It was glorious, pacing among the other warriors, their envious looks glancing off him as if he had been given some magic shield to deflect their jealousy, for nothing could grieve Niall as he looked to the head of the table and saw Conn standing there.
Resplendent, the chieftain's mantle flowedabout him, his red mustache seeming to catch fire. Those eyes, so intelligent, so intense, glittered with pride.
"My son has made you all look like stumbling fools yet again on the field of battle," Conn bellowed so it seemed all Ireland must hear him. "I decree that the champion's portion belongs to Niall of the Seven Betrayals. The finest warrior in all of Glenfluirse."
Pleasure burned through Niall, so fierce he ignored the hostile glint behind the smiles of the other warriors as they raised their tankards to salute him. He grasped Conn's approval tightly, glad to have repaid him just a little for the kindness and generosity he had shown.
Aye, it was magnificent—this surge of triumph, secure in Conn's favor, certain of loyalty, honor, the duty he must serve. All that Niall believed in.
He moved toward Conn and the haunch of meat that awaited him. But no matter how fast he strode, it seemed Conn drifted farther and farther away.
Niall fought a jab of panic and broke into a run, but smoke swirled up, stinging his eyes, blurring his vision. When he broke through the haze at last, he stumbled to a halt. Sick with horrorand denial as the gray stone of Castle Daire loomed above him.
Niall woke with a start, clawing his way upright. Nay, it was but a dream—a dream, he assured himself, his skin dampened with sweat. He need only look about him, see the familiar boundaries of Conn's fortress.
Yet as Niall's desperate gaze searched about him, he froze, sick with disbelief. He glared at the stone walls of Castle Daire, enraged to find them looming over him. The reality of it all struck him like a javelin in his gut. His fury when he had discovered what quest Conn had sent him on. His frustration in dealing with a convent-bred girl half terrified of him. Then the missive, gleaming as he read it in the firelight. The unthinkable choice. Killing Caitlin as she slept or turning his back on everything he believed in.
A low groan escaped Niall as he levered himself to his feet. God's blood, living the beauty of that dream and awakening to this—it was like losing everything he valued yet again.
He stood, the damp penetrating to his bones, his body aching from his fall to the ledge. He wanted nothing more than to curl back into the cloak, to dream again that nothing had changed. But that was impossible. He had to do what hecould to make things right for Fiona and his mother. Aye, and to prepare for whatever retribution would come once Conn discovered what his trusted foster son had done.
Touching the pouch where he had stored the missive he had inscribed to Conn last night, Niall crossed to the castle door with all the resolution and pleasure of a man walking to his own execution. He strode into the great hall, but no amount of determination could stop the wave of sick guilt and resentment washing through him.
The fire was glowing, but the chamber seemed empty enough. Relieved, Niall paced to the center of the room. Aye, this bit of time would be a mercy, time enough for him to master his emotions before his mother trailed in with her dream-misted eyes, Fiona with her loathing, and Caitlin with her stark uncertainty.
He could gather what few wits he had left, and—It was a hopeless task. His wits were still shattered by the press of soft lips in the moonlight, the bewitching scent of night wind and innocence that had rippled from Caitlin's hair.
The power of the encounter last night flooded back to him—the sweet invitation of Caitlin's breasts against his chest, the hardened buds of her nipples beckoning through the thin wisp ofcloth that separated his body from hers. He remembered it all with painful clarity, but most torturous of all was the knowledge that not only had his body cried out for the lady in his arms, but another cry had reverberated through him in those forbidden moments—some lost, all but forgotten cry far deeper.
Niall winced. How would it be to look into those lake-blue eyes in the harsh light of morning? Excruciating...
Hearing a soft scraping sound somewhere above him, he paused. Determined not to let even the castle mouse see his torment, Niall hardened his features into a harsh mask. He turned his face upward just as a wave of something cold, wet, and muddy drenched him. He roared a curse, leaping aside with a warrior's instincts as a bucket clattered onto the floor a hand's breadth from where he had stood.
Swiping the mess from his eyes, Niall glared up to see Fiona, balanced precariously on one of the wooden beams that spanned the room high above him. A smug smile shone on her pixie face.
"Niall! Och, a hundred thousand pardons! I lost my balance, and—"
A flash of dark hair and soft linen dashed through the far door before she could finish.Caitlin stood, breathless, brandishing a wooden table leg as if it were a sword.
"I heard the noise. Feared that Conn might have found us. Nay, it is too soon. Perhaps thieves—" She shook back hair mussed with the restlessness of sleep, her eyes wide and misty and a little startled. Niall knew the instant she remembered the kiss. Color burned up her cheeks. She swallowed hard. "Niall... your face. It is full of mud."
Niall glared at his sister, planning to strangle her the instant he figured out a way to get her down.
"What—what happened?" Caitlin asked.
Niall waved his arm toward Fiona, humiliation and anger raging inside him. ”That hell-born babe ambushed me!"
Caitlin’s jaw dropped as she looked up at his sister. Fiona swung her feet to and fro.
"I did no such thing!" Fiona said, larking about until it was a miracle she didn’t fall. "I was merely scrubbing things up in honor of your guest, Niall, as hospitality demands. I lost my balance and almost fell. Of course, if I had been thinking, I would have obliged you and fallen and broken my neck. One less burden you would have had to bear."
"Curse it, Fiona." Niall swiped the worst of the muck from his face. "I swear, I—"
"I told you to call me Finn."
"Niall, surely it was an accident," Caitlin intervened.
"I will believe that the instant Finn tells me what she was intending to clean up there. Did someone discover that mud and water act to preserve wood?"
