"It is over, Caitlin."
She must have heard the conviction in his voice, unyielding as the blade of his sword. Sheturned, fled, as Fiona had, into the darkness. Niall sagged against the castle wall, her words still echoing through him.
To be left behind by you... there could be no pain worse.
He closed his eyes, hearing his mother's agonized screams ring in his ears, seeing the hideous torture contorting his father's face as he was dragged from her arms.
If only you knew, Lily Fair,Niall thought, anguished.When you love as fiercely as we do, there is pain far deeper than loneliness. I will not let you see me die.
Chapter 17
Conn paced the breadth of the great hall, the massive brace of wolfhounds that guarded Glenfluirse cowering whenever he drew near. Beasts who had slain packs of marauding wolves eyed Conn with the wariness of wild things. Their great bodies quivered in terror at white-hot rage they sensed but no one saw.
The curs were wise to fear him at present, Conn thought. But there were others whose fear should cut far deeper: those incompetent warriors who were still blundering around the countryside.
The task he had set for them should have been simple enough. Capture one scrawny, friendless youth possessed of more bluster than brains. Cutthe boy's throat to silence him forever, preferably with the blade of the enchanted dagger Niall had given to the lad so he could protect himself. Conn's lip curled in a sneer that sent the dogs scrambling from the room, leaving their booty of marrowbones behind.
Curse Magnus and the pack of incompetent fools who followed him! Rank failures, the lot of them. Conn swore. Would the chieftain of Glenfluirse have to hunt the boy down himself?
Every hour the lad continued to elude them, there was a greater chance Owaine would tell someone what had happened at the fortress. More perilous still, the lad might find Niall himself. And if Niall ever discovered that the boy he had sent as an emissary had almost been killed for his efforts, hell would not be dark enough for Conn to hide in.
Conn shuddered, suddenly cold. Aye, if Niall learned the truth that would be peril indeed. For from the night Conn had first thrown Ronan's son into the pack of his own, expecting him to quail before the much older boys, Niall had shown a maddening core of courage. Loyal to his chieftain and foster father he might be, but Niall of the Seven Betrayals also had too much honorby half and possessed an oft-inconvenient determination to protect those weaker than he.
Not that the trait should surprise Conn. Blood will out. Niall was the son of Ronan of Daire, in spirit as well as flesh, while Conn's own heirs were sly, clumsy-witted fools who would cheerfully cut their brothers' throats to gain the title of chieftain. But not their father's throat, Conn thought with the smallest stirring of satisfaction. Nay, he had made certain they were too afraid of him to dare.
Conn grimaced. It was a pity he could not have had Magnus send the warriors loyal to Niall out to search. Doubtless they would have had the skills, the tenacity, and the cunning to flush Owaine out of the underbrush.
Ever since Fintan's death, Conn had watched those who had been loyal to the blind warrior begin to turn to Niall. Conn had seen the spark of devotion in their eyes, and he had hated the knowledge that Niall possessed that elusive quality his own sons did not: the ability to lead men. The same gift that had driven armies to charge into battle behind Fintan and win despite impossible odds.
But Conn did not dare muster Niall's followers. They might be nearly as dangerous as Niallhimself if Owaine revealed that Conn had attempted to murder Niall's messenger. Suspicion bred suspicion, and once doubt was planted in the warriors' minds, it was a small step to discovering what Conn dreaded most of all. That he had ordered the murder of Fintan's daughter—
"Can no man in Glenfluirse follow a simple command?” he muttered savagely. “Will I be forced to do anything of importance with my own hands from this day forward?"
Aye, a voice inside him whispered, stirring up an odd twinge of regret.For once this intrigue is finished, the only warrior you can trust completely will be dead by his own hand or by yours.
A servant girl too small to shake a cat scurried in, bobbing up and down with such nervous abandon he was tempted to step on her feet to hold her still. "I watched the road the way you ordered me to," she cried, breathless. "Riders are coming at last. Looks t'be Magnus an' a crowd o' his men."
Conn fought not to betray his emotions in his face—anticipation, unease, relief. It must be good news they bring, he reasoned. Surely, Magnus would not be fool enough to return to Glenfluirse without the boy's blood on his hands.
"Inform my eldest son that I will see him inmy chamber at once. Alone." Conn turned and strode through the maze of gray stone rooms, until he reached his most private chamber.
It seemed an eternity before he heard his son's boots tromping toward him. An odd, rather strange shuffling sound echoing in his wake.
Alarm bit deep. Surely, even Magnus in all his arrogance would not be foolhardy enough to drag Owaine back to Glenfluirse. If he had, Conn vowed he would take his son's head himself!
But before Magnus entered the room, he shoved his companion onto a wooden stool.
Conn drew himself up to his full height, the rage of the past weeks thundering inside him as Magnus strode through the arched doorway.
Conn's eyes narrowed, disliking the expression on his son's face. "You have accomplished the task I set for you?"
"The boy is dead."
Relief. "You sent him to his grave?" Seeking reassurance he would never have needed from Niall.
Magnus shrugged. "I did not have to. A weakling boy the like of this Owaine could not survive the wild lands for long. We searched night and day, but it was as if he had vanished from the face of the earth. Last eventide, we discovered whathad become of him about half a day's ride from Daire."
"Pray enlighten me."
