"Owaine is fired of a rare, fine mettle," Niall insisted.
"The same mettle as you were," Conn said. "Is that not what you are trying to say? Fired in the flames of hardship, rejection and shame?"
Niall's face burned, but his jaw set hard. "A boy who has endured such trials will fight and die for any man who shows him kindness instead of scorn. Whatever welcome you give the boy will be repaid you a hundredfold."
"I fear you are mistaken, since he nearly gave me a bleeding nose when first we met."
Niall frowned. "I do not understand."
Conn laughed. "He was most, er, exuberant when he arrived. Ready to slay dragons, storm fortresses and decimate enemy hordes single-handed."
Niall's frown melted, gruff affection for the boy tugging hard at his heart. "And you with no dragons nearby." He shook his head in mock regret. “What a terrible misfortune for the boy.”
"You have been around to dispatch all the impossible quests at Glenfluirse for so long that I fear there is a shortage of bold adventures at present. Not knowing what else to do in this predicament, I sent the boy off on a mad chase with the understandable hope that he might wear off a bit of his enthusiasm before he hurt himself or goaded someone else into quelling his exuberance for him. He seemed the sort of lad who will create trouble when he cannot find it, imagine danger where there is none."
Niall's chest ached. Conn might as well be describing the boy Niall had been. "I am sorry to miss the chance to speak to him again."
Conn shrugged. "I have no doubt he will return far too soon for anyone else's peace of mind. Unlike my son, who has carried out his task at a dragging pace." Conn cast Magnus a reproving glance as the burly warrior returned with the chieftain's cup.
"I am not accustomed to tending a servant's task," Magnus observed with unsettling mildness, wiping at a dark, damp stain down his front.
"You had best become accustomed to serving Niall," Conn growled. "Tending his needs will be your lot in life from this day forward, aye, and the lot of your brothers." The chieftain all but yankedthe goblet from his son's grasp. The liquid splashed over its rim, the gold vessel shimmering between Conn's long fingers. He held the goblet to his lips, tipped it back, his throat convulsing. Wiping his wet mustache with the back of his sleeve, Conn handed the goblet to Niall and smiled.
"Sample this, and tell me, my foster son, does the drink of atainisttaste different from the fare of a simple warrior?"
At the moment, all Niall thirsted for was a moment alone. But even with all the changes inside him, it seemed he could still be provoked by the taunting of Conn's haughty sons. Surrounded by their muttered insults, he returned their scorn in the most effective means in his power: he raised the chieftain's goblet to his lips and drained it.
Conn's eyes burned with intensity. What had he done to so please his chieftain? Niall wondered. Did Conn approve of the way Niall had confronted the chieftain’s sons by draining the goblet?
"You have given me much pleasure in the years since you first came to me," Conn said. "I take a father's pride in you. That is why it grieves me to disappoint you on this night, filled withtales of your victories. Tell me, Niall, is there no other boon I can grant you?"
Niall searched the familiar landscape of Conn's face, the shrewd eyes half-hooded beneath coppery brows, the bold blade of nose, the drooping mustache that veiled his mouth. And the smile, that smile that seemed to draw a magic circle around just the two of them, as if he and Niall shared a secret bond no one else would ever understand.
Niall felt a stab of sadness at the trust he and his foster father had both lost during this final quest. There had been another time in his life when he had fought against the lure of that smile—as a boy, trusting no one, especially not himself. Yet, in the end, wariness had always softened in the light of that smile. Now a strange, slow warmth spread through Niall—from the mead he had drunk or the glow of Conn's approval, he was not certain.
He was astonished to hear the sound of his own voice. "There is one reward only I would ask." Had he run mad? Niall felt a sudden sting of alarm as he struggled not to let anyone see how dismayed he was that the words had escaped him. He had nearly confessed the truth about his love for Caitlin!
Yet would it not be wisest to tell the truth about the love they shared before Conn's boasting fool of a son announced his betrothal from the fortress gates? Magnus had already been humiliated at this feast by the foster brother he scorned. He would not suffer another such slight without taking grim revenge.
Conn clapped him on the shoulder, and Niall fought to steady himself in an agony of indecision, a sheen of sweat dampening his body.
"The untarnished name you have fought for so long is yours," Conn proclaimed, "one fit for a hero who will someday dwell inTir naN Og."
Niall kneaded his temple with his fingers, trying to clear his head, sort things through, the exhaustion and strain of these days at Glenfluirse taking a toll at last, tangling his thoughts. But he was determined to be honest in this much at least.
"I no longer wish to change my name," Niall confessed.
Conn stared. "How can that be? You have fought for this one boon your whole life, to rid yourself of your traitor father forever."
Niall's cheeks fired even warmer. He glanced down at the sword hilt glittering at his waist, and a knot tightened in his gut. Little wonder he feltso strange. Somewhere, buried deep inside him, he had been dreading this moment of truth with Conn and with himself, knowing it would come. And that when it did, he would hurt this man who had been his staunchest defender.
He leveled his gaze at Conn, certain the chieftain would never understand, no matter how hard Niall tried to explain. "No mere words have the power to change the fact that I am the son of Ronan of Daire," Niall said slowly. "His blood runs in my veins. His face will be my own forever, just as your sons bear your mark in their features, the reflection of your spirit in their eyes."
"It is not the same!" Conn's mouth crumpled in denial. "You carry a vile murderer's name. It is a burden I would rid you of."
"Many years have passed. It is my name. Mine alone." The name Caitlin had first known him by, loved him in spite of. How could mere words hold any sting when she spoke them with such love in her voice?
"Atainistbearing a name carved in shame?" Conn snarled in disbelief. "A chieftain whose name echoes with betrayal? Who would follow such a man?"
