Conn roared with laughter, but his gaze probed Niall's face, searching, seeking. Niall turned away, fearing Conn would see that Niall's reckless beloved had dared to give her heart into his keeping. That Fintan's daughter had pierced through all the anger, every dark vow Niall had ever made,and had brought him back into the land of the living, reborn.
"No woman in Ireland can be bound without her consent," Niall said, as much to ease his own fear as in answer to Conn's questions.And Caitlin would never consent to marry any man save me,he finished in silence.She is wife already, mated to my soul.
But could that not be the most dangerous truth of all?
"Do we not owe the woman some small courtesy, at least? Let her stay where she is. Give her time to forget that you wrote an order condemning her to die."
He shifted his gaze away from Conn's probing one, and his heart slammed against his ribs. In themass of faces, one stood out, the hatred etched in those features virulent, seething. Deadly.
Magnus, Conn's oldest son.
From the time they were boys, Magnus despised him for his tainted blood, hoarded up every defeat, every humiliation Niall had dealt him on the practice field. Niall had always known Conn's true-born son was counting the moments until he could make Niall pay for stealing his father's favor, smug in the certainty that that day would come. Magnus had cheated, schemed, stooped to any secret dishonor to try to bring Niall pain. The man's hatred must be fired hotter than ever now, humiliated as he was before all Ireland.
Niall's blood ran cold. He was right to keep Caitlin hidden at Castle Daire. Right to conceal his love for her. And at Castle Daire his lady would remain, safe from the intrigue that seethed in Glenfluirse. Aye, he would find a way to protect her from this threat, through reason or with his blood.
The heavens would fall before he allowed Magnus to use Caitlin as a weapon in his game of revenge. Besides, Niall reasoned there was nothing to fear, was there? There would be time enough to reason with his foster father in thedays to come. Conn had shown himself willing to grant him a kingdom. Surely, once Conn understood, the chieftain would give Niall the one thing he desired: Caitlin of the Lilies as his wife.
Conn tuggedat the fringe of his mustache, his eyes fixed on the crowd that still reveled far beneath him, their spirits rising faster than the ascent of the moon. Disturbing. Nearly half of Glenfluirse embraced Niall astainist, that position Conn's own blood son should hold.
How had Conn underestimated the allies Niall had won? Such divided loyalties could be dangerous even to a reigning chieftain if some unpopular secret were discovered and held against him. Worst of all—Conn grimaced—he had opened the door to this danger with his own hand.
Yet it was an error in judgment that would be righted soon enough. He would mark these men whose loyalty belonged to Ronan's son, and they would pay in good time. Not by Conn's sword but by a more subtle blade—cunning, ruthlessness, the genius that belonged to Conn alone.
They worshipped valor? Conn scoffed. Hismeasure was no greater than most men's. Strength? His body was satisfactory enough. But his mind... aye, his mind surpassed any weapon these bumbling warriors hoarded in their armories. He would emerge the victor this time, as he always had before, because of one irrefutable truth: there was nothing he would not sacrifice to gain what he desired.
He glanced one more time at the sky then smiled. Magnus should be drunk enough by now, wallowing in rage at the reception Niall received. It was time to visit his son.
Servants scattered, even Magnus's friends fleeing like frightened deer, as the chieftain strode into his son's chambers. Conn grimaced in disgust as he saw evidence of Magnus's rage—every stick of furniture shattered or upended. A witless display of rage. And yet one a wise man could turn to his advantage.
With a wave of his hand, Conn dismissed the few who had been brave enough to linger. They rushed from the room with all haste.
Magnus cast a bleary glare at his father. He raised his leather flagon high. "Hail, the conquering hero returns! Tell me, Father, are you pleased with what you have done? If Fintan himself had risen from the grave and marched intoyour fortress, Glenfluirse could not have given him a more joyous welcome."
Jaw clenched with disgust, Conn stalked over to his son, knocking the flagon from Magnus's grasp with a knotted fist. "You think all this matters?" he demanded, gesturing to the slit in the stone through which the sounds of the revels rang. "Did I not promise you that if you had half the courage of Ronan's son, all of Glenfluirse would be yours?"
"And how could I hold it? Did you see those accursed fools flocking about Niall? They would not suffer me to betainistnow."
“Who could blame them, looking at you now, you drunken fool?” Conn sneered. “Yet, even though you do not deserve my help I will give it to you. You are my son, though the gods know I can scarce believe anything so useless could spring from my loins."
Magnus drew back his fist, but even in his drunken haze, he did not have the courage to swing at his tormentor. Conn smirked. "You would make a pitiful chieftain, it is true. But the people would forgive almost any weakness to have the blood of Fintan rule over them."
"Fintan? The spear caster is dead, may he rot!"
"But his daughter lives. The most beautifulwoman in Ireland, some say. Bind the wench to you as your wife, and no man would dare speak against your rule."
Magnus's eyes cleared just a little, and Conn could almost feel his son scrambling to gather what few wits he had not drowned in mead. "That may be so... but that cur Niall—"
"Will be dead. You, my son, will kill him."
Magnus caught his breath, a dart of fear in his eyes. "You are mad! No man in Glenfluirse could defeat Niall!"
"You think I expect you to challenge him face-to-face like a man?" Conn laughed. "Do not be absurd. We are not bound by his code of honor, you and I. I had planned another death for my foster son, hoped to make it look as if Niall had fallen on his own sword."
Magnus snorted. "Why would he do such a thing? All of Glenfluirse grovels at his feet."
"Exactly. Which is why we must manage things another way. This is how it will be done. A philter slipped into Niall's cup while he is celebrating."
"Poison?" Magnus asked hopefully. "Aye! It is a masterful plan!"
