The Sword and the Song (20 page)

The minute his body hit the horizontal, he was asleep.

Pain. Blood. Screaming. All his own. A quiet voice that managed to be chilling instead of soothing. That was someone else’s, even though he couldn’t figure out who it belonged to. He strained against his bonds, blood and sweat chafing his skin beneath the ropes.

This is just a dream. This isn’t real. You can wake up now.

Except he couldn’t.

Aine gasped awake,
curling around her belly to protect her baby from another blow. Only then did she realize that she was safe in her bed at Ard Dhaimhin.

It had only been a dream.

She pushed her wet hair away from her forehead and rolled onto her back, drawing in deep breaths to flush out the fear that remained. It had been a dream, but not her own. Conor’s.

The memory of the things she had relived along with him hit her at the same time her stomach decided to give up its pretense of being settled, and she barely made it to the chamber pot. She’d thought she’d known what he’d been through.

She’d had absolutely no idea.

Aine slumped back against the wall, welcoming the cold of the stones as it seeped through her shift and cooled her feverish body. She’d left her mind open to Conor for this very reason, but she’d never thought she could get dragged into his dream. He’d even known it was a dream, but try as he might, he hadn’t been able to break free. And tied to him as she was, neither had she.

Dear Comdiu, I pray Your peace upon us.
No wonder Conor
was so edgy and irritable. He was trying to block out the memories of the sidhe’s glamour while trying not to fall asleep.
Take these memories. Or make them livable.

She finally pushed herself off the floor and walked in a cramped shuffle back to the bed, her muscles screaming from what must have been a clenched position most of the night. Then another pain hit her, a tightening in her belly.

Birth pains.

“No no no,” she murmured, stretching out on the bed immediately. “It’s too early.” She was only five months along, much too early to be having labor pains. If the baby was born now, he or she had no chance of survival. She had assisted in too many early births, seen too many children born unformed before their time. It could not happen to her child.

She breathed deeply and counted in her mind so she knew how close the pains were coming. If they increased in intensity, she would worry. If they settled, they might just be a result of the night’s terrifying experiences. Stress could induce this effect in pregnant women.

Just when she thought she was safe, another one hit her, weaker than the last, but still enough to make her shift uncomfortably on the mattress. As soon as it passed, she threw her shawl over her shoulders, thrust her feet into shoes, and peeked out into the hall.

It was still early enough that no one stirred on the upper floor of the keep, even though the light coming through the windows was already tinged the blue of early morning. As expected, two men still stood guard outside Morrigan’s chamber. She nodded to them, trying to act as if her disheveled appearance were perfectly ordinary, and then knocked on the door.

After a few moments, a sleepy-eyed Morrigan answered. “My lady?”

“May I come in?”

“Of course, my lady.” She stood aside and shut the door behind her. Aine noticed that instead of a shift, she was wearing her long man’s shirt and boots. Did she sleep with shoes on? Why on earth would she do such a thing?

“My lady?” Morrigan prompted.

“Oh.” Aine swallowed and focused her scattered thoughts. “I need a favor.”

“Before sunrise?” Morrigan returned to her bed and sat on the edge. “Sounds like an illicit request.”

“Not illicit. Just . . . secret. Surely you realize I wouldn’t have come to you if
 
—”

“If you weren’t desperate. Aye, I guessed that much. What is it? I will help if I can.”

“I need you to go to the healer’s cottage and get some herbs from Murchadh. Cramp bark and blazing star, enough for a pot of tea.”

Morrigan’s eyebrows lifted and an expression of alarm appeared. “Are you having problems with the baby, my lady?”

“I don’t want to take any chances. Morrigan, you can’t tell anyone it’s for me.”

“There’s nothing to be ashamed of here, my lady. Why hide it?”

“Because nothing remains secret here for long. If it’s you, they’ll ignore it as a matter of modesty. If it’s me, they’ll send a messenger to inform Conor that I’m ill. And he has far too much to worry about to be concerned with me and his child.”

Morrigan seemed to be considering the matter. “Don’t you think Conor has the right to know that there might be something wrong with his child?”

“And if there is, what could he possibly do about it? Worry along with me? If and when there is truly something to be concerned about, I will let him know. But for now, please . . .
just help me. And remain silent.” Aine winced as another pain hit her, stronger this time. Even though she tried to hide it, Morrigan’s eyes narrowed.

“That was another one, wasn’t it? All right. I don’t like it, but I’ll help you.”

“In return for my help someday?”

“I didn’t say that. After all, this is, in a sense, my niece or nephew we’re discussing.” Morrigan gave her a tiny smile. “But, aye, some reciprocity is implied in my assistance.”

“If I can without betraying my husband or my king. Will you go now, please? Before there are too many people about in the village?”

“All right, all right. Wait for me in your chamber. I’ll bring it to you when I’ve gotten it. What do you suggest I tell the guards?”

“Don’t worry about them. I’ll take care of them.” She gave Morrigan a little bow of her head. “Thank you.”

“Aye, I know. Now go so I can get dressed.”

Outside, Aine gave a vague explanation that seemed to satisfy the guards, then returned to her bed, where she lay on her side while she prayed. For herself and for the life of her unborn child. For Conor and his traumatized mind. For this whole convoluted war they were fighting, an island-sized game of King and Conqueror where they continually moved pieces around as threats. All of it, out of her control. All of it, a never-ending danger in the back of her mind.

It felt like hours, even though it was probably just a portion of one, before Morrigan knocked on her door. As soon as Aine let her in, Morrigan thrust out a small fabric sack. “Here.”

Aine emptied the bag’s contents onto the table to verify it contained only the blazing star and the cramp bark she had requested.

“Making sure I’m not trying to poison you?”

“Making sure a mistake wasn’t made,” Aine said, even though
that thought had crossed her mind. “If he’d taken down the wrong jar
 
—”

“I stood and watched him. I read the labels. He put just those two in the sack that you requested.” She gave her a rueful look. “You are not the only one who knows the value of herbs to women, my lady. I would not give you anything that would harm your child.”

“Thank you, Morrigan. You don’t know what your help means.”

“I think I do.” She gave Aine a little bow and a sad smile. “Rest, my lady. As will I, as there is little else for me to do.”

Aine watched her go, a pang of sympathy for the other woman in her chest. She was trying to tell her something, even though Aine wasn’t completely sure what. But she suspected that some of Morrigan’s secrets remained buried not because they were signs of treachery but because she could not bear to bring them into the light of day.

When a knock sounded at Aine’s door later that afternoon, she almost expected it to be Morrigan. Instead Riordan stood in the corridor. A frown creased his forehead at her disheveled appearance. “My lady, are you well?”

“Well enough.” At least the herbs seemed to have worked, and the pains had slowed if not completely subsided. She pushed a lock of tangled hair from her eyes. “Do you need me?”

“Forgive me, my lady. Eoghan wants you present when he speaks to the Conclave.”

Aine just nodded her agreement and shut the door, even though lacing up her ever-more-snug-fitting dress and combing her hair was almost more effort than she could contemplate. She settled for lacing the gown loosely and tying back her hair in a
single tail. Then she splashed water on her face before descending to the great hall.

Eoghan focused on her immediately, and the slight pinch of his brow told her that her efforts were not fooling him a bit. He merely gave her a slight bow, however, and gestured to her customary seat, a place of honor between him and Riordan.

“We’ve more reports from Faolán,” Eoghan said without preamble. “Niall has seized two more keeps.”

Aine drew in a breath of surprise. “Which ones?”

“Drumdubh and Cionnlath. Both old, both abandoned. It seems that the people got word of what happened at Bánduran and fled before he arrived.”

“How does he even know of their existence?” she mused aloud.

“Remember,” Eoghan said, “we don’t even know how old Niall really is. The rolls of the brotherhood seem to indicate he’s been hopping bodies for well over two centuries, if not longer. He’s lived as a druid. He has access to arcane knowledge that we don’t. And the likelihood of discovering everything he knows, being able to anticipate his movements, is small.” Eoghan’s glance fell on her significantly.

“You want me to contact Keondric.”

“You know I wouldn’t consider it were it not our best option.”

Aine slowly scanned the table to judge the men’s thoughts on the matter. She required only the lightest touch to see they agreed with Eoghan, though Riordan’s thoughts in particular were tinged with regret. He knew what they asked of her.

“Very well, then. I will try later. I’ve made contact only during late-night or early-morning hours, so I suspect Niall’s hold on him weakens when he’s asleep.” She hesitated. “You do realize that what you ask could have the opposite effect, don’t you? If Niall becomes aware that Keondric is still present, it puts our only protection against him at risk.”

“Not our only protection,” Dal said. “Do you forget the two thousand warriors who man the city?”

“Do you forget how easily a woman with a sleeping potion breached Ard Dhaimhin?” Aine countered.

“Aine is right. We’ve defenses against his warriors, but our main advantage is in Niall’s believing he can’t take the shield rune.” Eoghan directed his attention to Aine. “Would you know if he discovered you speaking to Keondric?”

“I couldn’t begin to guess.”

Eoghan pressed his folded hands to his lips as he considered. Perhaps he was speaking to Comdiu. “We can’t afford not to try. I believe it’s worth the risk. But you’re taking on a large risk yourself, my lady. Are you willing?”

He was giving her a choice in the matter? She swallowed hard and nodded.

“Good. Now we must consider what to do with the refugees who have entered the city.”

The report directly affected her, but she couldn’t focus on the words through her jittery limbs and pounding heart. They were counting on her to do something she barely understood and for which she had little chance of success. How on earth could she live up to those expectations?

The meeting adjourned without her hearing another word. She rose with the men, but Eoghan drew her aside.

“Lady Aine, is there anything wrong? Is there something you’d like to tell me?”

“Nothing’s wrong. I’m just tired. It’s not unusual, considering.” She waved a vague hand over her belly.

“Are you sure? Something I should know about Conor?”

Either Comdiu had told him that something was wrong or he was fishing. His questions were too directed. She forced an unconvincing smile. “No. There’s nothing you should know.”

Eoghan’s slight smile said he knew how carefully she had phrased her answer, but he just bowed his head. “As you wish, my lady. With your permission, I’ll have supper sent to your chamber so you can rest.”

“Thank you, Eoghan . . . my lord.” For some reason, she felt compelled to give him a little bow. Every day he slipped into his role as king more easily. It was strange to watch him change from a man avoiding responsibility to one who was more and more comfortable making hard decisions, taking risks.

Even though it was early, she searched for Conor’s mind as soon as she returned to her chamber.
Are you there, my love?

It took him some time to answer, and she wondered if he might already be asleep.
Aye. What is it, Aine?

Her brow furrowed slightly at the weary sound of his voice in her head. He seemed unhappy to speak with her.
What is it, my love? Am I interrupting something?