Chapter Ten

Morning came softly, muted by raindrops. When she woke, Barta could hear them falling on the dirt just outside her door. She lay perfectly still while the now familiar pain swamped her, the great sea of loss that encompassed the lack of both Loyal and her friends. She thought of the men’s lovers, their families. If she hurt so fiercely, what must they feel? This raw emptiness she could not imagine being filled by anything but…

True.

Her first thought of him came nearly as softly as the rain but with an aftertaste of longing.

She opened her eyes and found herself tightly curled on her sleeping bench, an image of True in her mind. Rough and shaggy hair, bright hazel eyes… She began to ache still more fiercely, the desire to be with him nearly overwhelming.

What if he had not done as she bade and stayed with Pith? What if, distressed by his lack of memories and the uncertainty of a future with them, he’d left the tribe as suddenly as he’d come?

Her heart leaped sickeningly at the thought, but her mind argued it could be so. She could not begin to guess what terrible events had befallen him before his arrival, but she knew what had happened since.

She saw again an image of him straining to pull the lashed stone, every muscle standing out, and her fear increased. Would he stay among folk who could and had asked that of him? But then, would he surrender a place so hard-won?

At that moment, lying in the gloomy dawn, she could not say. Doubt got her up in the still hut, everyone else asleep. She would visit the midden before walking up to Pith’s and satisfying herself, yet not let True know she was there if she could help it. She needed just to answer this ache inside.

She crept past her parents’ sleeping bench where her father lay with one arm flung across her mother in a gesture of protection. Watching them over her shoulder, she hurtled out the door and stumbled over something on the threshold. She tripped and sprawled out into the rain.

The earth where she landed had at least been softened by the damp. But what—?

Scrambling up, she saw a dark form across her parents’ doorstep. It moved when she did and resolved into a long, graceful figure—one of the hounds, surely, she thought. But he arose, and she saw the very man she sought.

“True?” she spat out. “By the lord and lady, what are you doing there?”

“Forgive me, Mistress. I didn’t mean to make you fall.”

Barta barely heard his words, for he reached out and caught her arm. Warmth curled through her from the place his fingers met her bare skin, an almost painful comfort.

She stepped closer and gazed into his face. “I left you up at Pith’s. Safe at Pith’s. Why did you leave there?”

He seemed to consider before speaking. His shoulders rose and fell, and he shook his head. “It was too far from you.”

What could she say to that? Hadn’t she awakened filled with longing for him? Could she deny he might feel something similar and that it had brought him here to lie as near as possible to her?

In the rain.

She stared into his eyes earnestly. “What if the guard had seen you? There are always men on patrol at night.”

A strange expression—not quite a smile—crossed his face. “The guard did see me. He came by several times. The first time he wanted to kick me, but he didn’t quite dare.”

Barta looked around wildly, wondering who had been assigned watch last night. None of the men would be anxious to take True on after yesterday’s display of strength and ferocity.

Before she could say so, True slid his fingers from her elbow to her hand, which he grasped palm to palm, just like yesterday. After one instant she placed her other hand in his also, and he drew her closer. For many heartbeats, they gazed into one another’s eyes.

Then he said very low, “I care nothing for the guard, your father, or what the tribesfolk may think—only about being in your company.”

Barta had to swallow before she could speak. “It should not be so. We barely know one another.” But she spoke a lie; she shouldn’t know him, yet she did. Could this be part of the magic her mother insisted had befallen him?

True did not seem as troubled as she by the whys and wherefores. He appeared to have embraced their connection whole.

“My heart says it should be.” He raised their joined hands and tapped his chest above the heart.

“I know,” she whispered in return. “But we can’t have you lying outside in the rain.” For one thing, her father would never condone it.

She needed a hut of her own for just the two of them. But she would not get a place of her own until she wed. She loved no man of the tribe sufficiently well for that. And anyway, what husband would let her bring another young man in?

A wild idea burgeoned in her mind. If she handfasted with True—stood before her father and the tribe’s shaman joined just as they were now—might they then always be together?

“Master Pith says he used to have a companion, a young man who helped look after him, but the fellow was killed in a raid not long since.”

“Yes. That is why I thought it well for you to live with him. But if you will not stay there…”

“I will if you ask it.” His fingers tightened on hers. “Anything you ask. Just, last night…”

“I understand.”

Barta caught a movement from the corner of her eye and turned her head. A man approached at a purposeful plod. Murgen—it must have been he who drew guard duty for at least part of last night.

His gaze skipped over them, lingering on their joined hands. “I figured our new warrior for mad, sleeping out in the wet. But now you insist on standing in the rain also, Barta?”

“We are but talking.”

“Looks like more than that to me. You might wish to shift; people will soon be astir.”

“Yes. Thank you for…” For not interfering with True, she wanted to say, but it didn’t seem appropriate.

Murgen shrugged. “He deserves some leeway after that victory yesterday. If he wishes to sleep in the rain, who am I to object?”

“I am grateful.”

Murgen nodded and moved off. Barta tugged at True’s hands. “Come.”

They ran off into the trees with the soft rain falling all around them while leaves spiraled down like bright drops of gold. The smoke from the settlement fell behind, and fierce joy filled Barta’s heart. This felt somehow familiar, running with him, and the way he altered his gait to keep pace at her side.

He felt familiar.

How could that be? Was it mere imagining?

At last she dragged him to a halt, her heart racing, their hands still joined. She saw joy that matched her own shining in his eyes—simple happiness.

“I love to run,” he said. “Let us do that again.”

“It is not safe to go much farther. Beyond the trees there is a meadow, and beyond that…” She stopped speaking abruptly, Loyal all at once filling her mind. Ghosts lingered in that place. She swallowed hastily and went on, “The Gaels, our enemies, may keep watch. It is not safe.” Her fingers tightened on his. “The battle that crippled my father took place on just such a morning as this, soft with rain—he was on his way home with a hunting party and they cut through an open space. The attackers came out of the mist. He was run down by one of their vile chariots.”

She paused again as memory possessed her. “Our men got him away—somehow—and carried him home with the rain all running down his face and body. When it dripped off him it had turned red with blood.”

True looked away from her at last and gazed toward the meadow, his nostrils flaring as if he scented the wind. “This is a very big land. It seems there should be enough for all men to share without slaughtering one another.”

“But we were here first. Since the time of our ancestors’ first memories, we have held and loved this land. Our forefathers’ bones mingle with the very rock. The Gaels came from across the water and built their kingdom in the west, where it festered like a sickness, spread and spread. They will not share, will not be satisfied till they take all. Who would let another man walk into his home and steal his very hearth?”

True appeared to contemplate that but made no answer.

“Come,” she bade once more, “we can at least run back to Pith’s. Do you want your breakfast?”

He searched her eyes seriously for a moment before he laughed, a low rumble of sound from his chest. “Oh yes, Mistress, I always do.”