“Please, put me down.” It was an uncomfortably intimate position, pressed against his chest, his arms under her back and legs. She’d never thought she would be this close to any man but her husband.
“It’s miles,” Eoghan said. “You would never make it. And you weigh not much more than this bag.”
Aine shifted in his arms, but that only made him flush. She stiffened. “I don’t suppose I’m going to convince you otherwise.”
“No.” He grinned at her.
She relaxed a little and returned the smile, purposely blocking out his thoughts. She didn’t want to know what he was thinking about this arrangement. She had to admit she was grateful for the rest, though. She curled her arm around Eoghan’s neck and tried not to think about how it must look.
The shaky, ill feeling that had dominated since they came in sight of land began to fade the farther away they got from the center of the city. She closed her eyes and pretended to be asleep. At least then she wouldn’t have to make awkward conversation with her husband’s best friend, who was holding her far too close for comfort.
Eoghan sensed the moment when Aine went from pretending to be asleep to actually being asleep, her muscles relaxing and her head falling forward against his shoulder. He managed to relax as well. It was more than awkward to be carrying Conor’s bride in such a way, and they both knew it. But she was exhausted and would not have made it more than a few steps outside the city’s borders.
Aine was clearly uncomfortable with the situation, but she couldn’t possibly understand his own uneasiness. Until he ventured out of Ard Dhaimhin, he had never met a woman. Not that he had been ignorant of the full range of male-female interaction, but for a man raised among men, it was an odd experience. No one could blame him if he looked on a capable, beautiful woman such as Aine with a spark of interest, his friend’s wife or not.
You’d do best to remember that, he reminded himself and shifted her in his arms.
After several stops to rest—Aine was light, but not that light—they came to a croft on the outskirts of the city. The glow of candlelight seeped from one of the windows. Eoghan gave Aine a little shake. “Time to wake up, my lady.”
She murmured something unintelligible against his shoulder, but her eyes remained closed.
Eoghan shook her a little harder this time. “My lady, we are here.”
Aine’s eyelids fluttered and she looked straight into Eoghan’s eyes. A flush immediately tinged her entire face and neck. “You may put me down. I’m awake.”
He set her gently on her feet and stepped back while she straightened her dress and regained her composure. “We’ll be safe here. Criofan was a member of the brotherhood. He chose to leave Ard Dhaimhin to protect his family after the city was attacked.”
Aine’s eyes widened. “When did that happen?”
“I’ll explain on the way, my lady. It’s over two weeks to the forest’s edge by horseback.”
“And you expected us to walk?” She arched an eyebrow, reminding Eoghan she was a lady, unaccustomed to traveling by foot. She would have endured, no doubt, but she did not have the benefit of his Fíréin training.
The door of the cottage opened to illuminate the silhouette of a tall, muscular man. Criofan stepped outside and closed the door behind him, dropping them back into near-darkness. “You found her.”
“Did you think Comdiu was surprised by her arrival?” Eoghan hadn’t given Criofan the full story of how he’d known she would be arriving that afternoon, only that they would need a safe place to stay, away from the city.
The brother chuckled. “Come inside. My mother has supper on. You look as if you could use it.”
Inside, the Fíréin brother gave Aine a little bow. “I am Criofan.”
Eoghan realized he probably should have made formal introductions. “This is Lady Aine.”
Aine swept back her hood and smiled. “Thank you for your hospitality, Brother Criofan. You cannot know how much I appreciate having a safe place to stay outside the city.”
Criofan just stared for a moment, as if mesmerized. Then he shook himself. “It is our honor, my lady. Let me introduce my mother, Nola.”
A surprisingly young woman set a pot of stew at the center of the table and strode toward them, wiping her hands on her apron. “You are most welcome, my lady. We know what you did for our fighting men in the last days of the war. We are most grateful.”
Aine took her hand. “Did you have a husband or sons fighting with Faolán, Mistress Nola?”
The woman seemed to crumple. “My husband. He never returned home to me. Did you know him, perchance? Lugaid Ó Murchadha?”
“I don’t think so. What company did he fight with?”
“He was part of Lord Gainor’s company, my lady.”
Aine clasped the woman’s hand in both of hers. “I did not know him personally, but the men with Gainor fought valiantly. It was only because of them that my brother survived the retreat.”
Tears streamed down Nola’s face. Aine put her arms around her. After several moments, the woman pulled away and wiped her eyes. “Forgive me. You will be hungry from the road. Please sit. Eat. It’s not much, but you’re welcome to it.”
They huddled around the small table, where Nola had set out stew in her few scarred wooden bowls.
Eoghan ate in silence for a few moments, then set down his spoon and turned his attention to their hosts. “Tomorrow we’ll need to buy horses in town. Do you know of a merchant who’s trustworthy?”
Criofan chuckled. “In Ballaghbán? You’ll find that a difficult task. There’s a brother in town who might know. We can see him in the morning.”
“Only one? There were half a dozen brothers when I passed through before.”
“And all those who have identified themselves with the shield knot have been arrested and executed. The new lord at Lisdara takes great pleasure in making examples of the Fíréin they manage to capture.”
Eoghan took in the information silently, though it sickened him. “I’m surprised they’ve managed to capture any.”
“Word is they lost so many guards in the first attempts, thinking a half dozen would suffice to subdue a single warrior, they had to start sending a full company of men. Twenty years away from Ard Dhaimhin they might have been, but they were still Fíréin at heart.”
“Is it only Fíréin they target?” Aine inquired.
They started at her soft voice. She had been so quiet that Eoghan had almost forgotten about her.
“No, my lady. All Balians are at risk. You need only travel to Lisdara to see. Lord Keondric has decorated the road to the fortress with their heads on pikes.”
“Lord Keondric? How is that possible?”
“He seized the army from Fergus,” Eoghan said. “He’s the one who controls the men now.”
Understanding surfaced on her face. She clearly understood the subtext of the statement even though few people knew the truth outside of the Conclave. Her throat worked. “Then we must find a way to reinstate the wards around Ard Dhaimhin. Balians need a safe haven. What better place to bring them than the city of our first Balian king?”
“My lady,” Eoghan said, “Seanrós and part of Róscomain is burned. Our barrier is gone.”
“If the wards are rebuilt, the Fíréin cannot hold the city?”
Eoghan and Criofan exchanged a glance, and Eoghan saw the same spark of hope rising in the other brother’s eyes. “Perhaps, but the harp is gone. Destroyed.”
“Where did the harp come from?” Aine asked.
“No one knows. Like all objects of power, it dates back to the Great Kingdom.”
“Then it can’t be the only way to reinstate the wards.” Aine stood. “Mistress Nola, may I assist you in washing up?”
Eoghan watched Aine clear the table with the widow. She spoke with such conviction, it was impossible to believe that things could be other than she said. The only other person who seemed to believe so strongly in the impossible was Conor.
Could it
be, Lord? Can it be done?
Comdiu did not answer directly. Still, a deep conviction crept into Eoghan’s heart, a feeling that could be described only as affirmation.
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
It took two weeks to reach the burned edge of Róscomain, not because of the distance, which was great enough, but because their path was constantly being diverted by patrols of Keondric’s men.
“I don’t understand how you manage it,” Eoghan said, but Aine couldn’t explain. Her powers were growing with each passing day until she could sense the presence of others who meant to do them harm or those under the influence of the sorcerer’s power. Eoghan had related the Conclave’s theory that the druid had inhabited Keondric’s body, taking not only Diarmuid’s powers but the Faolanaigh lord’s as well. She could not shake the thought that the druid was aware of her presence and throwing men in their way in hopes of capturing her.
“I do not understand either,” Aine said. “But I’m grateful for it.”
Her gratitude was waning, though. The same awareness that allowed them to avoid the patrols made it difficult to ride with Eoghan. In town, surrounded by the constant hum of the inhabitants’ thoughts and desires, it had been easy to block him out. But here in the quiet, his thoughts intruded on every waking moment. She assumed he was talking to Comdiu, given the topics, but it was like listening to only one side of a conversation. Worse yet was when she got a glimpse of his thoughts about her. He was painfully aware of her as a woman and equally determined not to show it. Knowing she was his friend’s wife only layered shame over his embarrassment.
Aine tried to turn her thoughts to other things, most often to Conor. The closer they got to their destination, the more she yearned for him. They had spent most of the last several years apart, intersecting for only months or days at a time, and knowing he was making his way back to her was nearly unbearable. She could not read his thoughts from so far away, but she could feel his presence, his intentions, in the back of her mind.
I love you, she thought just in case he could hear her. I miss you. Hurry back to me.
As they neared Róscomain, Eoghan detailed the assault on Ard Dhaimhin. She didn’t expect the pang of anguish when he told her Liam had killed himself rather than give up vital information to the enemy. Her brother had gone to Ard Dhaimhin long before she ever came to Seare, but somewhere in the back of her mind, she had hoped they might finally establish a relationship. She’d even thought he might shed some light on this gift they shared.
Neither did she expect the extent of the damage when they reached the old forest. She had ridden through sections of these woods, visited trappers who lived on the edges. Now the trees’ thick canopies were gone, leaving only charred black skeletons stretching grotesquely into the sky. The smell of smoke hung as heavily as the thick layer of ash on the forest floor. Nothing had been spared, no green in sight for hundreds of miles.
This was not just a military strategy to burn out the sentries and trackers. Aine felt that in her bones. This was a strike against the power of the Fíréin. The brotherhood had mastered the secrets of the forest so thoroughly they had kept away intruders for half a millennium. Now, with one stroke, the druid had turned them into common watchmen.
Yet he had also opened the way for the next step in Comdiu’s plan. If the High King were to return and reign once more, Ard Dhaimhin would have to welcome all. The age of the brotherhood was over, but a new age would begin.
Aine smiled to herself, the wrong reaction to such destruction. It wasn’t a vision exactly, not in the sense she was used to, but she felt the nudging of Comdiu anyway. She spurred her horse forward into the wasteland.
Even prepared by Conor’s and Eoghan’s stories, Aine’s first sight of Ard Dhaimhin took her completely off guard. It wasn’t just the destruction, which was widespread—cottages burned, fields ruined, forests scarred—but also those things fire could not touch, such as Carraigmór’s natural grandeur on the edge of the massive lake, and the sheer size of the Fíréin’s domain.
They descended into the city by the winding switchback. Sentries watched openly, raising a hand in greeting to Eoghan as they passed and looking her over curiously.
Deeper in the city, rebuilding had already begun. Several men were busy rethatching the burned roofs of stone clochans. Others shoveled out the detritus of the battle, transferring it to large oxcarts or smaller handcarts to be taken away. Then there were the normal activities of a city: blacksmithing, candlemaking, weaving. The smell of cooking food drew her attention to the large, open-sided cookhouses.
Eoghan sent Aine a smile. “Impressive, isn’t it? Even now.”
“It is. It just needs a woman’s touch.”
“Then I know just the woman.”
It will take far more than me. How would the leadership of Ard Dhaimhin receive the shocking proposal she intended to present? “Who’s in charge here?”
“Brother Riordan.”
“Conor’s father?”
“He’ll be pleased to meet his new daughter. He’s already enchanted by you from the few details I gave him.”
She ignored the implication, instead focusing on the sacrifice Eoghan had made. “Were you punished severely?”
“No, my lady, nothing beyond endurance.” But the stroke of the lash was still fresh in his mind, as was the pain he had endured on their behalf. She winced and looked away. He had made the sacrifice willingly. She would not humiliate him by revealing she knew how harsh that punishment had been.
“We don’t have stables for the horses,” Eoghan said when they came to the bottom of the fortress. “We’ll have to pasture them with the sheep.” He caught the attention of a young, dark-haired boy and dismounted. “Breann, come!”
The boy jogged over to him, his expression brightening when he saw Eoghan. “You’re back, sir!”
“I am. Have you been keeping busy?”
“Aye, sir. We’ve gone back to training, but we’re spending our afternoons helping with the rebuilding.”
“As it should be. Can you see our horses to the pasture, where they can graze? Find one of your céad mates to help you, and tell Brother Cian you need help brushing them down and removing tack.”
“Aye, sir. May I tell them it’s an order from you?”
“You can tell them, much good it will do you. I’m no longer in command here.”
“Aye, sir, so the Conclave says. But you might need to tell the rest of the brotherhood that.” He gave them a little bow and took the reins as placidly as any young groom. He gestured to another boy, and the two of them led the horses away.
“That one is far too smart for his own good,” Eoghan said.
“You have no idea.” Aine had gotten a glimpse of the boy’s thoughts. Breann missed nothing, not the politics of the Conclave nor the dynamics of the brotherhood. And he looked up to Eoghan almost like a father.
Eoghan lifted their packs, which he’d off-loaded from their horses while Aine was focused on Breann, and gestured with his head toward the steps. “After you.”
Aine stared at the hundreds of slick steps and sighed. No way to reach the top but up. She had to stop and rest several times on the way, winded by the exertion and still affected by the faint feel of the sidhe’s presence in the distance. Only then did she realize that the overpowering sense of dark magic was absent.
“Are there still wards intact?” she asked.
“Not that I’m aware of, but I’ve never been able to feel them. Why?”
“Because the sidhe are not present.”
Eoghan smiled. “That’s because so many of our brothers are devout believers in Balus. We still have devotions twice a day in the amphitheater, and there are always brothers in prayer. It must be uncomfortable for them to be near so many with faith.”
“I suppose so,” Aine said with a hint of wonder before she continued climbing.
A brother met them at the top, and another opened the door to admit them to Carraigmór’s massive hall.
Aine allowed herself a moment of awe at the sheer immensity of the space and the weighty feeling of rock around them before Eoghan gestured for her to follow him down a corridor.
“You’ll want to meet Brother Riordan right away, I assume. We’ll try the Ceannaire’s study first.”
They wound up the sloping tunnel, the torches flickering in the breeze from their passage. Eoghan climbed the short flight of stairs and rapped sharply on the door before pushing it open.
“Brother Riordan, do you have a moment?”
A response came from inside, and Eoghan nodded to Aine. Suddenly timid, she brushed by Eoghan. Several men crowded around a table, but her eyes went to one man as soon as she entered. Tall and lean, with a braid in a familiar shade of brown-blond, this could only be Riordan, Conor’s father. He resembled her husband so strongly that it was almost difficult to look at him.
“Brother Riordan, I’d like you to meet someone. This is Aine Nic Tamhais.”
“Aine?” The color drained from his face, and he looked to Eoghan. “Where’s Conor?”
“He’s coming,” Aine answered quickly. “Soon, I hope.”
Riordan’s expression melted into a smile. “Forgive me. Aine, you cannot know how long I have waited to meet you. You are every bit as beautiful as I expected you to be.”
Aine’s eyes went to his hands, red and raw, while she gave him a curtsy. He shook his head and circled the table. “I am perfectly entitled to give my daughter a hug.”
His daughter, not his son’s wife. As Riordan approached her, she didn’t need to focus on his thoughts to pick up on a wave of love directed toward her. He did not know her. He only knew that his son loved her, and by extension, he loved her as well. He folded his arms around her and embraced her gently.
Without understanding why, she started to cry.
“Brothers,” Riordan said quietly, “will you give us a moment alone?”
Aine was vaguely aware of the scrape of benches and the shuffle of footsteps as the room drained of its occupants. She pulled away and wiped her eyes, embarrassed by her reaction. “I’m sorry. I don’t know why . . . I didn’t mean . . .”
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