hundred times over rather than see him fall in a shower of blood.

“Bradana, nay.” He stepped forward also and laid his hand on her wrist. She could feel the ties that bound them—spiritual ties far older than the ones that had united them yesterday.

“Let me do this,” she whispered to him. “Pray, let me.”

“Nay!” He sought to step between her and Mican’s group of men. But Mican watched her closely and a cruel look came to his eyes.

“Well so, Erinman, will ye let a woman fight yer honor battle for ye?”

“I will not.” Adair raised his sword. “I challenge ye to combat here and now. The two o’ us one against the other.”

For a moment longer, Mican stood, his men all watching him, before he said. “Later, mayhap. I shall return for ye. But first, aye, I will tak’ yer woman as ye took my son, and she shall suffer for her treachery. She shall suffer well.”

“Nay!” Adair yelled, and leaped forward. The whole of Rohracht’s company leaped with him as one, but Bradana evaded them all save Wen, who stuck to her side.

Filled with equal parts raw fear and determination, she stepped to Mican, who promptly seized her by the arm and raised his blade to her throat, even as the nearest of his men wrested her borrowed sword from her hand.

Wen growled and Mican kicked at him. “Get this beast awa’ from me or I will kill him.”

Bradana begged her beloved hound, “Wen—go.” She raised her gaze to Adair’s face. Never had she beheld such agony. All his love came rushing at her in that moment. Hers for him kept her still in Mican’s grasp.

Let me do this for ye , she begged him silently. My love, my love.

Aloud she called, “Hold, Wen! Please!”

“Granddaughter!” Rohracht bellowed, clearly distraught. Mican kicked at the snarling hound again and backed away, hauling Bradana with him. His men closed around them.

“Bradana!” Adair called in turn, and came leaping forward. The beautiful morning erupted in bloodshed.