Conn kept any hint of affection carefully out of his expression as he faced his sullen son.
"Can a chieftain not be given a few moments' peace upon arising?" he growled.
Magnus stiffened. "A scrawny whelp of a boy insists upon seeing you—one Owaine come in from the wilds west of Glenfluirse."
Conn yawned. "Let me make a guess about hispurpose. He wishes to become a warrior."
"Aye, though a well-aimed sneeze would likely blast him all the way to the Irish Sea."
Conn grimaced. He had little patience for the grandiose dreams of stripling boys at present.
"But that is not all the boy said." Discontent simmered in Magnus's eyes. "He claims he carries word for you from one of your warriors."
There was only one warrior Conn wished news from at present, and that man would send no messenger. He would feel honor bound to ride in alone, deliver his news himself. But it would be reckless to stir the curiosity of anyone in Glenfluirse. If they suspected Conn only had one matter on his mind, they might begin to probe for answers. He must still rule his lands whether Niall made haste back to Glenfluirse or no.
"Bring the message to me, and send the boy on his way."
Magnus glowered. "He will give the message to no one, the insolent wretch. Not even the chieftain's son! He says he promised to put it into your hand."
"And did this difficult whelp say who sent the message?" Edgy from his restless night, Conn's voice dropped to that low, dangerous tone that made even the hulking Magnus pale a trifle.
"The message is from Niall." Magnus all but spat the name. For an instant, Conn thought he had misheard him. Then he stared in disbelief. Relief warred with confusion and a wild eagerness he fought to hide. Pray the gods nothing had gone awry, Conn thought. If anyone discovered that he had planned the girl's murder, it could mean disaster.
"Send this Owaine to me."
"You would see this insolent pup who has insulted me? Why? Because he comes from Niall?"
"I would see the devil himself if Niall sent him.
Now, go. Has anyone else in the fortress seen this messenger?"
"Most were still sleeping. As for the others, do you think I would let any man in the fortress see him treating me with scorn while spouting Niall's name as if he were lord of the sea?"
"You were wise, Magnus, to guard your dignity so carefully. You have so little of it left."
Rage mingled with humiliation in the young man's eyes, but he stormed away without another word.
Aye, Conn thought. Let Magnus's wounds fester only a little while longer, then he would be tempered like a blade in fire. "Soon you will behardened enough to do whatever you must do to rule, my son," Conn murmured.
It seemed mere moments before Magnus returned, the boy in tow. He did not even reach Conn's chin and looked as if he had not eaten in weeks, but his eyes burned with that inner fire no mere training with sword and spear could match. Pity he had become embroiled in this matter, Conn thought. A boy of his kind could prove useful.
"So this is the messenger chosen by the mightiest warrior of Glenfluirse." Conn let a smile spread across his face. "The choice calls into question my foster son's judgment, I am afraid. Tell me, boy. Just how did Niall choose you?"
"I was on my way here when he found me thrashing four knaves twice my size." The boy thrust out his narrow chest. "I come to offer my services as a warrior."
"You? A warrior?" Magnus gave a snort of laughter. "Niall must have lost his wits!"
Color burned into the lad's cheeks. "I will match my skills against yours whenever you are ready!"
"There will be time aplenty for you to thrash Magnus after you give me your message." Conn could not stifle a smirk. "Magnus, you had bestgrab your sword and make ready to go to the practice field. Leave us," Conn ordered his son. "I am always eager to hear what Niall has to say. And awake the bard. Perhaps there is yet another quest to be immortalized in song."
Magnus slunk off with a parting glare that boded ill for the boy. After all, Conn thought, if one could not take his anger out upon Niall himself...
When he was alone with young Owaine, Conn planted his hands upon his hips. "Now, tell me, boy, what is this message you carry? Speak up!"
"I cannot tell you. It is written, and I would not shame myself by prying into what is meant for your eyes alone."
"Ah, a good boy. An honorable one. Niall always did have a gift for finding such traits in others."
