Chapter 9: Spring, Forget-me-not
Sorley stood in the entry of Beatrix's hut, a leather strap and a gold chain held loose in his hands. The strap had been taken from the bridle that his horse once wore when she was younger and wilder, when she'd been accustomed to roaming the highlands rather than staying rooted in one spot. The bridle had frayed beyond repair a while back, but this strap had been good and strong. He'd kept it. Intended to refashion it when the time came. Now, he knew this was always how the leather had been meant to be used. The chain was thin and roughshod — nothing of great value to anyone seeking an abundance of wealth — but it had been gifted to Sorley's mother by his father. The first piece of jewelry his father had ever crafted after retiring from his life as a gall óglaigh and taking up the blacksmith's trade. She had given it to Sorley should he ever find his intended before he made it safely home.
Now, he would hand these items over to Beatrix so the wise woman could tie their cords before the handfasting ceremony that was to take place the next day. She pushed back the curtain that blocked the entrance to her home and beckoned him in with a warm grin.
"I cannot thank you enough for your discretion, Beatrix," he said, sitting by her fire when she told him too.
"Nonsense. It's hardly unusual, sir knight, for a handfasting among the villagers. His lordship hardly bothers with the likes of folk like us. He need not be the wiser to it."
Beatrix waved her hand at him, reaching for the items he held in his hands. He gave them freely and she studied them with a gleam in her eyes. "Gold that your marriage may be one of longevity," she said approvingly and ran her hands delicately over the chain. "And brown, that you remain grounded when you step forth into the future as one. These are wise contributions to your marriage, sir knight. They speak well of your steadfastness."
Sorley bowed his head in silent thanks for her words and wondered at the items Malvina had found to supply for their ceremony. Beatrix set the materials gently to the side and looked at him with wise and knowing eyes. He had heard rumors that she was more than she seemed, this midwife and wise woman. He wouldn't have been surprised in the slightest if she were more powerful than others of her status.
Beatrix had never seen a child or mother die in birth in all her years in the village. It was a feat unheard of in the rest of the world, and yet here this woman was, and the evidence of her gifts was all around. With children running underfoot in abundance, and mothers generally healthy and well-cared for in a manner that few had ever seen. He studied her and her eyes bore into his as though she was reading something in them that he would rather no one else could see. He brought a hand up to scratch an itch at the back of his head. She smiled at him, knowing, and offered him a fresh cup of tea.
Sorley accepted, sniffing at the drink before knocking it back as though it were ale, finishing it all in one large gulp before passing it back to her and nodding for her to continue. Beatrix smirked before reading the leaves at the bottom. He watched her eyes narrow just a fraction before her face returned to its usual careful mask. She looked up at him, tilted her head to study him, before bending back down to read the leaves again.
"There is loss here, my child," she told him warily. "But victory as well. The leaves... they are unsettled. Constantly shifting. See here," she said and held it out for him to take a look. Sorley did but he saw nothing more than the remnants of a warm drink.
"I do not see what you speak of," he said easily, leaning back a bit to observe. Steadfastly ignoring the odd pull in his chest at her words.
"You will live a long life, sir knight. Longer than most could ever hope for, to be sure," she said and gave him a meaningful look.
Sorley scoffed internally. He was a warrior. He was likely to die young and bloody on some battlefield yet to be drawn. Even in his most fanciful imaginings he did not see himself living many more years unless he changed his course soon.
"You do not believe me, but the leaves do not lie. You will live a long life, and it will be full of an impossible love. You are intertwined with another," she smiled when she said this part. "Your path will always lead back to her, no matter where your life leads you. But I must warn you... take heed... Know that you will lose much before victory is won. You have many roads left to travel, sir knight. Hold tight to those you love. Hold tight to them, and they may yet see you through."
He sat silent for a moment longer. Taking in the wise woman's words. He was not so vain, not so possessed of himself, that he would disregard the counsel of a woman such as she.
"I thank you, your counsel, Beatrix," he paused. "I would ask — I have heard whispers of your kind. Heard the rumors around your name." He said this haltingly.
Beatrix drew back, guarded at the turn in the conversation. Very few people in this world endeavored to speak so plainly regarding creatures of her make and matter. She waited with bated breath and prayed that she was right in what she saw in this young man, and that he would not be the death knell in her coffin.
"I only ask..." he trailed off as though he himself could not believe he would be so audacious in his request. "Have you — Have you any way of knowing if Malvina is aware of what she has agreed to? Does she truly understand that I have asked for her hand?"
His eyes drifted up to look at her hopeful and nervous and wracked with the burden of care for another living being. He wished for the girl to be safe and happy — and he hoped she would be so with him — but there was no way for him to know for certain what with the way they struggled still to understand each other through words alone. So much of his knowledge of Malvina came from the way he read her body language.
Beatrix's eyes had dawned with realization, and she smiled wanly at the man before her.
"I have seen what you speak of, sir," she said. "I will not divulge any more on the matter but this; Malvina is aware of what you seek. She is aware that soon you and she will marry, though I do not believe she understands the nuances of handfasting. I'm afraid there will be no way to explain such a thing to her in such a short time, but you may rest assured she has full knowledge of the promise she has made you."
Addison, for her part, was sweating. Literally sweating. When she agreed to marry Sorley, she had been thinking about the fact that there were so many ways her life here in feudal history could get so much worse. If she thought arriving in the Middle Ages had been a low point, she didn't want to find out how else things could go to shit the longer she stayed.
So, when Sorley had asked, she said yes.
She took what little control she'd been afforded in this world, and she used it to her advantage. He was the path to the best outcome. Of course, it helped that she was attracted to him. Of course, it helped that he seemed to be a genuinely kindhearted person whom people trusted and respected. In order to keep the little control that she had, Addison had to offer it up on a cheap plate to the only man worth feeding it to, and hope for the best possible outcome. But Addison had seen dateline plenty of times with Lala growing up. She remembered her own vulnerability with startling clarity. She knew that it could all be a massive charade. But she didn't believe it.
Castle Sween would have been the perfect opportunity for Sorley to wave the psycho flag long before she showed up, and he hadn't. If he'd been like any of the violent male archetypes she'd seen on television, then surely, he would have demonstrated that kind of behavior by now. Like Rupert. Rupert had a psycho flag and the man waved it proudly for all to see. Sorley couldn't have been more different from Rupert.
A small part of her worried that there was still time. Reminded her not to let her guard down. She liked that part of her, she liked that it was so invested in keeping her alive. But she knew that, no matter what, she would be at risk and vulnerable in this place. So, she ignored that part of her because Sorley was as safe and secure as she could hope for. At least for the foreseeable future. It was this or live in a hut in the mud with the bugs and dirt and Ailios forever — or more accurately until Ailios kicked her the fuck out. It was bound to happen at some point, right?
So, Addison agreed to marry the gentle giant, and hid her crossed fingers in her skirts as she did. Hoping against all odds that this choice wouldn't come back to bite her in the future.
She was pulled from her thoughts by the familiar sound of boots thudding heavy through the grass and dirt toward her ramshackle hut. Addison was leaning over a pot of questionable stew, now trusted with keeping an eye on the rustic meal. She stirred the meat and greens that Ailios had thrown in, watching it boil with equal parts wariness and suspicion. She turned to greet her visitor, more than familiar with his presence around their little hut by now. Sorley's hulking frame filled the doorway, but he did not enter seeing that she was alone. His smile was warm as he watched her work and she couldn't help but smile back at him, ignoring the flutter in her belly that his attention was causing her.
She'd lost track of the days that had passed since he'd asked her to marry him. But in that time, he had taken it on himself to inform Ailios and Beatrix. After they learned the news, both women had studied her with critical eyes. Ailios, Addison thought, out of a desire to determine once and for all if she was actually in possession of a fully functioning mind. And Beatrix, apparently, to get a better idea of her measurements.
The day after he proposed in the woods, the old midwife had showed up at their little hovel, grabbed Addison by the hand and dragged her up the hill to the middle of the village. Beatrix had shoved her into her own home, stripped her down to nothing and shoved Addison in dress after dress. Addison, for her part, had no idea where Beatrix had come to possess so many new dresses, but she wasn't exactly in a position to be asking the hard-hitting questions. Instead, she allowed herself to be stripped and dressed and manipulated this way and that like a ragdoll.
At one point in between dresses, as Addison stood cold and naked in the middle of the old woman's hut, Beatrix had paused and began to measure Addison's hips with her old, gnarled hands. Milk blind eyes squinted, her head turned this way and that, as though she was trying to determine something. After a long moment of Beatrix staring, and Addison desperately trying to cover herself —only to have her modest hands batted away forcefully —Beatrix had muttered disapprovingly, too fast for Addison to catch. She didn't know the whole of what the older woman had said, but she did catch one word. A dreaded word. A word that hadn't occurred to her — not once in this world — even though it had been practically staring her in the face since she arrived.
Children.
Addison stared at Beatrix in horror. Like a mushroom cloud rising above a nuclear blast, the true weight of her agreement with Sorley enveloped her whole.
Beatrix was talking about children.
Had studied her naked hips, measured them with her hands, and said children.
Addison didn't really know what her face had betrayed to the old woman with her white eyes that shouldn't have been able to see a damn thing but did. Like a mind reader, the midwife had snapped back around to Addison, took her face in her hands and gave her a good shake. Stepping away and uttering something sharp and commanding.
Breathe.
Addison sucked in a breath. And then another. And another. Before a smack on her wrist from Beatrix reminded her to collect herself. Have some dignity.
Children had not been a factor Addison had considered when she agreed to marry Sorley. Addison didn't want children. At least, not now. Not here. Maybe one day when she wasn't, you know, eighteen years old. And when she wasn't in the Middle Ages. No, Addison much preferred full access to modern medicine before she started popping out any little demons of her own. 'But you can't go home,' a voice that sounded oddly like her mother's said in the back of her mind.
Her mother.
Addison felt her whole-body flare with a fresh wave of a lifelong pain. Now, she felt that pain even more deeply. She was expected to have children. Here. Alone. And Addison wanted her mother like she did when she was little. Wanted her mother like she had when the woman first left her alone with Lala.
Had she been scared when she found out she was having Addison? Addison was older now than her mother had been when she was born. She was older now, but... Addison was still so young. She was young. Not an old maid like everyone here seemed to think. And her mother had been younger than her. Now, faced with the prospect of having Sorley's children —alone in the middle of history with no one but Ailios and the milky eyed Beatrix to help her through it... Addison suddenly felt the weight of her predicament settle over her again. This happened often as her mind focused in and out on her situation as it saw fit. Sometimes hyperfocusing on every detail. Other times, going fuzzy around the edges and drifting through space and time in a bit of daze.
Addison couldn't not marry Sorley. She'd gone over it a million times in her mind. It was Sorley now —gentle and kind and respectful as he was — or someone worse later either by way of rape or marriage. Things were not sustainable for Addison as they were. She had to marry Sorley. She would willingly marry Sorley. He was the best thing in an impossible situation. And she cared for him, in the way that she could. They could find happiness, she thought. But... babies?
The mental checklist she'd kept in the fall flipped open in her mind once more. For the first time in months Addison riddled off the ways this time period was likely to kill her. Starvation. Cold. Pneumonia. Babies. She took a deep breath and flipped the page closed again, shoving it away in the back of her mind. Then she turned back to Beatrix and held her arms out so that she could shimmy into the next dress the old woman was holding up for her.
Turning now to Sorley, she couldn't help but feel some of her anxiety fade. There was a chance she would die having his children. Whatever information she couldn't apply to the situation by common sense alone, she supplemented with what she'd learned in history classes growing up. Women died in childbirth. It was near inevitable in many cases. Addison wondered idly if her mother had a difficult pregnancy. She didn't know really. She felt a twinge in her chest, even if she were at home, there would be no one to ask. Not with Lala's memory fading. By the time Addison had been kidnapped by the universe and dropped off in some medieval hellscape, Lala had already forgotten her name. Forgotten who she was entirely. Thought she was some long-lost sister that Addison had never even heard the name of. Shaking her head, Addison turned from the stew, shut down the wall in her mind that surrounded thoughts of her grandmother and stood from the fire. She made her way toward Sorley, smiling gratefully as he backed up to allow her room to exit.
Addison sighed at the fresh air that greeted her when she stepped out of the small hut. She closed her eyes as the sunlight warmed her skin. She just stayed that way for a moment. Eyes shut tight. Breathing in the world around her.
She opened her eyes once again and turned to smile at Sorley. "Hello, you," she said quietly in her native tongue. The look he spared her was soft. She reached out and squeezed his hand, but when she made to pull away, he gently drew her back. Closer to him. Sorley's eyes held hers as he brought her knuckles up to meet his lips in the barest whisper of a kiss.
"Malvina," he said by way of their usual greeting.
"Gallowglass," she responded in kind, staying where she was when he released her hand. They stayed that way a while, silently communicating in a way that no one else could hear or understand. Grounded in each other's presence, washing all the worries away. It wasn't until Ailios returned, with an arched eyebrow and a stern word in Gaelic for her to get back into the hut and stir their dinner, that they broke away. Sorley offered Ailios a cheeky grin that had her snapping a rag at the errant knight in response. He easily evaded the offending smack, bowing low and teasing at the pair before heading on his way once more.
Addison didn't know what the future held. And she was all too aware that it was a precarious thing to consider at all. She gently nudged at the checklist in her mind. Tempted to review all the ways she was likely to die here, but she refused to open it now. Sorley was not perfect even though she sometimes liked to imagine him to be. He was a good man, she thought, for whatever that meant really in this place and time. For some, unexplainable reason, she had faith in him. As he left her and Ailios to their preparations for their evening meal, she felt the invisible spool in her belly unravel in his direction, like its thread had tied itself to him. No, she didn't know what was in store for the two of them, but she knew that as long as they were together it would work out okay in the end.
When Addison woke the next morning, she followed Ailios out of the hut in order to get a start on yet another busy day. It was a full-time job maintaining their home and the land that belonged to Laird Suidhne. So ingrained was the monotony of this routine that Addison was not even fully awake to begin it. Half asleep, and chilled by the morning air, she did not look up as she exited their little hovel at the edge of the woods. Did not look up, that is, until she bumped into Ailios. Her reluctant guardian had frozen in place, staring wide eyed up the path that led to the rest of the village. Addison grumbled and studied Ailios in confusion, before following her gaze.
All at once the entire world plummeted around her. Taking in the sight that had halted Ailios so, Addison felt her hands shake as she looked around the village, desperate for some kind of sign as to what this meant. She reached out, latching onto Ailios's sleeve, feeling very much like a child lost in the world of strange and violent men. All around them, cast out far in every direction, were soldiers. Men covered in armor, cloaks, and some who wore nothing at all, washing themselves crudely in buckets of water gathered from the river and the well. There were tents of varying sizes and colors pitched anywhere there was a bare patch of land. There was clashes of metal where knights sparred off in the fields down the way, and the shouts of orders given to large swaths of men who moved in a sort of coordinated effort. Drills, Addison's mind supplied, they were doing drills. Riderless horses grazed openly, untethered, and tethered, wherever they could find green earth to chomp on. The sun crested over the horizon, and Addison felt herself squinting at the sudden brightness of it all. It wasn't until Ailios's hand came down to rest, just as nervously, on her own did Addison realize she was still clinging uncertainly to the other woman.
Whatever this was, she had every reason to be unnerved by it. Addison turned to look at the great looming castle on the other end of the village and wished desperately that she had the courage to go and find Sorley, but even though the distance itself was not very long, it could be a very long journey to make when there were men at arms around every corner, standing on every hill.
Sorley slept soundly in his bed, when his door flew open and hit the wall with a bang. Alert in an instant. He was on his feet, dagger in hand, before his mind had fully roused itself from its slumber. Lindon stood in the doorway, fully armed, a grave look in his eyes. It was a look Sorley recognized well.
"Messenger arrived this morning. Suidhne's called the men to the great hall. Gowrie's men from the north have already arrived. They've set up camp in the village."
"What said the messenger?" Sorley asked, already donning his tunic and leather under armor, tucking his dagger into place and reaching for the claymore he kept by his bed.
"Revolt in the Campbell territories," Lindon said. "The rebels have taken the castle. Rumor says Campbell's dead."
Sorley swore, raking a hand through his knotted hair before following Lindon out the door, taking the stairs down to the great hall at a rapid pace. He could hear Rupert tearing out of his chambers just the same, and the slamming of doors and weapons as his brothers in arms prepared themselves for the coming violence.
They arrived at the great hall and made their way toward the front of the crowd, standing off to the side and out of the way, better to watch the comings and goings of the men that they would inevitably ride with tomorrow to suppress the unrest that had overtaken the land to the south.
There was Lord Gowrie, himself, a lord with equal lust for battle and food. Suidhne was likely to remain at the Castle Sween, content to let his men do as they had sworn to do. Gowrie; however, would lead them into Campbell territory in the morning. Sorley had never been able to determine he respected or detested the man, but it mattered little. He'd follow his command all the same. Gowrie sat to the left of Laird Suidhne. Beside him were two other men. One light haired, with a prominent face. He looked to be a man of learning, and he scanned the masses with an almost serene face as though the tides of violence around him mattered little, as though there was nothing in the world that could surprise him anymore. The dark-haired man next to him; however, studied each face that entered and exited the great hall, measuring each man with equal parts interest and suspicion. He was a warrior. Tried and true. Sorley knew as all warriors knew. Like recognized like, he supposed.
"The one next to Gowrie's a Frenchman.," Lindon murmured lowly to him. "The dark haired one, Portuguese. He serves the Frenchman far as I can tell."
Sorley quirked an eyebrow and shot his brother a look out the corner of his eye. He'd intended to ask Lindon if he was mistaken — a French nobleman for a small case of civil unrest? And his Portuguese servant? Guard? He barely knew to begin with his line of questioning. The presence of such an odd pair made little sense. It should have been of no consequence to them. But the wise eyes of the light-haired nobleman turned to meet his. It was as though he'd heard Lindon's quiet murmur from afar, over the din and clamor of violent men discussing violent things. Sorley bit back his curiosity and held the man's gaze. Allowed himself to be measured and measured the other man in turn. After a long moment, the Frenchman gave a slight tilt of his head. Sorley, all too aware of his place in this world, bowed just slightly to the noble, before drawing himself to his full height once again. Holding himself tall as he was meant to in this world. The dark-haired companion too had turned to stare in his direction, Sorley held his suspicious gaze for but a moment before turning to listen to Laird Suidhne who had stood from his seat to address those who had gathered in the Great Hall.
The day had been long. A number of the knights had held counsel in the great hall while others prepared for battle. Information would disseminate down the chain of command accordingly. This was a song they all knew how to sing, by now. A dance, for which the steps had long since become second nature. Set in the hardened jaws, and sharp-edged eyes of the men of Castle Sween was a propensity for violence that each had spent a lifetime honing. This was their purpose. Winter had been long and peaceful. Too peaceful. All had known it to be so. It had set many on edge, had others looking over their shoulders waiting in quiet anticipation of the unspoken inevitable.
Spring was here. The fighting season had begun. Sorley's stride was long as he crossed the courtyard to the stable to see that his horse would be prepared for the next morning's journey. He passed Allistor and Rupert along the way, who quieted when he was in hearing distance. But Sorley was lost in thoughts of bloodshed and battle, strategy, and best possible outcomes. He was lost in thought about all that would come tomorrow, and the unfortunate timing of the violence itself, for it was tomorrow that he had intended to travel with Lindon and Malvina to his home in the Hebrides. The very same day that he would spend as a married man for the first time, with a beautiful, intelligent perplexing wife, and a desire to put as much distance between himself and this cursed place, was the day he was to leave her in the village so that he may go off to battle with an army of men. And he knew not how long he would be away.
He shook his head, and checked over his horse, leaving a set of clear orders for a pair of stable boys to follow regarding her care and preparation before turning back to his chambers. Climbing the steps two at a time, his thoughts were torn between Malvina and the battle to come. They were to be handfasted tonight. In secret. At the base of their tree with only a handful of trusted friends there to witness. He would not tell Laird Suidhne of his marriage to the serf girl, as he had neither asked his permission nor offered to pay the lord's fee for taking a serf off his hands. The way Sorley saw it, Malvina was not born to this land, so Suidhne had made no investment and therefore suffered no losses. Lindon had called him a great many names for his logic, but in the end had conceded that there was no need to draw any more attention to the lass. They would take their leave of this place, with Malvina in tow, and Suidhne would be none the wiser to the missing lass. Now, his plans would have to wait. Malvina would have to wait.
In his chambers, he checked his armor and weapons to make sure they were in fighting shape. Double and triple checking everything he needed, as he always did, before he set out the following day. Sorley ran his hands around the plaid that remained neatly folded in his trunk, untouched since he'd arrived her. Unworn since he'd determined he found no honor in fighting for Laird Suidhne. He'd simply refused to wear his plaid in all the years he'd lived at and fought in the name of Castle Sween. He pressed his hand to the fabric, letting his mind flicker to memories of his home. Of his father teaching him to be a man. Of his mother teaching him to be of a strong mind and an even stronger will. His family, he thought of them often though he'd not seen them in many years.
Sorley took a long breath before pulling up his stool and sitting at his desk. He pulled out a bit of parchment and began to write a quick letter to his father, expressing his will should he fall in battle the following morn. He told his father of Malvina who he was to be handfasted to just past nightfall, under the great branches of an old tree, on the banks of the river in the shadow of the Castle Sween. He told his father of his love for Malvina, of his wish for her continued safety and care. Beseeched him not to dismiss her for her strange features and manner of speaking. Spilled his thoughts to him as though he were no more than a child in desperate need of something, but unsure as to what. When he'd finished, he folded the parchment. Sealed the letter. And tucked it into the folded plaid.
Then he set back to work with renewed haste. Preferring to have everything set to rights before the handfasting, that he may spend as much time as possible with his wife before returning to the castle to ride out the next morning. Regretting that he would not be able to pass the entire night in his fair lass's arms as she deserved from him. He only wished there would be some way to explain — to make her understand that he would not have it this way if he had any say in the matter.
The day had been educational to say the least. Judging by the practiced way the village fell into line around the strange army of men that had appeared on their doorstep, Addison could only guess that this wasn't the first time something like this had happened. Ailios and the other mothers kept watchful eyes on their children who ran underfoot, weaving chaotically through the hordes of men with axes and bows and broad heavy looking swords.
Addison thought she'd gotten a taste of the way the knights' lived when she was stuck behind the great stone walls of the castle, but that couldn't have been farther from the case. Even with the brutality of life at Castle Sween, she had never seen such organized chaos in her life. The sheer number of weapons and horses was astounding.
They'd arrived without warning to the village at the edge of the wood with their shouting and cursing and grunting and weary faces and set up camp. Tents and bedrolls and makeshift guard stations were erected all around them. And all day Addison had tiptoed around the village, doing her best to complete her chores and not draw any attention to herself. Gelis had come to collect her and Ailios sometime before midday. Addison had been sat down in a group of betwixt girls who were tearing apart bits of spare cloths to make bandages for the men to take with them wherever they were going. Everyone was speaking too rapidly for Addison to keep up with her limited vocabulary being what it was. Ailios was helping make a poultice of some kind, grinding up herbs with Gelis and Beatrix. Addison watched the actions of the other women and the comings and goings of the men that now occupied every inch of the once peaceful village. Addison, personally, felt as though they were under an attack of some kind. She felt jumpy. Like her bones would leap from her skin any moment. Like some evil villain was about to step forth out of the crowd and start chopping heads. She shivered but kept methodically tearing up strips of cloth and adding them to the pile sat in the dirt. She eyed it wearily. She didn't have the vocabulary or the social standing to explain germ theory to these people, but God how she hoped whatever death came for her came quick and painless. Infection was not the way she wanted to go. She shuddered and shook the thought of death from her mind once again.
Ailios had become strict with her. One eye was constantly kept on her children, but the other was reserved for Addison. Honestly, since they woke that morning to find themselves overrun, Addison felt like she couldn't breathe without being reprimanded by the older woman. Whatever was happening, it wasn't good. For about the millionth time that day, she thought of Sorley. Addison ducked her head over her shoulder to eye the great monolith at the top of the hill. Her whole body felt heavy with some foreign emotion. The castle had never felt farther away. He hadn't come by this morning. This wasn't the first time this had happened, but it felt like the most significant. He was in the middle of all this. The other half of some coin that was still up and spinning in the air. Addison didn't know what would happen when the two of them hit the ground, but... well... she didn't know what would happen, but she missed him. And it didn't feel right —didn't feel right at all — not knowing where he was or what he was doing right now. Not having him beside her. The entire world had flipped on its head over night. It was only yesterday that she told herself everything would be okay. As long as she and Sorley were together, everything would be okay. And there was the problem, wasn't it, Addison thought. She and Sorley weren't together. Not right now. There was a whole world standing between them now. No matter what Addison had told herself the day before, it didn't feel like it was going to be okay at all.
Evening fell. The women returned to their homes. The knights and fighting men milled about. Grew more raucous as the light faded. Bonfires dotted the landscape. Bawdy songs were sung. Addison had always felt uncomfortable around these types of men. Even in her past life. But she was struck now by how truly ominous the sound of men's laughter could be. It made her stand up straighter even when no one else was around. Sent her heart pounding. Fists clenched in her skirts. Nervous, she rubbed her arms with rough hands, trying to stop the fine hair on her skin from standing on end.
Ailios had just tucked her kids into bed. Addison made to go over to their bed furs, but Ailios quietly called her to stop.
"Sorley," Ailios said to her with a small smile. Addison looked around confused. She hadn't seen Sorley today. Ailios knew that. She shook her head. She didn't understand but couldn't remember the Gaelic words Ailios had taught her to express that.
"More slowly," she said instead with a grimace and a shrug. The sound of Ailios's laughter filled their hovel and Addison, tired and confused and entirely done with the events of the day, felt her face flush. She crossed her arms defensively over her chest and felt the great invisible wound there open wide once more. She held herself tighter. Coiled up. On edge. The invisible wound throbbed, gaping and raw. She wanted Sorley. She wanted the strange men to leave their village and never return. More than anything, she wanted to leave this place and never return. Damn them all. She wanted to go home.
Ailios, seeing her face flush and quiver with the effort to quell her unshed tears, stopped laughing and stepped toward her, alarmed. She reached out and captured the girl's face gently in her hands. She shook her head, cooing at her. Wiping the few stray tears that leaked out with her thumbs. Her eyes stayed light though. Encouraging. Hopeful. None of the things Addison was feeling at the moment and still she didn't understand. Ailios saw this too.
She drew back. Took a deep, thoughtful breath and opened her mouth to clarify when a deep voice sounded outside of their hut. Addison, on edge and anxious, jumped about a foot in the air in fright. Ailios held out a hand to calm her, seemingly unconcerned by their visitor before making her way to the entry, peeking out and waving their guest in.
A great, bulky frame filled the doorway and Addison held her breath until she saw the familiar face of Bróccin ducking through. Behind him just a ways away was the fair haired Lindon.
Bróccin took in the sympathetic smile Ailios wore for Addison's sake, the sleeping children, and the lass who stood in the middle of the hut looking about two seconds short of hysterics. Donning as gentle a look as someone as loud and boisterous as he could muster, he held out a bit of folded fabric toward the girl.
She looked between him and the fabric, confused, but he kept it extended toward her
"From Sorley," he said. "Take it, lass."
She sniffed and nodded, feeling a pressure valve release inside of her at the mention of the gentle giant she'd kept a desperate eye out for all day. The fabric was soft in her hands. Plaid and folded neatly. She didn't listen as Bróccin murmured something to Ailios who had responded kindly her understanding. It seemed like everyone was in on something that she wasn't. The feeling wasn't altogether foreign to Addison. After all, she'd spent the majority of her time here completely out of the loop thus far, but now it felt like it was more important that she understand something. Like they were all looking to her to act and feel a certain way, and she was falling short of expectation. Bróccin shot her a look of pity before allowing Ailios to usher him out.
Addison had tucked the plaid fabric to her chest, clutching it close and relishing in the nearness of something that came from Sorley.
"Peace, Malvina," Ailios said and smiled brightly at her. "Peace."
God but it was like everything was a riddle today. She didn't understand. She shook her head, opened her mouth to say so once again. Trying to find the words in the common tongue that would explain to Ailios that she was tired, and she wanted to sleep. That today was really hard. That she was scared, and she wanted Sorley. But she didn't have those words. And that made her angry. Excessively so. She could burn the place down she was so angry and tired and done. Her mouth twisted before she said the only thing that could possibly make Ailios understand. The only thing the woman had heard enough in passing to know that it meant more than it seemed at face value. The one word that was meant only for Sorley.
"Gallowglass."
She spit it at her like a curse.
Ailios's smile widened, her eyes looked almost relieved. She nodded enthusiastically.
"Yes, Malvina," she said. "Yes, Gallowglass."
That... was not the reaction Addison had expected to get from the woman for the way she bit the word out at her in resentment and exhaustion. What had gotten into everyone today?
Another voice called out. This time female. And she didn't wait for Ailios to welcome her in. Beatrix bustled through the entry — arms laden with a basket full of goods and an abundance of fabric. Ailios stepped forward to relieve the old midwife of some of her burdens, whispering something to the old woman who had stopped to look at Addison.
Not for the first time in the woman's presence did the younger girl feel as though her deepest thoughts had been laid bare for all to see. She brought a hand up to scratch absently at her forehead which had begun to itch under Beatrix's focused attention. The older woman drew her milky eyes away, humming to herself and ordering Ailios to put on a pot of tea. Then she bustled over to Addison and presented her with the dress that they'd decided on days ago right after she and Sorley had agreed to marry.
"Dress," Beatrix ordered, slowly and simply so that she could understand the word that was being said. Addison stared down at the new brown dress that the midwife offered her. Lips popped open in a small, shocked 'oh.' It was all falling into place now. The looks Ailios kept shooting her. Bróccin's appearance with a gift from Sorley. Lindon's presence behind him. Ailios's insistence that Addison not go to bed yet.
Was she— was this— was Addison getting married tonight?
Heart in her throat. Near about to cry from the twists and turns the day had taken thus far, Addison looked up from the dress to the knowing eyes of the midwife Beatrix. The old woman gently patted her clenched fists with gnarled hands.
"Dress," she repeated. Voice kind and compassionate.
Addison swallowed past the lump in her throat. Shook herself out of her shock and did as the midwife bade her. She pulled the dress over her head and sighed into the comfort of new and clean fabric. Dropping her old dress to the floor for someone to collect later, Addison smoothed her hands over her new dress and had to admit that she felt just a little bit better than she had at the start. Ailios gasped her approval, fixing her with an almost motherly look of happiness. She made her way to Addison speaking to her rapidly, gesturing for her to sit down on the furs.
Addison did as she was told. Possessed of a newfound patience, she let the two women poke and prod at her. Ailios had her hands buried in Addison's hair, pulling, and twisting and knotting left and right. Addison wondered a bit absently if she would come out of this looking like a bride or a fallen bird's nest, but decided it mattered very little what she showed up looking like. Sorley had seen her at her very worst. And she'd seen him wake up in the mornings looking like he'd been mauled by a bear. It mattered little what Ailios did to her hair. At least it felt good to have the woman's fingers combing through the knots that had formed there.
As Ailios readied Addison's hair. Beatrix had taken to burning herbs and blowing the smoke in Addison's face and over her body. This was decidedly less relaxing than having her hair played with. Addison coughed but otherwise let the old woman do what she wanted. At this point, she was just rolling with it. Hoping that when they were finished, she would, at the very least, get to see Sorley.
She was almost certain that she was correct. She was getting married tonight. To be honest, Addison didn't know how to feel about that. Not really. But the invisible spool in her belly unwound a bit at the thought of it. Almost like it was relieved by this turn of events. Addison pondered the idea of her relief unsure what to make of it. Unsure if it mattered what she made of it anyway.
When Ailios had finished with her hair, Addison was fully combed and braided. She couldn't see what she looked like, but it did feel good to have it tied up the way it was. Beatrix finished whatever smoke ritual she was performing. Both women then turned to the fabric Bróccin had brought. Eyed it for a moment and then turned to her.
Addison had learned months ago that when a woman in this day and age decided to dress you, it was better to completely relax your body into it and not put up much of a fuss. So, she let herself go as limp as a doll and allowed the madness to commence. Their hands were on her, manipulating her limbs and the fabric of her dress as well as the plaid that Sorley had gifted her. When they were done, she had the plaid draped over her dress rather prettily she had to admit. It was thick and cozy. It would do well against the chill of the evening air if the handfasting was going to happen outside like she thought it would. She idly wondered if Sorley would mind if she kept it. At any rate, she snuggled the fabric closer to her perpetually cold body, he'd have a hard time prying it off her. She might never take it off.
Addison watched as Beatrix pulled a long-braided object out of her basket and gasped. She didn't know what it was really, but she recognized the long chain of flowers that had been woven in.
She had been in the woods with Ailios and Beatie when she noticed the little blue forget-me-nots that littered the ground all around them. Struck by the sight of the flowers that Sorley had given her weeks ago at the beginning of Spring, Addison had frozen. Ailios had suggested rather enthusiastically that Addison pick a few. So, she had. And later that night Ailios had taught her how to braid it into a chain. The green stems and leaves, and the blue petaled flowers had all intertwined easily enough with a bit of practice and Addison had delighted at her pretty little creation. She'd set it aside and gone to sleep that night feeling incredibly accomplished and satisfied. Only to wake the next morning and find the chain had disappeared from the hut entirely. She had searched for it before simply letting it go. Ailios probably hadn't realized how much it meant to her and cleaned it out.
But now... Addison gasped and leaned closer to get a look at her flower chain, braided into one long set of cords along with a leather strap, a gold chain and grey piece of linen that looked like...was that...? Yeah that was a strip of the very first dress she wore here. The one that was too long and showed too much cleavage. Addison had wondered what happened to it, but now she could say with some certainty one strip of it was in this chain. And she had a hunch the rest of it had joined the pile of bandages the women had shredded for the hordes of soldiers that were camping in the village.
She reached out and ran her hands over the cords. They were simple. Not something she would have ever looked twice at in the twenty first century. Not by a long shot. Back home, she would have seen the braided items as cleverly recycled junk. Someone's treasure, but definitely not hers. Now though, she thought them rather charming and beautiful. Now, she understood that Ailios had taught her to braid a flower chain so that she could have a hand in her own wedding ceremony.
In a bit of poorly accented Gaelic, Addison quietly thanked the two women who both responded kindly and reassuringly.
When they had finished preparing her for her wedding, Ailios and Beatrix led Addison from the little hovel at the edge of the village. Lindon, lounging against a tree in the distance, straightened up at the sight of the trio. In the dark, he was more a shock of light hair and shadowed features, and Addison had to squint to see where they were going. But the other three seemed unconcerned by the way night had fallen on the village and navigated the dark woods expertly, each doing their part to keep Addison from falling face first in the dirt on this day of all days.
Sorley waited anxiously at the base of their tree. Turning several times to go back to the village and see what was taking so long. To make sure this was still what Malvina wanted. To make sure Lindon had met them on time. That she would feel safe following his brother into the woods without him there to reassure her.
"If you cannae stop your fidgeting, I'd be happy to make you," Bróccin said. His voice was loud and easy going even in the dark of the woods.
"Do you think she—"
"Understands what she agreed to?" Bróccin finished his question for him having heard the same thing from his brother knight for days now. "Aye, I bloody well do. Beatrix is a wise woman. Ye ken as well as I that she wouldna say Malvina wanted to get married if the lass did not, in fact, want to get married."
Sorley took a deep breath and blew it out anxiously through his nose. "Aye," he said and moved back to the base of the tree to wait for his bride. "Aye. You're right. She knew. She looked into my eyes, and she knew what I was asking."
Bróccin grumbled and kicked at a fallen branch, wondering aloud what was taking them so long. Just as Sorley opened his mouth to suggest they go back to the village and see if everything was alright, the sound of Lindon's voice guiding Malvina through the dark of the wood reached his ears. There, just in the distance, wrapped in his plaid, bronze eyes burning with some unspoken emotion, and a face twisted in fear that she would fall on her face — he was sure — was Malvina. His Malvina. Sorley felt something inside him relax at the sight of her. She was here. She was here and her eyes were locked intently on him.
His features flickered in light and in shadow. All that stood between them was the warmth of the fire someone had lit. She let Lindon guide her to Sorley, his steady hand the only thing keeping her from stumbling in the dark of the woods. If she were smarter, or perhaps less caught at the end of some invisible rope, she would have had the wherewithal to keep her eyes on the ground to refrain from falling. But she couldn't look down now. Not now that she was locked on Sorley. She'd spent so long fearing this moment, dreading her own vulnerability, dreading yet another impossible fall from which she may never get up. Had spent so long fearing it and still somehow desiring it with every fiber of her being. Now, intoxicated by the heavy weight of Sorley's gaze, Addison couldn't help but feel all her fears dissipate into the darkness as she left it behind. If she fell, he would be there to pick her back up again. Of that there was no doubt.
When she drew close enough to touch, Sorley reached out for her. She took his hands in her own. Held him fast in an inviolable grip that would have taken anyone but Sorley by surprise. As it was, his eyes twinkled in the firelight as they drifted down to study the hold she had on him. Beatrix cleared her throat pointedly, calling Addison's attention to where the midwife stood almost between them. The old woman held their braided cords in one hand, and a smoking bundle of herbs in her other. It was an oddly comforting display. Addison had no idea why. It was nothing like any wedding ceremony she'd seen or heard of before. With little else to draw from, she supposed, she took comfort in the presence of the ritual itself. Of the routine. This was a song and dance everyone else seemed to be well practiced in. And though Addison knew neither the words nor the steps, she found it strangely comforting to be shown them now.
She could see from the corner of her eye that Sorley had not turned to Beatrix as she had done. Instead, he had only just glanced up from where he stared down at their joined hands to gaze at her face even as she turned away.
Beatrix began to speak, low and rhythmic. Entranced by the woman's voice and the flickering light of the fire, Addison felt her body relax. Felt her grip on Sorley loosen, ever so slightly. He must have felt it too, for as her grip fell slack, his own hands squeezed hers a little tighter. Warm and sure.
Sneaking a glance in his direction, she had to bite back a smile when she found that he was still watching her. Eyes full of some unspoken emotion. Heavy and lidded and warm, they glittered back at her, and she felt the threads that bound them together tug voraciously in his direction as though they wanted more.
She ducked her head away from Sorley and the bundle of emotions he sent swirling in her belly, gesturing silently to Beatrix who had continued saying whatever words she had chosen to mark the occasion. It felt rude not to listen, Addison thought, even if she couldn't understand a word. Sorley huffed out a laugh and smiled wide at her, but she simply nudged him and indicated that he needed to listen too. With an indulgent look, the errant knight finally did as she quietly urged him, wild hair falling around his face as he did.
She came to him, carried by the flickering light of young flames, and Sorley felt as though the world was falling away. Felt as though she really was a fae creature of the night as the children had whispered about in the village. For she appeared to him, in the dark of the wood, at the base of their tree, flowing hair tied back, but never contained, even by the braids Ailios had no doubt woven intricately through it. His hands itched to unwind them even now, to run his fingers through her smooth tresses. Watch them tumble and fall over her shoulders, to hang wild and unfurled around her waist. Eyes of melted bronze gazed at him from across the fire and he found himself reaching — reaching for her. Desperate to prove to himself that she was real.
Sorley held his breath as she drew near. Nearer and nearer. Unable to believe fully that she was a creature of this realm until he felt her unyielding grip envelope his own. Her hands folded over his, strong and certain, and unwilling to let him go.
And he felt himself settle. Beatrix began her blessing. The traditional blessing given by spiritual leaders and wise women alike in these parts. He knew every word by heart. Watched with a strange lightness in his chest as Malvina turned her gaze from him to listen to the woman chanting words in Gaelic. Words that Malvina did not know. Her face was collected. Attentive. Her eyes studious and learning. He couldn't stop the grin that tugged at his lips at the sight of her. It was a simple pleasure, watching Malvina's mind at work. Once again, he felt that brief wave of doubt wash over him. The fear that she was a creature too ethereal, too perplexing, to truly exist here in this world. And looked down to note that her hold on him had relaxed only slightly. He squeezed her hands tighter, took a calming breath and shook himself from his fears. The smoothness of her flesh, the strength of her grip, it grounded him in the truth of her. A small dimple appeared at the corner of her mouth, and he watched it, fascinated. Her eyes flickered to his. Twinkled a bit at having caught him in the act of staring, but he could not be bothered with something so trivial as shame. She tilted her head back to Beatrix. Gesturing for him to pay attention. Nudging him when he did not listen the first time.
With an exasperated huff, Sorley turned away from the woman he loved and focused in on Beatrix's words.
When she finished the initial blessing, Beatrix held forth their marriage cords. Slowly, as she intertwined Malvina's hands with Sorley's own, she intoned her wisdom over them. Joining their hands together for the first of many days, fastening them to each other, forever and a day. She spoke to the pair and the small group that gathered to witness their matrimony.
"Here we meet beneath the great branches of an ancient tree," she intoned. "To join together man and woman in the most sacred of vows. As is our custom, the pair have presented me with these items which act as symbols of those qualities which they bring into this union, and their hopes for whatever may come."
She ran her hands over the cords. Looking between Sorley and Malvina. Sorley studied the cords with a small, contented grin. Malvina looked between the Sorley, Beatrix, and the cords with near uncontainable curiosity and an abundance of nervous energy. Desperately trying to absorb everything that went on around her. From where they were intertwined, Sorley moved his thumb to run soothingly over the smooth skin of her knuckles. Her eyes snapped to his, wide as an owl, and tired at the edges. He watched her watch him for but a moment, before her shoulders loosened once more and her face relaxed into a small grin.
"Gold," Beatrix said with approval. "That your union may be one of longevity."
She moved her hands from the chain Sorley had given her no more than a day ago. She tapped the brown leather strap with a gnarled finger, smiling up at him before turning an encouraging eye on Malvina. "Brown, that you remain grounded as you step forth into the future as one."
She lifted up her hand to tap Malvina on the chin, causing the tired young woman to give her a smile. Sorley felt his chest tighten at the sight of the woman who was to be his wife in just a few moments time. He ached to end the ceremony here. Hold her in his arms and allow her the rest she so desperately seemed to need. But this was for the best, and what they had agreed to. It was now, or possibly never. He shook his head to clear himself of ill thoughts. Malvina turned her eyes back to him and nodded for Beatrix to continue.
"Grey," Beatrix said as she ran her fingers lightly over the grey linen Malvina had supplied. He studied the old woman curiously to hear what she said of its meaning. "Has much been debated amongst my people, but the simplest of explanations is to return. A symbol of return without repercussion."
She said this and cast Sorley another one of her long and meaningful looks. He was struck suddenly by the words she spoke to him just the other day when she'd read his tea leaves and spoke to him of a long life he didn't believe he would live. Of the losses she envisioned he would suffer, and a great, interminable love that would last for the length of it all. Now, she spoke to him of return. And he knew not what to make of it.
Then, as though it had never been there at all, the grave look she had spared him disappeared. The lightness returned to her milk blind eyes, and a smile spread easy across her wrinkled face.
"And lastly, a chain of flowers. Green in the stems and blue in the petals. Green, for luck," she nodded at the young, lost woman who held tightly to Sorley. "And blue, for patience." This she punctuated with a nod at Sorley himself.
Then she carefully reached out and turned Malvina's head back toward Sorley. Malvina's smile was small, almost a fragile thing, like it was hanging on the precipice of some deeper emotion she could not yet convey. Her eyes were still tired around the edges and longing for sleep, but at the very center of her being was a contentedness, a weightlessness. She looked up at Sorley and he found himself perplexed by the spectrum of emotion she projected at any given moment. It was all encompassing, and forever evasive, and he could not stop himself from pitching forward ever so slightly, desperate to fall into the depths of the matter that contained her.
"Now, if you will repeat after me," Beatrix said. And everyone held their breath, casting nervous glances at Malvina. It was not essential that she say the words perfectly, but it would be much easier to bless their union with the full participation of the bride.
Beatrix turned to Malvina, made a small gesture with her hands that seemed to grab the younger woman's attention. The brightness of recognition illuminated her face even as the rest of her was lined in shadow against the backdrop of flames. When Beatrix felt certain that Malvina was paying attention, she turned to Sorley and began. She fed him the first line and he felt himself jolt at the words the wise woman chose.
"You cannot command me, for I am a free person, but I shall serve you in those ways you require," he rumbled lowly, drawing Malvina closer to him as he did. She came willingly. "And the honeycomb will taste sweeter coming from my hand."
She knew not what he spoke to her, but he knew right at the very heart of him that the words he spoke were true. She smiled up at him, and when Beatrix called her name and repeated that old familiar hand gesture, Malvina nodded her understanding. Eyes sharp with focus. She listened to Beatrix's words and turned to face Sorley when the old woman was done. In that endearing and appalling way that she always seemed to manage, her Gaelic made everyone but Sorley cringe.
"You cannot possess me," she said, slow and halting. Turning to Beatrix for the rest of her vow, the old woman repeated the words slowly and clearly. Malvina turned back to Sorley who had adopted a look of absolute patience. "For I belong to myself. But, while we both wish it, I give you that which is mine to give."
When she finished, she took a deep breath and blew it all out obnoxiously in one giant rush of anxious air. He heard Lindon snort in the background but did not pay their guests any mind. For he was entirely enraptured by Malvina, tired and halting as she was. Beatrix turned back to him.
"I pledge to you the first bite of every meal, and the first drink from every cup," he said.
And then Malvina, "I pledge to you, my living and my dying and all the many moments in between."
"I shall be the shield at your back, the sword upon which your enemies shall fall," he said.
"I shall not slander you, nor you me," she followed.
"I shall honor you above all others," he said.
"And should we quarrel, if we must, we shall do so in private," she said.
"In the absence of strangers, will I lay my grievances at your feet," he returned.
Then Beatrix called for him to repeat four words he had never spoken aloud. Not to anyone, not even Malvina. His head snapped up to the old midwife, with milky eyes that should not have been able to see. She repeated herself and gestured for him to speak the words and tie off the end of their marriage vows. Humbled by the wise woman and her power, he turned wide-eyed back to Malvina who watched the exchange with an abundance of curiosity. She smiled at him, reassuring, and he felt the tether in his heart give a wild tug.
"Forever and a day," he said.
And at Beatrix's urging Malvina repeated the words that had been silently turning over and over in his head for all the months he had known her.
"Forever and a day," she repeated back to him resolutely. Not stuttering once despite her novice Gaelic. As though, in spite of every barrier, these words she spoke were undoubtedly certain even to her.
And suddenly, for all the spinning and tumbling his mind had done in all the time he had known her, it all stopped. It was as though all the creatures of the forest had fallen silent in their nature's beds. As though their guests had faded away into the darkness. And all the sound and movement of the world had been sucked up into a great, unimpregnable void, and all that was left were Sorley and Malvina and the crackling sparks of young flames in a world that flickered in equal parts light and shadow.
Beatrix announced them married. Man and wife from this moment forward. Someone unwound their cords from their hands. He didn't know who, though his guess was on Beatrix. Lindon clapped him on the back. Bróccin scooped Malvina up in a great bear hug that had her laughing and holding on for dear life. Ailios gave his hand a gentle squeeze before turning to Malvina and pressing a kiss to the girl's cheek.
It happened in a blur of light and sound and emotion. He felt light and heady and whole in a way he'd never thought he could feel in this life. And then as quickly as the void had consumed time and sound and space all around him, it just as quickly released it all back. The world rushed forward to meet him, and Sorley met it head on.
He and Malvina were alone. Quietly lounging against the giant roots of their ancient tree. Him with his back pressed against the rough bark, Malvina carefully tucked into his side. Neither of them spoke. She was quietly humming the tune to some song he did not know while his fingers drew lazy circles over her shoulders and arms, occasionally coming up to run over her carefully plaited braids, itching to unwind them but refraining all the same.
The fire had all but died down to nothingness though its embers still maintained their glow. The dewy chill that accompanied every spring night had settled on the forest floor around them, and Sorley knew it was time to take her home. Time to lead Malvina back to the village. Time to leave her on the night of their union, on the night she became his wife, so that he could ride into battle in the morning. He couldn't avoid it anymore, there was no more room for delay.
They hadn't kissed during their ceremony, or in the moments after. Part of him regretted it, but the timing hadn't felt right. Instead, he had pulled her to him, in the midst of their friends' well wishes and congratulations and brought her hands up to his lips. He pressed a gentle kiss to each of her palms. Soon after that, the rest of their party wandered back to the village to give them what little time they had on their own.
Sorley took a long breath at the thought of tomorrow, exhaling deeply through his nose to erase the few regrets he carried. Withdrawing his arm from around her, he hauled himself up from the roots of their tree and turned to extend a hand to Malvina. His intention more than obvious even to his sleepy, overwhelmed, new bride, she stared up at him in an entirely unnerving and speculative manner.
When Malvina finally reached out for him, settling her hands in his steadfast grip, Sorley was startled when instead of allowing him to help her up, Malvina pulled him back down. A startled grunt escaped him, but before he could exclaim any further at this unforeseen turn of events, Malvina captured his lips with her own. Kissing him. Braced precariously above her, hands still firmly clasped in her own, Sorley carefully freed one to balance himself on the roots of the tree. She tasted like the honeyed mead she drank from his cup and smelled faintly of the sage and lavender that Beatrix had gently blown over them before the ceremony had begun.
She dropped his other hand. Wound her arms around the back of his neck. Her hands dragged pleasantly through the long tendrils of his thick, untamable hair. Sorley broke away, but for a moment, in surprise before kneeling in front of her, and bringing his hands up to cradle her face. Peppering her with light, barely-there kisses. Malvina hummed in quiet contentment, before chasing his lips with her own and recapturing them.
Sorley felt himself drift. Drift to memories of her in his chambers, in the first days of spring, heavy in his arms. Drift to the most delectable of urges to hold her while they slept.
But thoughts of their shared mornings spent in each other's quiet company in the corridor outside his chambers triggered the same terrible realization, Sorley jolted back and away. Malvina's eyes snapped open in alarm, and he fixed her with an apologetic smile. He hoped he could convey, as best he could, all that he was thinking through his eyes alone. Hoped there would be some way she could understand.
Gone were the peaceful days of Sorley and Malvina and their quiet, secret love. Here was the beginning of Sorley and Malvina, with a desperate need for steadfastness and patience. Here was the bloodshed of spring. The bloodshed he had sworn his life to. Here was the first kiss between man and wife, and the final kiss before battle.
With a twist in his gut, Sorley knew as he had known only moments before that it was time. He didn't want to pull away. Didn't want to pull away for fear of the inevitable, for fear of the end of this one perfect moment, but his mind quietly tracked the late hour, and the tired sag of her body. He knew that his responsibilities lied, not in his own desires, but in the needs of those around him.
Malvina, who had shown up to their ceremony exhausted and teary and overwhelmed, required rest and a moment's peace, even if it was spent away from him. And Sorley required rest himself, especially with the task ahead of him in the early hours of the morning. He pulled away and Malvina let him go. Her eyes were bright in the moonlight and dark with her newfound knowledge of him. He couldn't help but smile softly at the way they tracked his lips in sleepy contemplation.
He pulled her to stand. Her hand braced against his chest as she collected herself and regained her balance. And Sorley couldn't help but smile at the spot she clung to, for it was the exact place where a tether resided. A tether that bound itself to her. He brought his own hand up to hold her there.
"Mo chridhe," he said and pressed her hand a bit a more firmly to the place in his chest where his heart resided. "Mo chridhe," he repeated as though he hoped she would understand.
My heart.
She could only guess. But after everything that had happened tonight, she had a feeling it was a good one.
His heart.
She smiled up at him. Nodded her understanding. And it was by faith alone, she thought, that his eyes relaxed, completely reassured by whatever he saw in her.
Then he turned, hand still holding tightly to her own, and led her back through the trees to the village. Addison wasn't sure what would come next. Wasn't sure what more the night could hold for her, let alone tomorrow, or the rest of her life. Nothing was certain to her anymore. She could be sure of very little, but if she had lacked any faith in Sorley before tonight what remained of that doubt was gone. She feared a great many things in this world. Feared the future. Feared something so simple as returning to the village now after everything. But with Sorley's hand in her own, that fear abated. Washed itself away down to nothing. As long as they were together, she was sure it would all be okay.
Just outside the entrance to the little hut she shared with Ailios, he drew her to him. Pressed a lingering kiss to her forehead and Addison leaned sleepily into it, feeling him smile against her before pulling away. His gaze was knowing when he gently turned her toward the entrance of the hut and urged her to go inside. So accustomed to this routine by now and reeling from the many turns her life had taken in such a short time, Addison didn't even stop to question the fact that her now husband was leaving her at the doorstep of someone else's home.
Addison sent one grateful look back over her shoulder at him. Tired and relieved, contented and dazed a bit from all she had been through coupled with the thought of his lips on her own. This felt right. And she felt unsure about what that meant. How could all the wrong turns her life had taken have led her to this feeling? How could this feel right? She stared up at him in the darkness of the village. Uncaring and oblivious for the moment of the tents full of sleeping soldiers that surrounded them on all sides. And Sorley studied her back just as intently. Mind already working. Already trying to bore into her own and read all the thoughts she had hidden there.
She'd thought once that she wouldn't mind if Sorley knew all her secrets. Wouldn't mind at all if Sorley broke into her mind and learned the truth about her presence here in this world. Had imagined that it would take an immense pressure off her chest to be able to share her truth with him. But she had worried that it would have been too much to handle. Even if, somehow, they were able to bridge the gap between them. Cross centuries worth of language barriers and cultural differences. Even if by some miracle they achieved that and he still accepted her wholeheartedly as the woman he wanted to spend the rest of his days with, would he be able to keep his mind intact afterward? Would it be too much for him? Some days it felt like too much for her and she wondered idly how well she actually was handling all of this.
Whatever Sorley saw in her as he studied her face had his lips tilting at her a little sadly, and his eyes gleaming — still with happiness — but also with empathy. He didn't know in so many words what was going through Addison's eyes, but he recognized the battle that was waging there. He reached his hand up to affectionately tap her chin before stepping away and gesturing for her to go inside.
Addison did as he asked, creeping in quietly so as to not wake Ailios and her children. She kept her eyes glued to the ground to make sure she didn't knock anything over in the quiet of the sleeping home. The fire had died at some point in the night and Addison had to squint to see anything at all. She cast a quick glance over her shoulder, just barely making out the shadow of the entrance as she heard the sound of Sorley mounting the horse Lindon had left for him and riding away. Back to the castle.
She listened quietly to the sound of his fast-paced retreat and wondered idly why he had to leave her so soon. The spool of invisible thread in her belly had begun spinning wildly in the direction that Sorley rode. Tugging incessantly at the place in her belly where it resided, tugging and insisting that she follow. The moment the sound of him faded, she'd felt a roiling feeling in her stomach she had long learned to ignore. Biting back the urge to be sick, Addison quietly reminded herself the one thing that had kept her sane in quite some time. As long as they were together everything would be okay.
She turned back to her careful trek across the dark hut, in pursuit of Ailios and the safety of their shared bed and froze. Just beyond the darkness, outlined in shadow, were two barely-there shapes. Small. Just lighter than the dark itself, sitting upright and tensed in the bed of furs she shared with her reluctant guardian.
Addison squinted. Drew nearer. She couldn't quite make out what it was that she was seeing. Couldn't quite make out why it was that a sudden creeping sense of dread had hatched at the very base of her spine and begun to slowly crawl up her back, nestling itself right into the nape of her neck.
It was when the two barely-there shapes were joined by the slow stretch of a sinister grin that Addison knew she was staring straight into someone's eyes. She jolted. Stepped back. Took a breath as though to cry out and turned to run the way she came. To run for Sorley who couldn't have made it far. He just couldn't have. But she couldn't make a noise around the stinging rise of bile that bubbled up in her throat. Couldn't cry out.
Despite the way her limbs shook when she turned, she found herself just able enough to run. But running only carried her into the arms of another. The familiar heavy-handed grip of an unwanted man. She was caught, stuck in a tug of war between the man in the doorway and the one in her bed. When neither going forward nor backward were a safe option, Addison felt her limbs collapse in on her. Overwhelmed by the weight of her dilemma. She was trapped.
Suddenly the fire in the center of the hut roared to life. Addison flinched away from the too bright lightness of an overheated blaze. When her eyes cleared, she looked up at the man who held her in his fist and saw the one person she most feared it would be.
Rupert snarled. His face twisted in an ugly line. His eyes alight with a malevolent kind of joy. She threw herself away from him. Desperate to be free of his grasp. Addison turned back. Turned away from the entry where he blocked her path to freedom. Pitched herself further into the hut. Anything to escape the fate he intended for her. Anything to free herself from his hold. Even if it meant running toward the place where the eyes had floated in the darkness.
A man she had never seen before was crouched low on their furs. Low and vicious looking. The eyes belonged to him. His hair was matted, his beard dirty and grey. He was missing one of his front teeth. And his dirt-stained hands were wrapped tightly around Ailios. The widow was frozen. Frozen in front of him. Like a woman who'd seen a ghost.
A whimper drew Addison's eyes to the other side of the hut. Across the fire, Ailios's children were huddled in a corner, cut off from their mother and their exit by the pacing figure of another knight. Allistor.
He was the one who had fueled the blazing fire that nearly reached the ceiling now. He was the one who was manically adding wood to the already dangerous blaze. He was pacing back and forth. Pacing and angry but Addison couldn't tell why. Addison knew without a doubt, simply from her time at the castle, that whatever this was it was not his idea. But he was just as sick and violent and dangerous as the man who had thought it up. But it mattered little whether it was Rupert who masterminded whatever this was, or the dirt covered man who held Ailios in an unforgiving grip. It mattered little because the end result would be the same.
In the dark of the morning, Sorley donned his armor. He secured his blade and hefted his axe. He and his fellow men filed out of the castle in well-practiced order. Lindon, silent, took up the place beside him. There was not a sound among the collected men as they saw to their final preparations. Only the hushed muttering of servants and stable boys broke the quiet of the dawn. The knights mounted their horses as though in unison. The rustle and thwack of leather, the clank of metal, the rattling of chains. These were the sounds that preceded a man-made storm. When the sun finally crested the trees, Sorley looked to Lindon. With one look and not a single word, the brothers acknowledged a lifelong accord and settled whatever affairs lay between them. It was a look as final and binding as any legal document could ever hope to be. Then they fell into line.
They waited with practiced patience while the men at the front sorted through the bottle neck at the gates, as the men at arms lined up to ride south all at once. Just ahead, Sorley could see Lord Gowrie and the young Lord Suidhne at the front. Gowrie, naturally, had made it out the gates and was supervising the well-practiced flow of violent men. His young lordship, however, was hissing and hurling insults at the men who slowly collected themselves outside the gates to ride over the bridge.
The dark-haired Portuguese man had taken the front and was already in the village with Gowrie's men who already lined up in their camp. Bringing up the rear, just over his shoulder really, was the French nobleman who he had seen for the first time in the great hall just the morning before. He was to act as his commanding officer at the front, Sorley supposed. It mattered little to him at this point who gave the orders. As long as it was not the young lord Suidhne leading them all to an untimely death.
The village was chaos. It had been since Gowrie's men arrived from the north the day before, but the tether right at the very heart of him gave a sharp tug that had Sorley whipping his head around in search of his young wife. There were crowds milling about. The panicked and teary faces of villagers who had gathered to see off the men at arms. But Sorley studied them now and felt that tether tug harder still. Dread pooled at the very base of his spine, pitted low in his gut. He searched.
He searched and saw the children. Saw Beatie and her siblings, but not Ailios's brood. Saw Bróccin's wife and Gelis, the tanner's wife. He saw the mason and his boys. He saw the people. His people. But he did not see his wife. He did not see Malvina. He found himself holding his breath as his eyes desperately scanned the faces in the crowd. Surely, Ailios would not have kept her. Would not have kept her away in this moment. She had sworn to him just yesterday that she would make sure they saw him off. That Malvina saw him go so she would understand why their wedding night had been so brief. Ailios had given her word.
It was when his eyes met Wallace MacPhearson's that the pit of dread in his gut opened wide into a gaping chasm and emptied him of all he was worth. The man's face was grief stricken and grave. And no matter how Sorley implored him with his eyes to say more, the man could do little more than avert his gaze. Hunched and tired and ashamed. Ashamed of what?
Sorley turned from the villagers to scour the land. To take in every hut, hovel and shack in this horrible place, to take account of every blade of grass and every stone. His hands were twisted tight in his reins now and he could feel his steed growing more and more restless and weary as he rode. Lindon was murmuring something quietly to him through his teeth as the procession continued. The men around them picking up in energy as they got closer to the village borders where they could ride fast and free into Campbell territory.
On the lips of every man that rode was a present and ever intensifying thirst for blood. But Sorley desired not a single drop. Desired nothing but peace and Malvina. His heart hammered in his chest as they finally cleared the high tents and ramshackle sheds that made up the more affluent parts of the village. As they exited Gowrie's makeshift camp and came upon the borders of the village, he saw a sight he would never unsee.
Set against the green backdrop of spring, Ailios's ramshackle hut at the edge of the wood sat quiet and disturbed. Black as the night he'd left it in. Nothing more than a pile of charred wood and stone, ash in the cold, damp mud.
Gone.
A blackness overcame him. A fluidity. Whatever dread had nestled at the base of his spine, flew up his back and buried itself sharp in his neck. His limbs, awash in some invisible tide. He pulled up. Stopped his horse. Stared. He couldn't feel his hands. Though the reins cut tight in his skin, and his horse brayed in discontent. Lindon called for him. Fell out of line. Halted beside him. Followed his gaze.
It had only been last night. It had not been even a day. Malvina. Where was she? Where was Malvina? Where—
The void. The void from before. The dark blackness that had consumed all light and sound and revelry before. The blackness that left only him and Malvina, now threatened to consume him whole. He was the light and sound that it now sought to overrun. He did not register Lindon's voice. Did not register his own. Even as he spoke aloud. Even as he muttered to himself over and over. Where was Malvina?
A heavy hand landed on his fighting arm, shook him roughly. A sharp retort. Lindon's warning gaze. The Frenchman had pulled up beside him. Eyed him. Stern and superior. He looked like a man who had seen it all before. A man who found few surprises in life. Who was little affected by the weight of Sorley's own surprise. Of Sorley's own grief. His shock. His confusion. Where was Malvina? The nobleman gave him a critical look. Issued a sharp order in his native tongue, but Sorley wasn't thinking in French right now. Could not hear past the roaring in his head. The desperate need to find Malvina.
"Back in line," the Frenchman ordered. He did not raise his voice, but his tone held no room for argument. Sorley resisted. The noble repeated himself. More sternly this time. Laying his hand on his blade in silent warning that Sorley was meant to obey. Lindon, caught between his loyalty to his brother and the pragmatic desire to keep him alive, reached over and shook him.
"Anything could have happened brother," he said. Drawing errant knight away from thoughts of dishonor. Thoughts of desertion. Nothing good would come from leaving now. "They must have suffered an accident. Perhaps they took shelter with the old midwife, eh? Beatrix wasna present either. Surely, they are with her."
Sorley stared at the hut at the edge of the woods. Felt the cold stare of the nobleman on his neck and felt his jaw tense at the attention. Everything in him burned to find Malvina. To find her. To ensure that she was safe.
"Brother," Lindon said. "We must away, Sorley. We ride to battle. Come. Fight. Return here and find out what happened. You are no use to her if they kill you for desertion, brother. I beg you."
Sorley tilted his head toward Lindon. The fire in his chest roaring in discontent. The tether inside him shredding itself to pieces in agony over the unknown.
"Do as your comrade tells you, knight," the nobleman ordered. "Back in line. The affairs of the village are no concern of yours."
Sorley growled a bit before tearing himself away from the desolation of Ailios's hut. With a searing pain in his chest where the tether that bound him to his young wife had stretched beyond repair, he fell back into line. Desperate, he searched the crowd for MacPhearson one last time, and upon finding the old man he mouthed the words 'find her,' and turned away.
Malvina was out there. Either hidden away in the village or alone in the woods somewhere. She was. He could feel it. But it was his duty to ride into battle. It was his duty to do as he was commanded. If he were to desert so blatantly, on the eve of battle, he would suffer a fate far worse than death. And wherever she was, Malvina would be forced to join him in that fate. No. No, that would not do. The people of the village would surely see to her and Ailios. They would do right by the young widow and his young wife. And when he returned, he would take her away. Take her somewhere safe. Somewhere far from here. She would not suffer the chaos and cruelty of the land Suidhne a moment longer. He swore it. More to himself than to her. For this vow was the only solace he could take as he made the decision to ride away.
They arrived in their battle lines under the high heat of the afternoon sun. Sorley's mind, trapped in a haze. Trapped somewhere behind him, back at the village. A million racing thoughts and questions. Had they found Malvina yet? Was she well? Perhaps Lindon was right. Surely he was right. They had only been sleeping off their unfortunate accident in Beatrix's hut.
They were safe.
She was safe.
Malvina... his chest cracked under the pressure of her name. Eyes of melted bronze flashed through his mind. The memory of her still flickering in the heat of the fire they'd lit as they married. He felt as though, if he turned in his saddle, he would find her there at his feet staring up at him. Bowlike lips pressed carefully in a teasing smile. One dimple. He closed his eyes to better picture it. If she could see him now, thinking and worrying over nothing she would smirk at him and shake her head. Malvina was well. Wherever she was — he repeated again and again silently in his mind — she was in good health.
Nothing had happened. Not with so many eyes— his stomach lurched. So many men had been in the village. So many strange men of whom he knew so little. Too many men, capable of too many things. Anyone could have— no. Sorley shook his head. Lindon was right. All was well.
He watched as the noblemen and commanders moved ahead to speak with the leaders of the rebellion. Watched numbly as negotiations devolved. Took in the makeshift army of revolting serfs and felt the bile rise high in his throat. He swallowed it down. Turned his head away. Unable to take in the view.
This was no army.
Before him were the dying, starving men and women of this land. Here was the evidence of the neglect of yet another lord who had no ties to his people. Another Norman lord, spitting on his Gaelic serfs and expecting them to kiss his feet in gratitude. These people... they were rail thin. Haunted and miserable looking. He looked at them and saw Old Man Macphearson. He saw Ailios and her brood and the husband that was taken from her so brutally and unjustly by Laird Suidhne as penance for crimes he had not committed. Crimes committed by the traitor knight Colum McRae. He saw Beatrix, the midwife, in an elderly woman there among the crowd. A slight girl with dark hair, brandishing a blade too heavy for her thin arms, in her he saw Malvina.
These were not his enemy.
These were his people.
This was a dangerous thought to have as a knight who served a Norman lord. This was a dangerous thought to have when sent to put an end to an enemy. And yet, with the image of the blackened hut still burning in his mind, Sorley leaned into the thought. Let it carry his black mood even further into the darkness.
Sorley may have been born with Viking blood, but he was of this land. He was of these people. More so than Laird Suidhne even pretended to be. More so than the French nobleman who had reminded him of his place in the wake of some great and terrible atrocity that befell the village serfs. The people of his village. Not Laird Suidhne's. Not truly. Sorley's own wife, among them. These were his people he was staring at. He watched them ready themselves for the coming onslaught. Watched tiredly as children as young as Beatie readied their blades. While men and women alike, stood tall and defiant against the great, oppressive goliath he formed a part of.
Sorley felt and saw all of this in a sort of dazed reverie. Too many thoughts were coming at him at once. His chest still felt as though it were gaping open for all to see, though outwardly he must have seemed composed. None aside from Lindon spared him even a second glance. Sorley felt the urgent need to bring an arm up to his abdomen to stem the invisible flow of his lifeblood which must surely have been pouring out of him freely. He felt as though he were floating in a most terrible dream.
It was Rupert of all people who broke him from his stupor. Rupert and Allistor, muttering and chuckling amongst themselves. Speaking at a volume which pitched louder and louder the funnier their story got. Whatever they were saying amused them greatly. He could feel their eyes on him. He felt their eyes and could not stop his ears from listening to what they so desperately wanted to be heard.
He heard the hushed mutterings of fire, and justice and the reverent references to the traitor knight Colum McRae. But that's not what grabbed his attention. That's not what pricked at his ears. The details became more vicious. More vivid. He could practically feel the blaze on his skin by the time they were through. But it was Malvina's name that tugged him so severely past the point of no return. Lindon heard it too for his head snapped up to stare at Sorley in horror.
It happened all in an instant.
The rebels loosed their arrows.
The nobles called the charge.
He wanted to lie to himself. Lie and say he didn't know how it had come to this, but he couldn't. He knew how he'd gotten here. Knew every step he took, every decision he made that led him to this exact moment. This place and time. A man who had upheld every vow, who had so carefully preserved his honor and integrity. He watched Lindon's face register a quiet sort of resignation. Somewhere deep down they both had always known it would come to this.
His blade sliced Rupert's throat.
Sorley turned on his brothers in arms.
Sorley pulled his sword from the belly of his fallen brother and spit a bit of blood that had pooled in his mouth. He watched with an air of detachment as one of his teeth flew and bounced in the grass. It landed in a dark patch that reeked of human waste. He grimaced and turned his face back up the hill. The battle was raging around him. Rebels and knights clashed in a well-practiced dance of blood and rage, but he had not eyes for the rebel boys who fought seasoned men, nor his fellow knights — traitors the lot of them — who sought to cut down the weak and downtrodden for their pleasure all on the orders of a lesser man. A man who couldn't have been bothered to come here himself and do his own bidding. No, Sorley had eyes only for the line of men on the hill. The ones who sat back and watched the flow of the tide of death and determined where the death would go next, when it would stop and when it would start again.
He studied them, unbothered by the fighting men who tried to engage him. Cut any man down, easily enough, who crossed his path. Did not honor them with his attention, did not bother to spare them a passing glance. He blocked here. Parried there. He swung his arm in a forceful slash and emptied one man of his bowels, stabbed high and severed another man from his head. And he let the battle propel him forward, further through the muck, closer to the hill, until he was at the base and ready to climb.
The rear guard stepped forward then, with their shields and spears, warning him off of his approach. Moving forward in one synchronous unit toward him, to push him back into the massacre. He smiled a wry smile and pulled his throwing axe from his belt. Felt a grim satisfaction wash over him as he let it sail through a hole in their defenses and bring another man to his end.
He would push through. He would end this. Once and for all. He'd not stand by and let another nobleman punish his people for doing their best to live. He would no longer defend unworthy brothers from death.
There came a shout from the hill. The rear guard halted, froze their movements. It had come from one of the men, still astride his horse. Sorley tilted his head, still heady from the haze of bloodshed, and studied his challenger. The Frenchman was tall. As tall as Sorley himself, but he was thin. He walked with the strength and assuredness of a well-seasoned warrior though and Sorley knew not to let his lean frame fool him into carelessness. The man walked at a leisurely pace down the hill, Sorley flicked his eyes to the remaining nobles who sat on horseback and saw that the Frenchman's dark-haired companion studied their exchange intently. He met Sorley's eyes and though he was too far away to see clearly, the gall óglaigh knew that should the man who approached him meet his end by his blade, that Sorley would die by the hand of the second. The man nodded at him, and he tilted his own head in understanding.
When his challenger met him at the base of the hill, Sorley knew that this would be the man to kill him. When their blades crossed for the first time, he felt the impact reverberate in his bones and suddenly he was reminded of his boyhood — of his father's own mighty sword meeting the feeble one he trained with. Remembered the impact of his father's blade knocking him flat on his back and then being told to get back up. Again and again. For hours on end, days at a time, Sorley had learned to keep his feet. His challenger shoved him back lightly with the press of his blade against Sorley's own.
Sorley stumbled and then held fast. They circled each other. Sorley charged. They met with equal force and the air sung with the clamor of steel distressing steel. They battled for an eternity it seemed. And Sorley finally found himself beginning to tire. His opponent looked intrigued by him, and not winded in the slightest. If Sorley hadn't known better, he'd say he was being toyed with, but the man fought with honor. He fought with a respect that few showed in the chaos of battle. He was no novice warrior. He was practicing the art of the trade, and that he had chosen Sorley as the opponent with whom he would demonstrate his skill, showed both the man's respect for him as a warrior, and revealed to Sorley that this would be his fate.
Not all men knew when they were going to die.
Sorley had begun this battle knowing this would be the last day he drew breath. And with his last breath he would think only of Malvina, of his young wife who had been ripped from him too soon. Who had died too young, alone and without his protection. Sorley leaned into the blade when it pierced his abdomen. He sighed into the pain and felt, for a moment, the flash of fear that came to any man who was about to die. That last kick of adrenaline that said he could outrun it if he really tried. He collapsed. Fell to his knees. Felt the blood bubbling up into his mouth. Thick. Metal. He couldn't breathe. Couldn't get any air past the blood that gurgled in his throat. Choking him. He couldn't—
The man was close to him now. They were forehead to forehead. His opponent's eyes were golden brown, they were bright and weary and full of a knowledge that Sorley would never have. Sorley opened his mouth to beg him to stop the madness. Beg him to let the rebels live. But he couldn't get the words out.
When his opponent finally spoke to him, Sorley could no longer see from the blood loss. His vision faded to darkness. He found himself suspended in time and space. Something inside of him, that old tether that had kept him in Arregathel for all those years, the one that had anchored him forever to Malvina, gave a violent tug.
"I could offer you another chance at life," The man said to him, sword still planted deep in Sorley's belly. "There is a way out of this if you choose to take it. One such as you could live a life worthy of your sacrifice."
Sorley blinked, trying to clear the blackness in his eyes.
"I—" he gurgled through the blood still pooling. "I cannot see." He gasped a couple times from the effort.
"I could help you see," said the man. "Would you like another chance at this life? Tell me now and I will make it so."
Sorley didn't know if he fully understood what his opponent was saying to him. Didn't know if he could think clearly past the inevitability of his own death. But he would take a second chance. He would gladly redo this life and go back to the moment he let Malvina go back into Ailios's hut alone. He would find her; he would keep her close; he would spare her the horrors of the world. He wanted that. He wanted it so desperately.
"Aye," Sorley begged. "Aye, please, I would do it all over again if I could."
Lost in his grief for Malvina, he barely felt the sharp pain of the man's teeth piercing his skin. So disoriented from the blood he'd lost already, he didn't realize he was being drained of more. Not until his hands and feet lost all feeling, and his heart began to stutter, did Sorley truly begin to panic. He wanted to see her again. Malvina. His Malvina. This didn't feel like he thought it would. This didn't feel — no. No more. He didn't want to die. He wanted Malvina — He wanted... Sorley began to struggle. But he was too late. The man held him fast. Held him fast and pulled away. He was saying something, but Sorley could not hear past his own racing thoughts. When a wrist was pressed to his mouth, he resisted.
"Drink," the man insisted. He pressed his wrist more forcefully against Sorley's lips. "You must drink, my boy."
That's when Sorley registered the man's blood smearing across his lips. Possessed of some new and desperate thirst, his eyes opened wide. He latched onto his opponent's wrist and drank deeply, desperately, staring panicked into the darkness until once again he was able to see. As he drank, Sorley stared up into the knowing and compassionate gaze of his killer. When he'd had his fill, the man pulled his wrist away. The hulking gall óglaigh let out a roar of anguish drowned out by the battle that still raged around them. And then he saw no more.
