The two young women set off with the dawn, accompanied by four of Wid’s most trusted warriors—three men and a woman. It was a bright, cold morning, and a sparkling carpet of frost covered the bare hills around Dun Ardtreck. The ponies’ breath steamed in the air, which felt raw to breathe. Both Tea and Eithni had dressed warmly for the day’s journey. Tea rode the same dun mare she had brought from Dun Ringill, and Eithni sat astride a small, grey pony that her father had gifted her two summers earlier.
Tea and Eithni trotted side-by-side, with two of Wid’s warriors before them, and two riding close behind. All four were heavily armed, bearing ash spears, long fighting daggers and heavy shields. After the events of late Wid was taking no chances with his cousins’ safety. Tea appreciated his concern, although she could not imagine they would encounter any problems on the journey south.
As they crested the last hill, before Dun Ardtreck would be lost from sight, Tea pulled up her mare, twisted in the saddle, and looked north once more. The broch perched high and proud upon a rocky crag, its conical outline silhouetted against the lightening sky. Upon the walls before it, she could make out a man’s shape—Wid had climbed up to see them off.
Lifting a hand in silent farewell, Tea felt a pang of melancholy. She was not sad to leave Dun Ardtreck—her return here had taught her that this fort was no longer her home—but sad for all that had befallen her people of late. It would still take them a while to rally from Loc’s loss, for Wid to settle into his new role, but they eventually would.
You might be back here sooner than you think, she reminded herself as she reined her mare south. If Galan doesn’t want you—you’ll return to Dun Ardtreck.
Pushing the thought from her mind, she urged her mare into a canter. Next to her, eagerness flushed Eithni’s face. Unlike Tea, she had not looked behind her, for one last glimpse of Dun Ardtreck. Instead, she was looking forward—south—to a new future.
They reached the Black Cuillins around noon, and stopped briefly next to a trickling brook. As she nibbled at a piece of bread and cheese, Eithni’s gaze slid over the looming dark peaks. Without asking, Tea knew her sister was thinking of the handfasting she had attended here months earlier, and of all that had happened since.
Sensing Tea’s gaze upon her, Eithni eventually tore her attention away from the mountains and glanced over at her sister.
“I wish I could go back in time,” Eithni murmured. “I would not have done as Loc asked.”
Tea held her gaze. “I was furious with you both for a long while afterward,” she admitted, “but it matters not now. It’s in the past, and we should leave it there.”
Eithni nodded although her gaze was still troubled. “I know—I just want you to know I’m sorry. Loc was as well. He knew he had taken things too far.”
Tea smiled, sadness tightening her throat. “I wish I could go back in time too,” she whispered. “I would have hugged him goodbye.”
The women rode fast, covering ground swiftly, and arrived at the shores of Loch Slapin late afternoon. Despite that the bitter months were still upon them, the days had started to lengthen slightly. The shadows had grown long, the shade of Dun Ringill’s outer perimeter walls stretching across the grass to meet them, but the sun was still a hand-span above the western horizon.
The sight of the fort, after over a month away, caused Tea’s pulse to quicken. The familiarity of its squat shape, outlined against the glittering waters of the loch behind it, made tears prick her eyes.
Without realizing it, Dun Ringill had become her home.
“It’s a beautiful spot,” Eithni observed as they rode through the gate into the village surrounding the fort. “Look—you can still see the Black Cuillins from here.”
It was true—to the north the shadowy layers of the great mountains etched against the sky, whereas grassy hills spread out to the west and the dark lake to the south. Unlike Dun Ardtreck, which sat perched like a hawk’s eyrie above the world, the fort of Dun Ringill appeared to be part of the surrounding landscape.
As she rode in, Tea’s gaze went to Ruith’s hovel, which sat a short distance from the gate. She had been hoping to catch a glimpse of the seer, for she had missed her, but there was no sign of Ruith this afternoon.
It did not take long for folk to notice the newcomers. Halting their chores, they stopped and stared at the two women, flanked by armed warriors, who trotted up the incline to the stone arch leading into the fort.
At first, a few of the women thought the newcomers were their missing Eagle warriors—the ones who had ridden south in the fall—and they rushed forward to greet them. Moments later, the women stopped in their tracks, disappointment spreading across their faces when they recognized their chief’s estranged wife. Tea did not blame them for their cool welcome. She was beginning to worry that Galan’s reception would be even colder.
Tea’s heart was pounding by the time she led the way into the stable yard. The moment she had been both waiting for and dreading all day had arrived.
It was not Galan who emerged from the fort to greet her but Cal, one of his men. He was the warrior she had liked the most, the one wed to Deri.
This afternoon, the warrior’s craggy face was stern, and Tea feared the worst. She swung down from her pony and passed the reins to her sister. Then she went to Cal, who walked down the stone steps to meet her.
“Good afternoon, Cal,” she greeted him breathlessly.
“Tea,” Cal replied. Close-up, she saw his expression was stunned. “You have returned.”
Tea smiled, in an attempt to mask her nervousness. “I have—where is Galan?”
“He’s not here.”
Disappointment flared although Tea did her best to hide it. Trust her to have ridden all this way, only to discover Galan was away on a hunt, or scouting with a war party.
“When will he be back?”
“Not for a few days,” Cal replied, his gaze searching her face, as he spoke. “He’s out repairing the villages that the raiders destroyed—we’re building stone defenses around them to make them stronger should more attacks come in future.”
Tea’s chest constricted. She could not wait a few days. She needed to see Galan today—before her courage failed her.
“We are doing the same around Dun Ardtreck,” she replied with a nervous smile. “Do you know which village he’s working in at the moment?”
Cal raised a dark eyebrow, regarding her a moment before answering. “He and the others left for Kil two days ago. I imagine they’re still there. It’s a small hamlet in a vale north of here.”
“Can I reach it by nightfall?”
Cal’s gaze widened. “Aye—if you ride fast.”
Tea nodded. “I can.” She turned and strode back to her dun mare, before swinging up onto her back.
Tea turned to Eithni. “You and Wid’s warriors stay here. Cal’s wife, Deri, will make you welcome and prepare you supper.”
Eithni stared at her. “You’re going on your own?”
Tea nodded.
“Tea—wait.” Cal stepped forward. “I can send warriors with you.”
“No.” Tea was already riding across the yard, back toward the archway. “This is something I must do on my own.”
***
Galan heaved the stone high, placing it upon the wall, before wiping sweat off his brow with the back of his arm.
He was exhausted—he had been out here since dawn, with only a brief rest at noon. Unlike his men, who had paced themselves during the day, Galan had pushed himself to the point of collapse. His head throbbed, his limbs ached and the muscles in his back and arms felt as if they were on fire. Yet he did not care—none of it touched the emptiness inside him. He enjoyed the physical exertion, even the pain, for it provided a welcome distraction.
He did not want to dwell on his thoughts.
The sky was darkening, the last of the daylight leaching from the western horizon. The pungent tang of peat smoke filled the chill air in the valley, accompanied by the aroma of spit-roasting mutton. The village women were preparing a hearty meal for the band of men that were rebuilding Kil.
Galan stepped back and regarded the wall. Around him, his men—Ru, Namet and Lutrin among them—were packing up for the day. The rumble of their voices rose and fell against the clang of iron pots and the wail of a babe in one of the hovels behind him.
They had accomplished much in the past two days, having rebuilt most of the round-houses and a few timber hovels where Galan and his warriors slept. The perimeter wall, made from stones the villagers brought from nearby mountain slopes, now reached chest height. A few more feet and it would be tall enough to provide protection from attacks. Although he had dismissed Ruith’s prediction about his own future, Galan had paid attention to the bandruí’s warning about newcomers.
He would not risk further harm to his people. He would build stone defenses for each of the outlying villages and leave a small garrison of his warriors at each one to defend it.
Leaving his men, who were making their way indoors to enjoy their supper, Galan walked out of the village and climbed the heather-strewn hillside to the north. There, he sat upon a flat rock and looked down upon the hamlet of Kil. The perimeter wall rose up in an oval around the village, although the patchwork of village plots and animal enclosures beyond would remain unprotected. Galan remained there awhile, watching the village as the gloaming deepened.
The weight of responsibility felt heavy this eve; he now understood the burden his father had shouldered all those years. Being a chieftain was not easy—the lives of all these people were now his responsibility. It was not a charge he took lightly, and he still felt to blame for the damage that the raiders had done. His people looked to him to protect them, and he had failed them.
Galan was deep in thought, brooding upon the tasks that still lay ahead of him, when he caught sight of a pony and rider cresting the hill to the south. At this distance he could see little more than a silhouette against the indigo sky.
Senses alerted, he rose to his feet and strode down the hillside to intercept the newcomer. He stood before the opening to the wall—where a gate would be fastened once the fortification was complete—and watched the rider approach.
The stranger was a few yards away when they spotted him and drew their pony up short. Then the newcomer spoke. “Galan?”