He knew Fiona would not have cared if Conn's whole army were descending upon them at that moment. Only her devotion to their mother made her swing down, then reach up tohelp Aniera slide from the animal's back to the muddy earth.
Aniera stumbled just a little, and Niall knew she was already weary and numb from the hours spent riding. How would she ever withstand this grueling journey?
Caitlin pulled at his sleeve. "Niall, the footprints in the mud are there for anyone to see. And they end here. Would it not make whoever is approaching more suspicious if they found you alone?"
“Aye, curse it! You are right," Niall admitted. By instinct, he maneuvered Fiona and his mother behind him, intending to shield them from whoever was coming. Stalking to Caitlin, he yanked her hood closer about her damp cheeks. She would all but suffocate in the clinging wet folds, but at least no one would see that unforgettable face which could prove the ruin of them all.
"Say nothing," Niall warned the three women. "If anyone asks, we are traveling to a wedding feast. Your sister is to be wed," he said, jerking his head at Caitlin. He scowled as she fidgeted with the hood, doubtless dying to gain a bit more space to breathe. "And for the love of your blasted God, woman, keep your face out of sight this time, or—"
"—who knows what disaster will befall us?" She finished the sentence for him. Niall winced. "It may be your chieftain was right when he called me a curse," she said, meeting his gaze. "I have been one to you. To your family."
"Do not ever say that!" Niall berated her, savage. "It is not true."
"Is it not?" she demanded in quiet misery. "Castle Daire is lost because of me. Your sense of honor will never let you return to your chieftain, even if he believes I am dead. And if he discovers I am alive, you will be hunted, maybe even killed, for your kindness to me."
He wanted to rage at her, shake her until he drove such damning thoughts from her mind. But there was no time for another word. A lone rider bore down on them like a denizen from the otherworld, half concealed by billows of mist and the cold, gray veil of rain.
Niall's gut clenched as the figure neared, and he fingered the hilt of his sword. He would do whatever he had to in order to protect his family.
His family.
Caitlin, with the healing fire in her eyes, defiant Fiona, so young, so impossibly valiant, and the gentle, dazed mother he had tried to forget.
Panic churned in his gut, shaking hisconfidence in the sword arm that had served him so well. Was this how his father had felt the day Conn's men had ridden into the castle yard? This fearsome vulnerability, this earth-shattering love, this ice-cold terror far greater than his own paltry death could ever hold?
Niall's hands clenched until his nails dug deep into his palms, awareness jolting through him, lightning clear, illuminating everything. Suddenly, he knew why he had spent his life running—into battle, into danger. He had not been chasing honor or glory or a name made eternal by bard song.
He had been running away from anyone he could love. Because if you loved no one, not even yourself, you had nothing to lose. But it was too late to run again now. He loved these three women with every fiber of his body and soul.
He reached out, squeezed Caitlin's hand, nodded to Fiona with a look that told her more than he had ever dared to say.Do not fear, little sister. I will take care of you.
The grief in Fiona's face was beaten back for just an instant before she turned away.
Niall squared his shoulders, bracing himself to meet the rider. But as man and horse emerged from the mist, Niall's jaw dropped in astonishment.Declan MacHurley towered above him like a benevolent giant, the grizzled warrior's broad, honest face still twisted by an enemy sword cut, his grin wide and open as a summer sky. Even through the rain, the warrior's whole body seemed to shout welcome.
Of all the fighting men at Glenfluirse, Declan had been the first who had offered Niall the hand of friendship. Niall had not wanted friends then. Thought he scorned them. Now he knew he had feared them.
Some men might have hated Niall for that rejection. But Declan had shrugged it off, no more rebuffed than a yearling pup. The scar-faced warrior with the merry eyes had simply guarded Niall's back in countless battles, eased the outcast lad's path in so many quiet, subtle ways Niall had been hard-pressed to subdue the grudging sense of trust Declan fostered inside him.
But what duty could drive Declan from his fireside to scramble around the countryside alone? His task was to guard the fortress or ride with Conn's army when it marched against an enemy. And nothing else would have the power to force the man away from his own hearth.
Not that Niall could blame Declan. The man had one of the warmest-hearted wives inGlenfluirse and a pack of children any warrior would envy. Declan would not leave his lady's side unless—
Fear's cold blade trailed down Niall's spine. Had Conn already learned the truth? Sent men searching?
Declan reined in his dun-brown mount in a spray of mud, water, and enthusiasm, then swung down into the muck with a roar of greeting. "It is my life you have saved by letting me find you, Niall! So it is!"
Niall stiffened, sensed the throb of fear in the women behind him. "Find me?" he echoed.
"Aye, with every warrior from Glenfluirse who can ride out searching!"
Niall forced his features into their accustomed reckless lines. "Why would anyone search for me?"
"It is just that Conn has offered the greatest reward ever seen in Glenfluirse to the man who delivers the mighty Niall of the Seven Betrayals back to the fortress."
Caitlin stifled a tiny cry, and Niall could sense the tremor of fear rippling through Fiona. His mother's wide, bewildered eyes tore at him.
Disaster, he thought, fear cold as a stone in hisbelly. This summons was the catastrophe they had all feared.
