Chapter 23

Chapter 23

Deirdre's bed with its silken sheets and soft pillows had gone unslept-in, and she stood now, while dawn broke, in her full clothing for the day, her once-long hair tied back behind her head in a farm-woman's ponytail. She stared out of the window as the sun rose over the mountains in the near distance. As it always had, her room had every comfort that any young woman could ever have asked for and more; her bed was the kind that could quell a raging giant into the land of slumber, her view so breathtaking that it captured the heart of what it meant to be a Scottish woman living in the Highlands.

But it had held no sleep for her, not this night nor so many others. If things went poorly today, and chances were very high that they might, she may never have the chance to sleep in it again.

She saw movement in the distance, heard the distant blare of bagpipes and beat of drums, the agitated whinnies of horses. They were coming closer and closer, and soon they would be here.

The battlefield was not far. Deirdre knew exactly where to go. She and Aoife had both agreed to stay back in the castle, but she had no intention of doing that, and part of her knew that Aoife wouldn't do it either. After all, they were cut from the same cloth. All four of them were.

She didn't really need to sneak out of the castle as she followed a troop of men, but she kept to the shadows anyway, her cloak pulled tight over her head, until she reached the battlefield, where men were already waiting in stiff, foreboding lines. The forest line at the edge seemed like the perfect place to hide, and she ran for it, the fear in her heart making her feel sick.

Her eyes caught James. Lachlan. And there was Blair, with Jocelyn standing proudly nearby.

Blood pounded in Deirdre's ears as she struggled to control her breathing. It was coming in short, sharp gasps, and she knew if she didn't take control, she'd devolve into pure panic—and then what use could she be? Not that she felt particularly useful here at the moment, frozen with terror, half-hidden behind a tree as men lined up with gleaming swords thirsty to shed gore and claim victory.

The men on her side might be fighting for justice, but that would not make them any less dead when the fighting began. Many lives would soon be lost, blood shed, women widowed, children left to grow without a father. The ground would be stained, haunted, and the chances that even victory would change things enough to make it worth it were bleak. The McFerguson clan was going to lose many of its finest men today, and the idea that could be for naught…

Deirdre bit her lip so hard that she tasted copper, the sharp pain grounding her a little. Her shaking hand rose to her neck, clasping at the cold metal that hung around it. She recalled Blair's words from the night before, but how could either of his parents protect her now, when she'd lived eighteen years and had no memory of their faces?

Her age no longer seemed to matter. She longed for a mother to hold her now, a father to protect her. She'd seen how her niece and nephews had thrived under the loving care of their mothers and the nurturing guidance of their fathers. She could not help but wonder how different things would have been for her, for all of them, had her parents been able to stay by their sides. Would it have ever come to this? Would so much blood have been spilled, and be about to be spilled again?

On the battlefield, many of the men were attentively watching as two figures strode forward to the center. She could not hear the speech that James was giving over the din of battle preparation, but she had no doubt it was rousing, powerful. Beside him, Lachlan stood steadfast and ready, his sword in hand. Not the gentle fathers and husbands Deirdre had gotten to know, not her beloved brothers-in-law, not now. Instead, they were the powerful Laird and the deadly Wraith, ready to fight and, if necessary, die, for their home, their families, and their clan.

Deirdre wondered how Blair must be feeling now, standing a little further back as she watched her beloved husband and brother-in-law step forward to begin the fighting that might wipe them all out. She couldn't make out her sister's face, but despite what a strong leader Blair was, she knew there'd be fear there.

Deirdre's mind then went to the little ones. Callum had inherited the fighting spirit of his namesake. When the children were being sent away, he'd picked up his toy sword and had to be restrained from chasing the men into battle.

And oh, Jocelyn. Jocelyn, her usually reserved sister, had gone through hell and back. She'd saved them, only to be here once more, ready to fight and maybe die. How was Jocelyn faring now, her heart no doubt torn asunder with a mix of pride and fear for those she loved as her husband stepped forward?

Love…

Deirdre dropped her hand from the locket and stepped out a little more from behind the tree, getting a better view of the men who were poised to fight. Poised to die.

What was Aoife doing now? Had she stayed home? Had she followed? Deirdre cast her eyes along the tree line, but she couldn't see anyone else. Then again, Aoife could be hidden as easily as she was to watch the end of it all.

The sickness in Deirdre's stomach transformed into anger so quickly she could barely understand that it had happened. Fury shot through her as she considered her situation, their situation; the lives that were about to be lost on the battlefield. Maybe Lachlan would die. Maybe James. And if not them, then countless other clansmen, countless loyal soldiers, would fall. And it could have all been stopped. He could have stopped it. He had been their chance to end all of this once and for all, to finally bring this bloody war to an end and prevent any more losses in this endless, pointless, torment.

Ciaran could have saved every single person here. And yet, he'd betrayed them. He'd betrayed her.

Her next search was for him, as she saw the Brennan men lined up side by side with Bram's soldiers as Bram moved forward to talk quietly with James. But there was no sign of Ciaran, nor of Laird Brennan. Where were they? Hiding? Afraid? Ashamed?

Deirdre weighed her options, then, daringly, darted a little closer, close enough to hear as Bram's voice raised over the crowd.

"Ye amuse me, McFerguson, ye and yer slippery Wraith," Bram announced in that horrible pompous tone of his. "Maybe there's a solution here. Ye can surrender and save us all some time."

"Ye were quite clear in yer missive that ye've no intention of allowin' a surrender," James replied. "Ye wanted a fight."

"I changed me mind," Bram replied callously. "I'd accept the surrender and me terms before I change it back. Would ye like tae hear what these terms are? Save some bloodshed and heartache?"

Deirdre watched as James glanced over his shoulder toward where Blair stood. Nervousness plucked at Deirdre's skin as she tried and failed to understand what would happen next. Would James really try to negotiate?

But then Blair sailed forward in a dress of deep grey and stood by her husband's side. Her voice cracked like a whip as she calmly said, "Bram, my dear cousin, every man and woman who stands here?—"

"Woman?" Bram demanded.

Blair didn't flinch. "Yes, Bram. Women who wish to fight for their clan aren't common when our roles are so important elsewhere, but there are a few amongst our clanswomen who wished to take up arms to avenge the fathers and brothers and children ye stole from them."

Bram sneered. "And I'm tae fear an army filled with women?"

Blair stepped forward, her finger pressing into Bram's chest. It felt like the whole world held its breath in that moment, and Deirdre could feel herself shaking. She drew her cloak closer, though she knew the cold had nothing to do with it, and leaned closer to hear.

"Ye're tae fear an army filled with wolves ," Blair replied in that same firm voice. She lowered her hand. "If ye want a single thing more of us, ye'll have tae kill every single one of us where we stand!"

A cheer rose up from behind her, and Deirdre's skin prickled as the entire army on their side expressed their support and willingness to fight and die if need be. For Blair. For their family.

For their home.

"So be it, witch," Bram declared. He raised a hand. "Attack!"

Out on the battlefield, someone let out a huge war cry. Steel clashed—and the battle began.

The end was coming. Whether they liked it or not.

Aoife could hear the cries of battle even now, far away as she was from where it was all taking place. Guilt squirmed in her stomach as she looked out from the castle's tall tower window over the distance, where she could just about make out the battlefield and the roving of hundreds, maybe even thousands of men.

Blair and Jocelyn were out there, fighting next to their loves. Aoife had no doubt that Deirdre had snuck along too, despite the fact that both younger sisters had been expressly forbidden to do so. Only a few remained here in the keep now; Nettie had rounded up the last of the sick and wounded last night, except for…

"Ye should have gone with them." Liam spoke softly, with no reproach in his voice. "I would have understood."

Aoife turned back to him and paced over to his bed, sitting by his side. Nettie had judged him too injured, his wound too fresh, to be moved so soon. It had been agreed that he would stay here for the hours the battle took, and be immediately checked upon when Nettie or her herbalist returned, in the case they somehow achieved victory. Aoife tried not to think how likely it was that nobody was actually coming back and that her end would be met when Bram's men stormed the castle to claim it and destroy any living person inside.

"I couldn't leave ye," she told him, reaching out and taking his hand. "Just as ye couldn't leave me."

He chuckled softly. "Well, look where that got me. I'd rather ye not bleedin' from a stab wound." He indicated the injury, though he was still smiling. Liam was better today, obviously in pain but cheerful and coherent. She didn't know if he remembered quoting the poem to her, and she hadn't mentioned it. She didn't want to think about what it might mean, not now, not when her family were fighting for their lives.

"I'd be the one makin' them bleed, not the other way around," she replied with false bravado, trying to make him smile again. She enjoyed the way it made her feel, the way it made this hopeless day feel like it might have a little more hope in it after all.

Liam cocked an eyebrow. "Oh aye? Will ye protect me, Lady Aoife?"

That was who she had always been—a lady, all words and no bite to her. But she knew now that if they came for her, she would fight. Just as Blair had fought to protect them, and Jocelyn had battled for their freedom. Just as Deirdre had pushed back against imprisonment to return to her family. Aoife, too, could fight, and stand strong. She knew it.

"Aye," she said, more seriously than she intended, and she watched as his eyes softened. He truly was beautiful, even injured and sickly and exhausted as he was. "Aye, for the rest of me life."

The air between them changed, and his skin suddenly felt hot against her hand. She met his eyes, those sky-blue windows into an earnest soul, and saw in them what she felt in her heart.

"There's somethin' I must tell ye," Liam started softly, but then stilled. "Did ye hear that?"

"Hear wh—?" Aoife yelped as her words were cut off by a crash as the door flew open and a tall, ethereally handsome man with dark hair and eyes like a storm entered.

The stranger walked forward toward them, and Aoife held her breath. She reached for the table behind her, and her fingers closed around one of the herbalist's knives. It would not do much, but she would not allow this invader to harm her, nor Liam, not while there was still blood in her veins.

But despite her fear, Aoife felt a strange calm wash over her. Whoever this was, if she was to die, at least she would be able to make a stand, however small it might be. And at least she and her sisters had spent those last hours together.

All three of them stared at each other for a long moment, then Liam spoke up softly. "Time hasn't changed ye much since we were lads together, Ciaran Brennan."

Aoife shivered. So this was him, the man who had stolen her sister away, the man who was leading half the army here to destroy everything she held dear. Her hand tightened on the handle of the knife and she got to her feet, ready to rush at him with everything she had.

But Ciaran stood there with his head tilted in slight confusion, and when he spoke, it pulled the rug from under Aoife so much that she could not move. "William McLeod? Lord above, what happened tae ye? The battle's just started."

William. Liam. William. Liam! The two names beat in Aoife's head and heart, merging together as she saw the truth, the fact he had been here this whole time, the fact she had missed through nothing but pure blindness. She'd suspected the moment he'd quoted Barbour, the moment he'd expressed that he loved her in the very same way she'd told William, him, that she would not marry a man she did not know. But it didn't make the shock less violent, the revelation less staggering.

She felt Liam's eyes on her and knew he must want to speak, but she didn't look at him now. She gripped the chair back with her free hand to force herself to stay steady, keeping her gaze on Ciaran and nothing else, forcing it all from her mind. Liam, William, whoever he was, was injured and helpless, and Aoife was the only one left who could fight.

Ciaran looked at her at last. "Ye must be Aoife. She spoke of ye," he told her. "Ye look alike, in yer way."

Aoife bristled. How dare he talk about her sister! "Are ye here tae hurt me?"

He shook his head. "I'm not an assassin for hire, lass. I'm here for Deirdre. I'm here tae bring her what she deserves."

"Ye'd hurt me sister, then!" Aoife snapped. "How could ye?"

Ciaran narrowed his eyes. "Me brother died because of this endless war between ye and Bram, lass. I'm here tae put it all tae an end once and for all, and tae at last be the man he would want me tae be."

Aoife's hand shook around her knife. "Will ye kill her?"

Ciaran's eyes caught the movement, and he glanced at her hand then smiled. "What will ye do with that?" he asked her, almost gently. "Would ye slay me tae protect her?"

Aoife didn't bother answering. She let out a cry and ran forward, knife gripped in her hand, charging straight ahead to plunge the knife into his chest. But as soon as she got close, Ciaran grabbed her wrist and twisted, then pushed her back. She stumbled, falling to a heap on the ground, and her knife skittered harmlessly away across the floor.

"Aoife!" Liam cried out. "Ye bastard, ye'd best pray ye haven't hurt her!"

Hot tears ran down Aoife's face as she forced herself upright, staring up at the tall, dark man looming over her. He hadn't hurt her, but he'd shown her very clearly that there was nothing she could do.

"Why are ye not at the battle, fightin' with yer men?" she demanded, summoning all the pride she could muster to push toward him in spite. "Coward!"

Ciaran's eyes flashed dangerously. "I'm here for Deirdre," he told her. "I'll ask again. Where is she?"

Aoife spat on the floor at his feet. She expected it would be her last act.

But all Ciaran did was tsk and turn, storming out of the room and slamming the door behind him. Aoife immediately clambered to her feet, hurrying to Liam's bedside.

"Are ye hurt?" he demanded. "I'm so sorry I couldn't do anythin', I?—"

"I'm not hurt," she replied quietly. "William."

Liam's face blanched, then he sighed. "Ye can call me Liam. All me friends always have, since I was a wee bairn. I've been wantin' tae tell ye for weeks, but?—"

"Liam…"

"Lord, I didn't want tae lie in the first place, but I needed tae ken who I was marryin', and?—"

" Liam… "

"And when I met ye, Aoife, ye must understand, I never meant for it to go this far, I?—"

Impatient, she swooped forward, pressing her lips to the warm skin on his cheek, stopping his stammering once and for all. It was the boldest thing she had ever done, far bolder than she ever thought she would dare, even though it was just the lightest peck.

When she drew back, he was staring at her, his eyes wide and hopeful and scared all at once.

"Still?" he asked quietly. "Even after this?"

She touched her own lips briefly, barely able to believe what she'd just done. But when she spoke, her voice was sure. "We may die in the next few hours," she told him. "And I will not die without bein' able tae tell ye that I love ye. Liam or William or whoever ye are. And…I think ye love me as well."

"With every part of me soul," he replied, and the words were so earnest that Aoife wanted to weep with joy.

His hand slid into her hair and he guided her forward, this time into a real kiss, his mouth soft against hers. It was short and sweet and perfect, and this time when they separated, she left her forehead rested against his.

"We're not goin' tae die, Aoife," Liam told her gently. "And I owe ye an explanation. A proper one, and an apology besides."

She laughed tearfully, joy and fear and love overwhelming her.

"But I'll tell ye after the battle is won," he continued. "Because ye'll never forgive yerself or me if I keep ye here. And I'd never forgive meself. Yer sisters are waitin'."

"I can't just leave ye here," she protested. "What if someone comes? What if someone tries tae hurt ye?"

"Who could hurt me now?" Liam countered. "Ye're me sword and shield, me heart and soul. Nothin' they could do to me could leave a scratch. And besides, they will not reach the castle. Brennan was here for Deirdre on his own, ye saw that. The soldiers are all on the field. And I ken ye and yer family are strong enough tae keep them there until this battle is won once and for all."

"I can't fight."

"Ye don't need tae. Fightin' and bloodshed has never been yer power." Liam squeezed her hand. "Ye and yer sisters are stronger together than a thousand armies. Ye and Deirdre and Blair and Jocelyn, there's naught ye can't accomplish when ye've got one another. Ye survived yer uncle. Ye fled Bram's grasp. And ye'll win the day again now. So long as ye're together."

Aoife kissed him again, then stood. He was right. He knew her heart, and though she did love him, her family needed her. Deirdre needed her. "I'll come back," she promised, hoping against hope it was true.

"I ken ye will. All of ye."

Aoife wasn't sure she believed it as much as she did, but she let his words wash over her as she stood to leave. She'd carry him in her heart as a talisman as she walked toward near certain death.

"I love ye," she told him again.

"And I ye, as many times as ye need tae hear it," Liam told her. "Now go."

She did, but stopped once more. "And when I get back," she called as she paused in the doorway, "Ye've got a lot of explainin' tae do!"

The laughter she heard from Liam as she closed the door behind her cocooned her in warmth, and gave her strength. As she hurried through the castle and out into the cold air of day, rushing toward the stables, she knew she would need all the strength she could get.

Someone was waiting for her when she arrived, holding the reins of her horse, Majesty. The old woman held them out and said, "It took ye long enough."

Aoife wasn't surprised to see her. She approached and mounted the horse, then held out a hand to help the woman up. "Ye're coming, right?"

"As it was foretold, so it shall be," Agatha replied, accepting the help, and together they raced toward the battle.