The Sword and the Song (4 page)

Aine heard the despair in his voice and wrapped her arms around him. “Trust Comdiu will find a way.”

“Aye, Comdiu will find a way. But Comdiu’s way doesn’t always guarantee survival for the largest number.”

“And you think you can do better?”

He chuckled. “No. I just mean that knowing we will prevail in the end doesn’t mean we won’t do it with some terrible costs. It’s my responsibility to minimize those.”

She looked back at the book, with its geometric writing that looked so much like a child’s scrawling, marveling again that he could make anything of it, let alone translate what he learned into something useful for their situation now. “Did you ever think you would be here? Ceannaire of Ard Dhaimhin, responsible for the survival of an entire city?”

“No.” This laugh lacked any trace of humor. “I most certainly did not.”

“When we met, what did you want most?”

He cocked his head. “You’re in an introspective mood tonight.”

“I suppose I am.”

He lifted her hand to his lips and trailed kisses along her palm to the inside of her wrist. “I wanted a quiet life, filled with music and study and books. And I wanted you most of all.”

She met his eyes, those beautiful eyes that never seemed to lose their intensity no matter how much he changed, and saw the truth. He would make a great king, a just king. He already made an admirable commander. And yet all he really wanted was a quiet life with her. She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed his temple, just enjoying his nearness for a long moment.

“I have something to tell you,” she whispered.

His expression turned alarmed. “Is something wrong?”

“No. Nothing’s wrong. In fact, I’m surprised you haven’t noticed.” She took his hand and placed it on the slight swell of her abdomen.

His eyes widened. “It’s true? You’re . . . we’re . . . having a child?”

She nodded, her heart thudding in her throat. She’d suspected for months, but only now, feeling the first flutter of movement in her womb, was she convinced she wasn’t simply imagining things.

Conor’s expression remained frozen in disbelief. She drew an unsteady breath. “You’re not happy?”

A smile broke over his face and he kissed her fiercely. “Of course I’m happy. Just surprised. When? How long?”

“By my calculations, I’m about four months along.”

“But that means . . . when we left Seare?”

“I suspected while I was in Aron, but now I’m sure. You’re going to be a father.”

His expression turned to one of wonder, and he returned his hand to her abdomen. “Will I be able to feel it move soon?”

She nodded.

Then he was kissing her again, leaving no doubt as to his feelings on the topic. She eased against him, her arms returning to his neck, losing herself in the few stolen moments they had found together in the necessities of Ard Dhaimhin.

“I love you, Aine,” he whispered. “When this is all over, I promise I will give you that simple, happy life. No matter what I have to do to get it.”

She understood then what he wouldn’t say. He might be struggling for their survival, for the well-being of the future of Ard Dhaimhin and the endurance of their way of life, but deep down, he was fighting for their future together. She kissed him one more time, a long, languorous kiss meant to change his
mind about his evening’s activities, but before she could get very far on her plan, the door to the Ceannaire’s office banged open. Aine practically leapt off Conor’s lap, her cheeks burning.

Daigh’s eyes flicked between them, the slight tightening of his mouth communicating disapproval. When he finally focused on Conor, his voice was hard.

“You’re needed in the hall. The fortress has been breached.”

Conor followed Daigh at a near run,
aware of Aine a step behind him. His thoughts bounced between the shocking revelation Aine had just given him
 
—he was going to be a father!
 
—and his inability to comprehend how someone had breached the fortress. Who would dare? How was that even possible?

When they reached Carraigmór’s great hall, the area that had been empty less than an hour before now hummed with activity, candles and torches lighting up the space. A small circle of warriors concealed what he assumed was the intruder. As Conor approached, the circle opened, revealing the kneeling, unmoving figure of a young man. His dark hair hung loose around his shoulders, and his stained and tattered clothes spoke of a long journey. Conor strained to get a glimpse of the man’s face, but he kept his eyes trained firmly on the floor, his hair concealing his features.

Eoghan stood at the front of the group, his own sword drawn, the tension in his body at odds with the relaxed position of the blade, tip to floor. Conor paused, wondering if Eoghan had taken command of the situation, but the other man stepped aside and held out a hand.

Conor stepped up into the gap between two guards and crossed his arms over his chest, making his voice quiet but stern. “What’s your name, boy?”

The intruder lifted his head, and Conor’s eyes widened. This was no boy.

“Sir, she slipped the perimeter guard and managed to reach Carraigmór without raising the alarm. She says she knows you.”

Conor barely heard the words, focused on the familiar face of the woman in front of him. Dark brown eyes, the color of rich spring earth, just a shade lighter than her hair, pale skin spattered with freckles. Even the trickle of blood from a cut on her scalp and the faint shadow of a bruise could not hide her beauty.

“What are you doing here?” Shock made Conor’s voice harsher than he intended.

“Sir? You know her? She was telling the truth?”

“Aye, she was telling the truth.” He finally dragged his eyes away from her to the confused expressions of the bystanders. “This is Lady Morrigan. My foster sister.”

“Lady?” One of the brothers lowered his weapon.

“Aye, though she’s currently not acting like one, for reasons I’m most anxious to hear. Bind her and check for weapons.”

Morrigan’s eyes met his, startled. Apparently, she had thought their shared history would earn her a different sort of reception. But the young woman he remembered didn’t have the skills to dodge a highly trained perimeter guard nor give the scowling brother beside him what would become a most impressive black eye.

One of the guards brought out a length of rope and secured her wrists behind her back. Conor stepped back and turned to Aine, his chin tilted down so his voice wouldn’t carry. “What do you sense?”

“Very little.” Aine’s dismay seemed to prove out his caution. What exactly was going on here?

When the brothers had checked Morrigan for other weapons with uncomfortable thoroughness, Conor inclined his head back toward the corridor from whence they had come. “Daigh, Riordan, Eoghan, with me, please.” He nodded to the brothers currently holding her at sword point. “Bring her.”

Morrigan’s expression never changed, but when she struggled to her feet, he caught the hint of a smile playing on her lips. She thought this was amusing, did she? She obviously had no idea of the seriousness of the offense, nor the way the Fíréin dealt with such matters.

Conor hung back behind the others, gesturing for Aine to stay with him as they proceeded to the Ceannaire’s office. “You sense nothing?”

“Not a single thought. Her mind is completely closed to me.”

“How is that possible? Magic?”

“I have no idea. If it’s magic, it’s strong. I’m not sure this has ever happened to me.”

Unease crept into him. There was certainly more at work here than just the appearance of someone from his past. And yet, despite all his justified suspicions, he couldn’t help the rush of relief that spread through his limbs. He’d assumed she was dead. Could that mean other members of his foster family were still alive?

Aine squeezed his hand in a gesture of silent understanding, though her expression still urged caution.

The group filed into the Ceannaire’s office, and the guards lowered Morrigan into a chair far more gently than she deserved. Something in her calculating expression said she knew it too. What had happened to the sweet, delicate young woman he had known back at Balurnan?

A warning glance from Aine said she knew his resolve was waning. He straightened his shoulders and circled around.

“Leave us,” Conor said to the escort. Daigh and Riordan took up posts by the door, hands on their daggers.

“Am I such of a threat that I require five warriors to guard me?” Morrigan asked, a coquettish lilt to her words. When they continued to stare, she turned pleading eyes to Conor. “Was I wrong to hope you’d be at least a little happy to see me, Conor? When I learned you were still alive and here of all places. I had given you up for dead!”

Conor softened as a glimmer of the girl he remembered surfaced. “Of course I’m pleased to find you alive. But what are you doing here, Morrigan? Breaching the fortress like a spy?”

“I couldn’t be sure that if I asked to be taken to you directly, they would comply. I knew if I made a dramatic entrance and demanded to see you, it would at least gain me an audience.”

“Well, you’ve gotten your wish. Why are you here? I don’t believe you risked so much for a family reunion.”

“No. Not merely for that.” She shifted in her chair and winced. “If you’ll take these bonds off me, I’ll tell you anything you want to know. The rope is cutting off the blood to my hands.”

Conor drew his dagger and took a step toward her, but Eoghan stopped him. “Not so fast. You may have convinced Conor that you have no ill intentions toward us, but that still doesn’t explain why you had this in your possession.” Eoghan withdrew a small glass vial from his belt pouch and held it in front of her nose. “Care to explain?”

“That depends. Who exactly is in charge here? I’d hate to waste my time convincing the wrong man of my innocence just to have the other throw me in the dungeon.”

Conor looked at Eoghan, trying to keep his irritation from
showing on his face. Within a single minute, the other man had managed to undermine Conor’s authority in the situation. If Eoghan didn’t step up now, they would lose their only chance to get the truth from Morrigan.

Finally, Eoghan cleared his throat. “I am.”

Something resembling a smirk touched Morrigan’s lips. “Are you sure about that? Your companions seem surprised.”

Eoghan perched on the edge of the desk and crossed his arms over his chest, now looking completely unruffled. “You’re not helping your case, Lady Morrigan. We’re here to determine whether you’re a threat to the safety of Ard Dhaimhin, and your first action is to cause division among my advisors.”

His advisors? Conor had to visibly force himself not to stiffen at the flush of anger that surged through him. But the slight lift of the eyebrows Morrigan directed his way said she’d picked it up anyway. Curse both of them. What about Morrigan’s arrival had suddenly convinced Eoghan of the need to seize command?

Morrigan bowed her head as if to acknowledge Eoghan’s authority. “You asked me what I was doing with poison, my lord. Your healers can confirm it is merely a sleeping powder I slipped into one of the sentries’ food. Surely you realize that had I truly wanted to harm someone, I had the opportunity and ability to do so.”

“We will indeed confirm that before we determine your fate.” He studied her closely and then crouched down before her. “Let us dispense with the games, Lady Morrigan. I would like to believe for Conor’s sake that you are trustworthy, even if I suspect you are no longer the girl he remembers from Balurnan. So if you have any regard for your safety, you will deal with me plainly.”

For a moment, Morrigan looked like she might spit in Eoghan’s face. Then she smiled. “Let us also dispense with the
threats,
my lord
. What I know is far more important than any little show of authority you’re trying to make here.”

“And what is that?”

“The bard Meallachán is alive. And I can tell you where to find him.”

Eoghan kept his expression blank, even as his heart jolted at the revelation. Meallachán was alive? What were the chances that a stranger would arrive with something that could be the answer to their problems?

Just as quickly, caution quashed his surge of excitement. It was convenient
 
—too convenient, especially considering that Morrigan had been in control of the situation since she breached the fortress. Every bit of this performance had been calculated to elicit a particular response, and they had played right into her hand.

It was that warning in his chest, the sudden conviction that this woman was dangerous, that had made him seize command. Especially when it looked as though Conor was about to be taken in by the act.

Eoghan stood and walked away from her. “That’s a bold statement. What makes you think we care about Meallachán’s whereabouts?”

“Because you need the runes, and he’s one of the few men who understand them.”

“Why do you say that?”

“He told me.” Morrigan flicked a glace behind her toward her bound hands. “Untie me and I will tell you everything I know.”

For a moment, Eoghan considered throwing her into one of the rarely used cells beneath Carraigmór. But that same
something
 
—call it intuition or Comdiu’s prompting
 
—said she was both hardened and stubborn enough to wait them out. And if Meallachán were indeed alive . . .

“Fine. As long as you understand that any wrong move means you will not leave this room alive. Do you believe I’m being truthful about that?”

No hint of mockery traced her face. “I believe you.”

She shifted so he could reach around her and sever the ropes. Before he could move away, she turned her face toward his. Her breath brushed his skin, her eyes lifting to his with something he could describe only as invitation.

Eoghan backed away to a safe distance and let out a long, careful breath. Morrigan was still playing them as skillfully as Conor played his harp.

“Meallachán is being held prisoner at Ard Bealach.”

Once more, she caught him off guard. Why would she give up her most important information freely? “You’ve been there.”

“Aye.”

“As a prisoner?”

“It depends on what you consider imprisonment. Was I locked in a cell or chained? No. But neither was I allowed to leave.”

“Are you telling me you managed to escape a fortress that is nearly as secure as Ard Dhaimhin?” Eoghan realized the irony in the words the moment they left his lips, and the sudden spark of laughter in Morrigan’s deep brown eyes said she did as well.

“I escaped, aye. But it was more a matter of bribery and good timing than any feats of daring. All men can be bought, Brother Eoghan. The trick is knowing their particular price.”

“Tell us how you came to be at Ard Bealach in the first place.”

“From the beginning? This might take a while.”

“Do we look as though we have somewhere else to be in the dead of night?”

“Besides bed?” Her eyes were innocent, her tone free of innuendo, but Eoghan felt it all the same. Comdiu have mercy.

“You know what happened to my father, I presume.” Both Eoghan and Conor nodded. “As soon as he received word that King Galbraith had been slain, he sent my mother, my sisters, and me into the passages beneath the manor that had been built to smuggle priests in and out after the Balian faith was outlawed. My father surrendered and told them we weren’t in the manor, which I suppose was true.

“Lord Riocárd didn’t believe him. His men found the tunnels. When it looked as though we would be discovered, Mother sent us through with Captain Tadhg and stayed behind as a diversion.”

“She was killed?” Eoghan asked.

“Aye. Riocárd’s men were waiting for us though. Half our guards fell in battle, and Tadhg was wounded. But we still escaped.

“Tadgh didn’t last the night. We made our way to Sliebhan, where I got a job as a serving girl. I managed that until the girls started drawing male attention. When I had to beat a man off my youngest sister Liadan one night, they threw us into the street.”