The low, breathy sound of a
flute wove in and out among the words. Soft words, they were that brought up familiar images. Lady and he and Patch, his hound . . . under a night sky; the full moon hanging fat and ripe against the darkness and the stars. It was a fair sound that hung about the words . . . a silvery little ribbon of song . . .
Brand moved a bit, and wished he hadn’t. The pain in his shoulder flared up, less hot and sharp though, he thought, than it had been. His right hand crept up to his left chest, near the shoulder, touching gingerly the bulky bandaging there. The wound it seemed had not bled through.
One and then the other he opened his eyes and saw it was night, just as in his dreams. The fire burned steadily, and many of his companions were already bedding down for sleep. His companions . . . the voice had said something about them . . . that they were safe. No, Rædwald had died, he remembered that.
He struggled up, wanting to take tally of what was going on. Someone placed a firm hand against his chest and pushed him back to his pillow. There to his left sat someone wrapped in a blanket against the growing chill of night. In the effort of pushing him back down, the blanket fell away from the face. Meghan!
‘I thought never to see you again,’ he said, grabbing hold of her hand before she could move it away. He grinned, a gladsome light in his eyes at the sight of her. ‘That was you who was playing, wasn’t it’ He laughed a little. ‘And you speaking . . . funny, I thought I was dreaming about being out with the sheep, with Lady and my hound. But now as I recall they were your stories, weren’t they . . . you and those beastly goats of yours. You have had the advantage of me this time, m’lady. But be warned, I have years and years of stories to better yours and they are all of sheep . . . lovely animals . . .
He coughed and groaned as the sudden movement pained his chest. A cup was offered, his head lifted a bit, so that he might drink. Wine . . . with something in it . . . it slaked his thirst and he knew it soon would send him back to dreaming.
Brand gave her hand a squeeze as he felt the concoction take effect. ‘I promise. I won’t try to get up. Get some sleep yourself, Meghan. You can tell me all the stories you want to tomorrow. Lay down, lay down and rest a while.’