Page 49 of A Wolf's Bargain
She stared a moment longer, then jolted in his arms. “Cillian! The courtyard! What about the English? They’d breached the gate and—”
“Whoa, lass,” he urged. “Calm yourself. Your father’s men did him proud. They were holding their own well enough when we returned, and I left most of the wolves behind to help even the odds. The battle will be well over by now.”
Her eyes widened in surprise. “You mean... we won?”
Cillian grinned. “Well, considering the English haven’t shot our arses full of arrows, I’d say the chances are high.”
Cora scrambled to her feet. “Come on! They might need help!”
Chapter 23
Cora
Though they had indeed won the battle for Ossory, the price had been steep. Bodies littered the ground, both Kilkenny men and madraí. The only thing that made the sight of so many dead easier to bear was the knowledge that they’d paid the English back thrice over for every man they’d lost.
Cora marched through the battlefield like a woman possessed. She searched the faces of the dead, and every time she came across a face she recognized, she closed her eyes and said a prayer for their soul.
She’d been through half the bodies when she found him—Bran. Until then, she’d kept her tears at bay, but the sight of the stable hand crumpled on the ground with nothing but an old pitchfork made it impossible to hold them back any longer. She dropped to the ground and took his hand in hers. Tears streamed from her eyes as she forced herself to look at him. To see what this battle had cost them.
Cillian crouched beside her. “Who was he?”
Cora let out a shuddering breath. “His name was Bran. He worked in the stables, and he—he’s the one who told me stories about you.”
Cillian laid a hand on Bran’s shoulder, grasping it like he might one of his luchthonn. “He has my thanks, then. For his sacrifice and for his part in sending you to me.”
“Cora!”
Cora’s head whipped up, scanning the area until she found the source of the voice. Across the courtyard, her father stumbled toward them.
“Da!” Cora was on her feet in an instant. She flew across the stone yard, dodging the injured and dead until she could throw herself into her father’s arms.
“You’re alive. Thank all the saints, you’re still alive!” Her father murmured prayers against her skin as he kissed her hair and face.
They held each other close, rivers of tears flowing down their faces. When they finally pulled away, his eyes went wide.
“What happened to you, lass? Who’s done this to you?”
Cora quickly explained the events of the night, detailing Edwin’s plans for Ossory and the luchthonn. When Cillian approached—his wolf’s skin considerately wrapped around his hips—her father clasped his arm.
“You have my thanks, Fane. Without you and your luchthonn, I would have lost everything I hold dear tonight.”
Cillian clapped her father on the shoulder. “Your men fought well, Fergus. They defended their homes with strength and honor. You should be proud.”
Her father straightened, his head held high. “I am. It was a hard-won victory, and we lost many good men. They deserve a warrior’s funeral. I would be honored if you would wish for any of your dead to be buried with them.”
Cillian shook his head. “My thanks, but we’ve our own traditions for such things.”
“I understand. Will you leave soon, then? With Edwin dead—well, I can’t imagine his advisors will be quick to bother with us. They’ll be busy enough crowning a new king.”
Cillian glanced at her, and she understood his question without needing to be asked. It warmed her heart that he’d take her desires into consideration when he had so many others to worry about.
She nodded. “We’ll stay to help with the burials and repairs. But after that, we’ve our own home to see to.”
Her father nodded, pulling her in for another embrace. “You’ve made me so proud,A stór. What father could ask for a more valiant daughter?”
Cora laughed and replied, “And here I thought daughters were supposed to speak softly and worry about their needlework.”
“Perhaps so, but I doubt any of them would bite a king!”