Loyal and True

by Laura Strickland

  Chapter Twenty-One

  All day they tramped through the silent, soaking forest, carrying their wounded and the scanty belongings they still possessed. True, a pack of goods slung across his back, toted the rear of Tally’s litter, with Barta at the front. The lad had tried to walk on his own, but weakness overcame him.

  Barta said little, and her face remained tense and white. Since her conversation with Brude, True barely recognized her mood, and her aura had turned dark gray. But she continued to trudge on, following Brude, who led them all, Avinda at his side.

  They moved quietly for so many, especially with wounded and babies among them, and paused only now and then to rest. True’s wounds stung badly, and he worried about those Barta carried. Yet she never faltered until Brude at last called a halt, late in the day.

  By then the rain had ceased and the sky cleared. Far behind them to the west, the sun set in fiery bands of orange and red. Folk set down their burdens, groaned, and whispered together.

  Brude immediately set about assigning a guard. He called upon Gant and several others of the surviving warriors but once again bypassed True.

  On his way back through the ragged crowd, Barta stopped him. “You have not assigned me. Or True.”

  Brude’s gaze flicked over them. True saw that his aura, too, had damped down from its usual hues, which had more or less matched the sunset.

  “I thought you would sooner have leave to look after Tally.”

  “We are willing to do our part.”

  “I think I have enough men for now.”

  Barta reached out as if she would touch Brude’s arm and withdrew, thinking better of it. “You do not trust me?”

  “He does not trust me,” True spoke softly. It didn’t matter to him either way. He needed only to be at Barta’s side.

  Moderately, for him, Brude said, “We are all learning a new path through this darkness.”

  “He is trying,” True told Barta once Brude moved on.

  “I am too weary to worry at it.”

  “Let us get Tally settled and comfortable. Then you can help tend the wounded—once we see to your hurts, that is.”

  “I am well enough.”

  True engaged her eyes and held them. “You are not.”

  “True, I will not allow myself to come first—not again. Those days are over.”

  “You always come first with me, Barta. Understand?”

  He saw and felt emotion whip through her. Tears filled her eyes, and she nodded.

  “You must be hurting also. You fought like a wolf back there.”

  “Come, do not worry about that now.”

  Barta fretted softly the whole time they tended Tally together, expressing her worry about the trail so many feet must have left through the wet forest, and how they could hope to make Tally comfortable in the waning light. Indeed, by the time they finished, the sunset’s last radiance had slipped away; cold, damp dark came down.

  Barta went off then, moving from group to group. Folks had more or less settled wherever they stood when Brude called a halt, and she stooped down at each place, offering what assistance she could. True knew she carried a measure of Essa’s knowledge, but all her mother’s supplies had been lost, turned to ash.

  At the thought, an ache started in True’s heart. A hound did not carry sorrow as such, though he might continue to long for those gone. Now True began to realize he was no longer just a hound. He’d been raised from a pup in Radoc’s household—Barta’s family, as much as Bright and his littermates, was his pack. He felt hollow, pain rushing in as shock faded.

  He heard a sound close at hand, and a shadow shifted. “Where is Barta?”

  Gant, with his spear on his shoulder—part of the guard Brude had posted.

  “Lending a hand where she may.”

  Gant grunted. True heard doubt in the sound, and unhappiness. “How does Tally fare?”

  “Sleeping now. He remembers something of the attack, recalls Bright throwing herself over him. We had to tell him neither of his parents survived.” True hesitated. “I think Barta fears he will lose himself in his grief and choose not to return to us.”

  “Look after him. And after Barta also, will you?”

  Gant moved off again before True could reply. He sank down on his haunches, thinking hard, and placed a protective hand on Tally’s chest; the boy lay so silent. As a hound, he hadn’t indulged much in deep thought. Things were as they were and patience had been built into his nature. Now his heart pricked and worry niggled at him.

  “Master True?”

  The whisper came at him out of the dark. One—no, two more shadows stirred. He could smell they were young women, friends of Tally’s.

  They both crowded close. “How is he?” asked one.

  True answered gently, “He awakened for a while but has drifted off again.”

  “Perhaps if we were to sit with him, speak to him?”

  “Yes, but softly now. You know how sound carries in the dark.”

  The second girl asked, “Do you think the Gaels will pursue us?” She shivered, and True guessed what lay in her mind. Girls her age—not above fourteen—might be seized and treated without mercy. Slaves, they could become open to every sort of abuse.

  “I do not know,” he told her honestly.

  The girls sat close beside Tally. One of them traced his brow with her fingers. “He is so handsome. With Chief Radoc dead and Master Wick gone, do you think Tally will take up the place of chief?”

  “Master Brude has stepped into that place,” True reminded the girl who had spoken.

  “Yes, but my father says that is not right, that someone of Radoc’s blood should be still in the Chief’s house. He says not everyone will accept Brude, and he is worried the tribe may collapse.”

  “I do not know about that.”

  “Who would want to be chief now?” the other girl asked.

  Who, indeed? Even Brude, with his monstrous self-confidence, must feel daunted. True made no answer, and the girls put their heads together, whispering and speaking to Tally in soft tones.

  Another shadow moved at his side—Barta had returned.

  “Is all well?” he asked.

  “Nothing is well. So many are hurt both in body and spirit. True, I fear we are lost.” Her voice broke on the last word.

  Disregarding the girls, True pulled her into his arms. She burrowed in tight, an answer to his ever-present longing.

  “Come, Barta. Tally’s friends are here to sit with him. Let us step away.”

  She followed him but a few paces into the deeper darkness. There she moved immediately back into his arms. “Hold me, just hold me,” she begged.

  He complied, and the moments slipped past in time with their combined heartbeats. He felt her relax almost imperceptibly, and he eased also.

  “I have so little to offer them,” she breathed into his ear. “Barely even hope.”

  “There is always hope.” He saw an image of himself lying with his throat cut, unable to rise—held from the one place he needed to be, with Barta. “We must pray.”

  “Yes? And will anyone listen?”

  “Oh, yes.”

  “You think so?”

  “I know so.”

  “Oh, True—what would I do without you? If you weren’t with me now, I believe I would sink into darkness, give up, and lay myself down just like Tally.”

  “No, you would not. You are too strong.”

  “Just how strong am I, True? Strong enough to sacrifice myself for the good of this tribe? Brude thinks we should wed.”

  “’We’?” His heart leaped.

  “Him—and me. He says it would reassure the tribe, put some of the pieces back together. I believe he really thinks it would lend him legitimacy.”

  True said nothing.

  “Folk would have accepted Wick without question. Brude thinks the promise of my sons—being of Radoc’s blood—taking the role in the future will make a difference now.” She drew a breath. “
But, True, what of you and me?”

  He felt the yearning that accompanied the words, and his heart twisted in his chest. A hound understood the need for sacrifice made without question, without hesitation. But he’d already realized he was no longer just a hound. Dared he think about himself?

  She stumbled on, the words spouting from her. “I never wanted a husband, never had any time for it. For love. The love I felt for Loyal was enough. Then…then you came into my life.”

  “Me?” he barely breathed the word.

  She tipped up her face as if trying to see his expression in the dark. “If I must wed, I would choose it to be with you. But Brude says the tribe needs the stability of our union—his and mine. And I have been selfish too long. True, what’s to be done?”

  He had no ready answer to that. In the past he’d lived moment by moment, knowing only the need to follow at her heels. But he found, as a man, he did not want her to wed with Brude for any reason.

  “True, are you willing to wed with me?”

  “You know I am willing to give you anything you ask. I will lay down my life for you right now, if you desire it.”

  “I don’t desire that! Anything but that. I want you alive and warm, here in my arms. Brude says if I accept him for husband it would be in appearance only. He would keep Avinda on the side, and I could keep you. But I…I don’t think that is good enough for you, True.”

  “So long as I can remain at your side, it is good enough.” Husband, friend, or defender. The decision, he told himself, must be hers, as all the decisions in the past had been. But the thought of Brude having leave to touch her lifted the hairs on the back of his neck.

  “If I agree it would be best to wed with him—for the benefit of the tribe—you will not leave me?”

  “I will never voluntarily leave you for any reason.” If the goddess called an end to this enchantment and forced him away, transformed him back into a dead hound, that would not be his choice. A span of days, she had said but had not declared how many.

  “The union with Brude would be for show mostly, but not all,” she stumbled on miserably. “There would need to be children, if I wed with him. That—that means…”

  True understood very well what it meant, and protest flared more sharply within him. But she’d asked for his reassurance, not his approval.

  “If you believe in your heart you must do this thing, I will stand by you. But if you can think of another way, I should be glad.”

  “I don’t know. Tally and I are the last of my father’s house. Am I not obligated to serve? And how else can I serve?”

  “Tally might take the place of chief.”

  “He is not ready. And may not be for some time.”

  Again, True did not speak.

  “I promised Brude I would think on it, and that I will do.” She reached up and caught his face between her palms. “But if I accept him, if I must make this sacrifice, I want you first. Do you hear me? I will have you first!”

  She pressed her mouth to his and her emotions, wild and tumultuous, assailed him. She parted his lips with hers and the flavor of her rushed into him. Completeness found him, so intense he could happily have died there in her arms.

  She whimpered, and her tongue swept the inside of his mouth. His body began to shake and he drew her to him—close and closer—to ease his trembling.

  Barta broke the kiss long enough to say, “I need you, True, a deep, deep need I barely understand. And I want you. Tell me you want me too.”

  He did not understand why she would ask him to express desire. Wanting was just wanting, and a hound did not contemplate it. But he desired her the way he wanted his next breath and would withhold from her nothing. “I want you.”

  “Then we’ll make one another a promise: we will lie together as soon as ever we can.”

  “Here? Now?” Down below, he stood more than ready for it. Her nearness did that to him.

  She laughed breathlessly. “With Tally and his companions so close at hand? Alas, no.”

  “Then, when?”

  She pressed herself still closer and sounded satisfied when she breathed, “Ah, so you are eager for me.”

  “Yes.” He wanted her naked skin against his hide, wanted to taste her as he had before, desired her scent all over him. In an effort to satisfy himself he claimed her mouth, licked the inside of it deeply, and grew still harder below.

  She slid her arms around his neck but broke the kiss to say, “So it is promised. Whether I accept Brude or no—and I have not decided that yet—I will have you first inside me.”

  He struggled to clear his mind amid the sweet fog of desire. “Yet if we mate, might you not then go to him already bred by me? What then?”

  “Then the chief’s hut will still hold the seed of the last chief—and the truest Caledonii warrior I have ever known.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Respite, at last. Weariness, bone deep, warred inside Barta with the desire for True that had ridden her for days while the tribe moved ever eastward toting wounded, distressed children, and a dismayingly small number of belongings. Now at last Brude had called a halt on the banks of a stream and begun setting up a rough camp. A collective sigh of relief—felt more than heard—migrated through the tribe.

  The rear guard insisted they had not been followed. Gant himself had told Barta so when she questioned him, having been one of the men sweeping their trail. Barta wondered if she dared relax and catch her breath, take time to regain her strength. And, perhaps, at last lie with True?

  She set down her burdens—two packs and a number of weapons—and eyed him as he busied himself getting Tally settled. Her young brother, now on his feet, was unable to match the pace Brude had set, and True had helped him most of the way. Tally, a boy always in motion, found his continued limitations as hard to bear as his grief, and Barta worried for him. He seemed sunk into the same gloom she occupied.

  More than once had she heard him weeping in the night. But then, the sound of quiet weeping had become commonplace among members of the tribe once the sun went down.

  At least Tally had his own followers—the group of girls who accompanied him had increased to four in number; Barta rarely had a chance to do much for him. The girls served to distract him from his thoughts and perhaps provided some comfort, even as True lent her.

  True…she derived such pleasure just in watching him, the grace and economy of his movements, the beauty of his narrow face and the way it brightened impossibly when he smiled at Tally. She allowed her gaze to caress his shaggy hair, like a wild mane down his back, and admire the supple body beneath the shabby clothes he wore. The very prospect of that body pressed against her own brought the heat up into her face and stole her breath away.

  Tonight? Perhaps, but there was so much to do first. Arrange for shelter, check the state of the wounded, fetch water and provide food for all. And she still owed an answer to Brude. Twice had he come to her looking for acceptance of his proposal of marriage—something to lend the tribe heart, as he put it. Both times had she put him off, but she knew all too well he would soon be at her elbow again.

  True looked up and caught her gaze upon him. His eyes brightened and greater heat kindled between them, this time touching her heart. Oh, by the sweet goddess, how she loved him! She needed to tell him so over again, show him with every part of her body and her being, bond with him beyond the reach of Brude and the rest of the world.

  If there was one comfort left to her, one thing that made her grasp hold of life and hold on, it was True…

  “Barta?”

  She gasped, the magical spell woven between herself and True trembling like the threads of a spider’s web, but not breaking. She turned to find Brude beside her. Indeed, that had not taken him long.

  But Brude looked a man changed—as weary, filthy, and worried as she, his hair hanging in a tangle and his eyes hollow. She felt an unexpected twinge of sympathy.

  He nodded toward Tally and his group of attendants. �
��How fares he?”

  Barta could not but wonder why he asked—out of concern, was it, or did he imagine a fully recovered Tally might make a threat to his place as chief? And, she chided herself, who would want the place? Only look what it made of the dauntless Brude!

  She shrugged and grimaced. “Improving, but he has no endurance yet. It might be better were we to stay in one place more than a night.”

  “We shall be staying here for the time being. We’ll take time to tend our sick and wounded and make a few decisions. I think if the Gaels intended to pursue us, we would know of it by now. Our men have seen nothing yet.”

  “Good.” But Barta felt uneasy down to her bones. She glanced about. “Brude, do you not think it strange we have come all this way yet have met with the members of no other tribe? We should be on Chief Cunobar’s land by now. Why have we encountered none of his guard?”

  “That worries me also. He was a good ally to your father. Quite frankly, that is one of the reasons I moved us east. I hoped to speak with him of joining forces.”

  “What do you think it means?”

  Brude shook his head. “Perhaps he has also shifted his folk farther east, or north. We may yet meet up with them. For now, we will build a camp here.”

  “That is well.”

  He glanced aside to where True now assisted Pith to sit as comfortably as possible. The old man, his hut having been situated apart from the main settlement, had not lost his possessions to fire and insisted on bringing a large number of them along. True had carried most of those belongings all this day.

  Barta assumed Brude assessed the old man’s condition, but when he spoke his words did not concern Pith.

  “Barta, have you made up your mind?”

  She caught her breath. “Not yet.”

  Brude turned his hollow eyes on her. “You need to make your choice soon. We have to put the pieces of the tribe back together, for their sake. This would be a good place for that.”

  Even though Barta had expected this—and set herself for it—panic licked up through her now. She shook her head.