Fintan's brave, generous-hearted daughter;Fiona with her rebelliousness and her fearsome loyalty; Niall's mother, whose love for him had never faltered. Who would follow such a man? The only people who mattered.
Niall wiped the sweat from his brow, fighting an odd lightness in his head. He squared his shoulders, wishing he could explain the truth to Conn, knowing this man, above all others, deserved honesty from one he had raised as a son. He confessed as much as he dared. "I want no man to follow me. I never wished to be chieftain."
Conn jerked back as if Niall had slapped him. Niall winced, regretting the confusion on Conn's face, the barest hint of alarm in the chieftain's eyes.
"Every man wishes to be chieftain!" Conn insisted. "Every man craves power to rule over others."
Niall wanted to rule over nothing except the calves Boann would bear, the mischief his sister would cause, his mother's visits to the fairy folk, and the love in Caitlin's heart. And yet, did he dare confess that truth to anyone here at Glenfluirse until he was certain all was well? Would it not put Caitlin in danger?
Was she not already in jeopardy, which would only grow graver given time? Had not Connsuggested giving her in marriage to appease Magnus? What would the warrior do when he found himself robbed not only of his inheritance but of the honor of taking Fintan's daughter as wife?
He started as Conn gripped his arm. "What place would I hold in your tales when they are sung if I did not choose you as my heir?" Conn demanded. "Seven quests performed for a chieftain who offered you nothing in return? I would be shamed for all time!TainistI proclaimed you, andtainistyou will remain!"
Niall's gaze locked with his chieftain's, Conn's eyes suddenly burning with an anger Niall had never seen before. He could sense how much it cost Conn to extinguish it, the chieftain slowly unclenching his fists.
"You have endured much since you left on the quest I set you. You look weary this night. Go to your rooms. We will speak of this tomorrow when you are rested."
"The bard—" Niall objected. "I would not dishonor him or shame you..."
"It is not every man who is lucky enough to watch himself become immortal. Was there a touch of envy in the chieftain's voice?
"The honored one should be able to enjoy his epic the first time he hears it, should he not? Thebard will forgive you as I do. All this will keep until the morrow. Go to your chamber and sleep. Your chieftain—nay, your father—commands you."
Head aching, body sweating, more exhausted than he could ever remember being in his life, Niall acceded. With a bow, he wove through the crowd toward the door.
Twice he nearly stumbled, so tired had he become. He scarce saw the confused faces around him and did not so much as glimpse the hard glance that passed between Conn the Ever Truthful and his hot-eyed eldest son. Nor did he suspect that the instant the crowd turned back to its revels, Magnus grasped the hilt of his dagger and followed him from the room.
Chapter 22
Niall's footfalls echoed on the stone floor, torches casting weird patterns on the walls, as he made his way toward his chamber. The instant his body struck the bed, he knew he would sleep, as deadened to all around him as a corpse in it’s grave.
The prospect should have been a relief after eight strained nights, lying awake until dawn, aching for Caitlin cuddled close beside him, fearing for his valiant lady despite the welcome he had received in the fortress. Dreading that he would make a mistake and lose the future more precious to him than any bard song ever composed.
Aye, he should have been grateful for thewaves of exhaustion weighing him down more insistently with each step he took. He would have been, if not for warrior's instincts that could not be set aside even within his own chieftain's fortress. Sleep rendered one completely vulnerable, as grimly evidenced in the memory that tormented him—Caitlin, the night he had taken her from the abbey, her throat just a heartbeat from the cut of his blade.
Niall's stomach lurched at the vivid memory. He cursed under his breath, pausing for a moment to brace one hand against the cold wall, his feet unsteady. Would he ever be able to banish that terrible, frozen moment from his mind? Why did he still feel as if he were trying to wrest that blade away from his lady's throat when all at the fortress seemed well? Even his last, lingering fear should have eased when Conn acceded to his wishes, withdrawing his command that the lady join them at Glenfluirse.
His head throbbed, as if someone had heaved a battle-axe at his brow. He ground his fingertips against the ache. It was good that Conn had excused him from the banquet, he thought grimly. It would be best to sleep this pain away. Besides, each night that passed brought him closer to the day he and Caitlin could be reunited.
A draft of cool air wafted over his sweat-sheened face, and he turned to see an arrow slit an arm's length from where he stood. Squinting his eyes in an effort to focus them, he caught the glimmer of a lone star in the slice of night sky.
Stars... Caitlin's stars. He smiled weakly despite the mist swirling in his head. Had she not claimed they were a mystic link between those who loved? Surely, if the heavens could bind Caitlin to the abbess who had raised her, the stars would carry a love as strong as his back to Castle Daire, where his lady waited.
Yearning crushed his chest. Instead of stumbling up the stairs as he had intended, Niall turned around, retracing his steps to the doorway. Fumbling to open it, he slipped out into the night, the sword at his waist clattering against the stones rimming the doorway's edge.
Blessedly cool, the wind bathed his face, the chill driving back the strange swirling in his head a bit. He raked the tangle of hair back from his sweating brow.
Even here, alone in the castle yard, he could hear the sounds of celebration, feel the press of people who filled the fortress. The sounds and commotion of Glenfluirse had always marked his life. Why was it that suddenly he could scarceendure them? He would give anything to be standing under the solitary oak at Castle Daire, listening to the stillness with Caitlin in his arms.
Away from the intrigues of Conn's fortress, away from men who condemned innocent boys for their fathers' crimes, who mocked and scorned them, then groveled when that boy grew to be a fierce warrior. And now, since that outcast boy had been named Conn's heir, both their mocking flattery and their very real hatred would run deeper still.
By the ancient stones, he wished he could stride out through the fortress gates and never return, but it was obvious Conn was not willing to let Niall escape the ruling he had handed down. Niall was condemned to betainist.
If only Conn's sons could know how he hated the very word! But they would never believe a man so fiercely determined to bring honor to his name, would refuse the highest honor in the land. He would not have thought it possible himself until Caitlin shook the very foundations of all he believed in.
He had spent a lifetime craving another name, so he could pretend he was no longer the son of Ronan of Daire. He had never guessed it was possible to shed all that hatred, doubt and loathingand become another man. One who could remember his father with some tenderness. One who could love a woman more than honor or power. In the end, it did not matter if Magnus and the others believed—Niall knew the truth. His lady had changed him utterly. He would spend the rest of his life thanking her for that gift.
Another wave of dizziness engulfed him, and he almost lost his balance. He crossed to where a leather otter skin hung against a wall, surprised at how long it took him to reach it. He poured water from it into his hands, splashed the chill moisture onto his face. He hoped it would clear his head, but it seemed to drive him madder still.
