Page 42 of For an Exile’s Heart (Ancient Songs #2)

T rue, raw fear did not set in until Mican had hauled Bradana up on his pony with him and ridden away. Up till that moment she’d been so focused on saving Adair, on doing whatever she must to avoid a battle that could cost his—or her grandsire’s—life, she’d spared no actual thought for herself. Had no room for it.

Now, though, galloping headlong farther and farther away from those she loved, she looked squarely at what she’d done, and the terror came rushing in.

She would do the same over again, aye, to spare the man she loved. Only now she had to deal with the consequences.

Could she get away?

She did not think so. Up on Mican’s pony with him, held as close to him as could be with his arm across her chest like an iron bar, she could barely breathe. The hurried gait of the pony made every jog an agony. If she did manage to hurt Mican somehow and drop from the back of the horse, the entire group of his men would be atop her.

What might Mican do with her? Aye, that question occupied a great portion of her mind. He would take her back to his stronghold. There, he would doubtless wreak some sort of vengeance upon her. Punish her for the death of his son.

The very thought made her go hot and cold in turn. She could endure much, especially for Adair’s sake. But an existence there among strangers who hated her? One of unending misery?

He would not keep her alive that long, she assured herself. Mican would kill her after he hurt her—for it was not she he wanted to punish so much as Adair. He would kill her in some terrible manner and deposit her remains where Adair would find them. Or perhaps use her for bait to capture him.

Och, why had she failed to see that possibility? She might have spared Adair nothing.

For he would come after her. He would, the man she loved—he with the heart so valiant, even he did not see his own worth. If Mican used her as a means to lure Adair in…

She should have warned him. Should have forbidden his coming after her. There had been no time when the mad idea of giving herself up came to her.

He would not have listened. Nor would she, were their positions reversed.

Suddenly she heard his voice in her mind. I will find ye. I will find ye again in spirit, if no’ in this lifetime, then in the next.

But was that Adair’s voice? It must be, for it echoed through her with sacred promise. It filled her heart.

It tried to chase the doubt. Adair, her husband, had made a promise. Yet perhaps they weren’t meant to be together in this life.

Do no’ think that , she chided herself. Do not ever doubt him, or our love.

Mican eased their hectic pace a bit. The ponies could not sustain such flight for long, and anyway, they were entering the forest, where such incaution could prove dangerous.

Bradana strained to look back—hoping, hoping for what she could not see. Back past Mican’s men. Through the trees that closed behind them.

Did she catch a glimpse of gray? Or did her eyes, fooled by the flicker of light through the trees, play tricks on her?

“Keep still,” Mican growled, and squeezed her cruelly. “Unless ye want a beating. Ye may believe I will gi’ ye one—and gladly.”

She did believe it. He would beat her senseless. She’d be easier to transport limp over the back of a pony.

Tears filled her eyes. Och, she should have done as Adair wished and sailed away with him to Erin. Left this land she loved while still they had the chance.

*

“Ye ken,” Dabhor said when they paused to let their ponies pick their way across a narrow stream, “if we do catch them, we ha’ no’ enough men to fight her free. ’Tis a stout force Mican has wi’ him still.”

Adair glanced at the man. He appeared as worried as Adair had ever seen him.

“I will fight her free,” he vowed. “No matter what it takes. Keep your eyes peeled for the hound.”

“The hound is far ahead o’ us.”

“And may well come back for me. They will ha’ to stop eventually. If Wen knows where she is, he will lead me.”

And what condition might Bradana be in by then? Adair did not want to express that thought. He did not even want a hint of it in his mind. But if Mican took out his ire on the woman who’d spurned his son…

“Hurry,” he told Dabhor. “And silent, now.”

They continued on through the seemingly trackless forest, and Alba whispered in his ear. She did, with a stirring of air at his cheek. A flicker of light up ahead. The scurry of a fox. The ponies grew weary, the men wearier still. Dusk came late in Alba at this time of year, but at length a kind of preternatural dusk began to gather beneath the trees.

Would Mican try to press on for his settlement, through the dark? Adair believed it was too far, but who could tell?

He must catch them before they reached the settlement. Once inside Mican’s stronghold, Bradana was as good as lost to him.

The gloom beneath the trees deepened to night. They stopped perforce.

“You three rest the ponies,” Adair told the men. “I am going ahead on foot.”

Dabhor protested, “And if ye get lost? Ye do not know this land.”

Nay, but he was coming to know it, deep and strong.

“Wait here,” Adair bade the men, and hared off before they could prevent him.

Soon enough, the silence of the night forest closed around him. Only, as he swiftly discovered, the silence was not silent . It still whispered to him in the movements of small animals, in the rustle of tree branches, and in something more—a low hum that matched the rush of blood through his veins. A soft voice that sounded almost like the music Bradana wove from her harp late at night.

Alba, alive around him. Speaking to him.

He spoke back to her. Aid me. Let me find her. Show me which way to go.

When the hound appeared before him, he had to blink for fear he’d summoned up what he wanted to see. Wen was no more than a long, dark shape, but he whined beneath Adair’s hands and trembled.

“Good boy, fine lad,” Adair breathed, hunkering down. “D’ye know where she is?”

Apparently Wen did. He ran forward, then back to make sure Adair followed.

The next few moments felt like a dream, too fantastical to be real. The hound moved silently, as did Adair. He could no longer feel his feet hit the ground. The trees, seeming identical and endless, blocked his way repeatedly but he wove his way through them, one hand resting on Wen’s rough coat.

He smelled a wisp of smoke before he saw the place, and his lips spread in a mirthless smile. So confident was Mican, he’d dared to light a fire.

Wen paused at the edge of a small, stony clearing, and Adair stood stock-still beside him. The hound trembled with eagerness. Neither of them made a sound.

To the left, large, dark shapes and a few restless movements told Adair the ponies had been picketed. The fire slumbered, no more than an orange-red eye on the ground. So did most the men, anonymous, dark shapes wrapped in their cloaks.

Two men stood guard, neither appearing particularly alert. One stood motionless across the way. The other, not far from Adair and Wen, moved restlessly.

To be sure, the man had no notion that Adair and the hound were so near.

Which of the prone figures was Bradana? It was too dark to see the colors of clothing. One body did appear a bit smaller than the others, but naught was certain. Which was Mican?

A knife blade in the dark might solve many problems. But once the sleepers roused, the battle would be intense.

Wen whined softly. Adair pondered what to do. He could follow them and wait for a chance, one that might not come. They would no doubt reach Mican’s stronghold sometime tomorrow.

Wen whined again. The guard nearest them turned toward them.

One of the prone figures lifted its head from the ground.

Was that Bradana? Had she somehow heard her hound? Aye, the size of the figure seemed right. But she lay close to the fire, and Adair would be hard-pressed to reach her.

He touched the hound’s back again. Stay. He slid not his sword but his knife from its loop on his belt, and crept forward.