Caitlin leaned forward, straining, desperate.
"What, Owaine? Tell him what?"
"In... danger..."
Caitlin gripped the boy's hand fiercely. "Who is in danger? You or Niall? What kind of danger? I beg of you, you must tell me."
The lad fought valiantly, his ashen lips struggling to form words, his throat convulsing as he forced out sounds. But exhaustion, pain, and exposure proved to be too much for him. His eyes fluttered shut. Caitlin cried out in denial, rushed about the bed in a flurry of cool cloths, desperate urgings, and pleading shakes, but nothing would wake him.
Seeing her efforts futile, Caitlin surrendered at last. Sinking down on a bench, she raised her eyes to where Aniera and Fiona stood across the bed box, terror stark on their faces.
"Is he... dead?" Fiona queried, ice pale.
"Not yet."
"Do you think he will..." Fiona shuddered, then burst in outrage. "After I dragged him halfway across Ireland, he does this? Who knows what illness he might carry! He might be a thief, a murderer—"
"But he was searching for Niall," Aniera reminded her. "Why? What do you think..."
"We will not know until he awakens. All we can be certain of is this: Niall must be in danger."
"Because of what? Who?" Aniera asked. "The boy said nothing—"
"Do not be fools!" Fiona cried. "It has to be Conn, the traitorous cur! I tried to warn Niall,but would he listen? Nay! Not one of you would!"
Aniera's face crumpled with unspeakable fears, Caitlin sensed. For if it was true, that evil lurked where Aniera had seen compassion, how could Niall’s mother forgive herself for her blindness?
"You cannot know it is Conn for certain," Aniera cried. "We cannot even begin to guess what this poor boy is trying to tell us. We will just have to wait—"
"Wait?" Caitlin cried. "How can I wait here, helpless, while Niall is threatened? Nay. I have to reach Glenfluirse with all haste. Warn him that something is wrong."
"How do you mean to do that? By traveling on foot?" Fiona scoffed. "By the time you reached Glenfluirse, this boy would have sprouted a beard. And whatever he is trying to warn of will already have happened."
Aniera plucked at the coverlet. "What if the boy awakens? If he can speak at last and tell us whatever is locked away inside him now? You will already be gone!"
"I have seen others sick in this way, brought to the healing sisters at the abbey. They can linger thus for weeks." Caitlin's voice dropped low. "Some never awaken at all. I cannot risk waiting a moment more."
Aniera fretted her lower lip. "But if he tells us why he was searching for Niall, if he gives some sort of warning—"
"Then Fiona will come after me, carry the message to Glenfluirse," Caitlin cut in, certain the girl would get through even if hell itself barred the way.
"I swear I will," Fiona vowed, her eyes glowing fierce as her warrior brother's.
Caitlin clung to that strength, the will that had kept Daire alive when things were most bleak, the instinct for survival that flowed through Fiona's blood as intensely as Niall's own.
"Then I have only one more favor to ask of you, my sister. A skill sadly neglected in my lessons at the abbey. One you have already proved apt at."
Caitlin clutched Fiona's hands tight, bracing herself with the strength, the feral protectiveness, that made her love this intrepid girl. "Teach me how to steal a horse."
Chapter 20
Glenfluirse.
Niall squinted his eyes against the sun's glare and stared at Conn's magnificent fortress crowning a towering hill. Even as a boy, Niall believed it had seemed to shimmer with power as old as the Irish hills.
A place where legends could be born, soaring in fiery arcs to immortality. Fintan MacShane with his enchanted spear, his tale had been sung by the bards from the time Niall was a boy, the glorious story of the blind spear caster urging an outcast lad to strive harder, fight more fiercely... dream of great deeds he would do one day. Glenfluirse—the bloodless battlefield upon whichNiall of the Seven Betrayals would win redemption.
Yet now, as he rode toward those familiar gates, the magic seemed to fade, Glenfluirse reverting to plain stone and wood, like any other fortress Niall had seen. It was little wonder, he thought, his lips curving in a grin.
