Into the Ashes: Medieval Historical Romance (Warriors of the Fianna Book 3)
Chapter One
Ulaid, éire
November, AD 1000
Diarmid reclined against the fallen trunk of an ancient oak, laughing as his companions dined by his side on day-old oatcakes—a brief respite from days of overland pursuit before the Fianna went to battle once more. This time, they pursued Aodh, King of Ailech, who had captured Princess Cara of Thurles. They intended to remedy that shortly.
These men, King Brian’s Fianna warriors, had become Diarmid’s family over the past year. He had trained, fought, and bled beside them. Even a few hours before a battle, nothing raised his spirits like moments shared with his fellow Fianna. Only a mug of ale and a woman in his lap could improve upon the evening. And though there was a woman present, she currently sat on Dallan’s lap.
“You still haven’t told us how you’re here instead of in Laigin,” Diarmid observed. “I thought your uncle wished you to leave the Fianna, yet here you are, traveling north alongside us with your lovely bride.” He smiled at her warmly with his compliment.
Dallan glared daggers at him, nose flaring, as though Diarmid would actually attempt to steal his friend’s lover. Honestly, he should be insulted.
“Well?” Finn, a warrior who could play the harp so well he could make a grown man weep, prodded Dallan. Of all of them, Finn was both the tallest and fairest in coloring.
Dallan’s lips tightened as he exchanged a look with Niamh, the golden-haired beauty on his lap. “It went poorly.”
Every one of them knew what that meant.
“Which one of them tried to kill you?” Diarmid asked.
Niamh’s bright blue eyes went wide. “How’d you know?”
“When things don’t go our way, there’s usually a sword involved, dear,” Diarmid answered.
“She’s not your dear,” Dallan growled.
“I call every woman ‘dear,’” Diarmid explained slowly, as though Dallan were addled.
Finn didn’t even attempt to suppress a chuckle at Dallan’s posturing. Diarmid’s brother Conan joined right in with him.
Dallan frowned at them. “Laugh all you want. When it’s your woman he’s after, I’ll be the one cackling.”
“Now wait just a moment,” Diarmid interrupted. “Never in my life have I stolen a woman from a friend.”
“Come, now, Diarmid, you can hardly blame him,” Finn replied smoothly. “In the ancient tales, was it not your namesake who stole Gráinne from Finn mac Cumhail?”
Diarmid narrowed his eyes at Finn. “Aye,” he allowed. “And Finn mac Cumhail’s first wife was turned into a deer. It seems to me he has trouble with wives, not friends.”
“You bedded Ailis,” his brother Conan accused. “Remember?” Conan turned to Finn and Dallan. “Love of my life, she was.”
“She stole your jeweled dagger!” Diarmid wished his brother sat close enough to have his head smacked—maybe it would revive his memory.
Conan, his deep brown eyes the same as Diarmid’s, had the gall to look affronted. “Then why did you bed her?”
“Oh, for the love of—”
“He hasn’t gone two days without a woman warming his bed,” Cormac, his eldest brother, muttered unhelpfully. In Diarmid’s estimation, Cormac’s manner of socializing was to sit, silently observing conversation, until he decided how he could best thwart it.
“That can’t be true,” Niamh countered, coming to his defense as she wrapped her arm about Dallan’s shoulders. “Has he not been traveling nearly a sennight?”
Every one of his friends looked to him, their gazes filled with accusation.
“There was that farmer’s daughter just north of Thurles,” Finn offered.
“And the miller’s daughter the day after,” Conan added.
Illadan, who had ignored the conversation entirely as he stood guard, turned around. “Don’t forget that widow.”
“I’m glad to see my love life holds such interest for you all that you keep a running record.”
“Who did he bed last night?” Dallan asked everyone except Diarmid.
“Tuala,” Diarmid supplied quietly, smiling to himself as he recalled the lively evening.
“I’m impressed that you recall her name,” Cormac said. Though neither of Diarmid’s brothers lived with the same vivacity as he did, Cormac openly disapproved of it as often as possible.
“I remember the names of every woman who’s company I’ve enjoyed,” Diarmid defended.
Illadan scoffed from his watchpost outside their camp. “You do not.”
Conan shot Illadan a warning look. “He does, and no one here wants to listen to him recite that many names.”
Diarmid nodded appreciatively at his brother. Since they were young, he and Conan had always been close. They had fun with Cormac every now and again, and they’d defend him with their lives, but he had no notion of what life was really about. He was so caught up in the politics and wars and grand schemes of petty kings, that he forgot that life was lived by the moment.
“I wager that you can’t go a fortnight without bedding a woman,” Dallan declared, earning a giggle of agreement from the lovely Niamh.
“I’m afraid you’re going to have to be more specific.” Diarmid wasn’t certain whether such a wager would be worthwhile, particularly if he couldn’t even touch a woman.
Finn responded without hesitation. “You can’t do anything that could make you a father.”
Tolerable. It would be far less fun, but at least he could still do something. “And the stakes?”
“Dallan and I will buy all your ale for the next moon, if you can manage it,” Finn offered.
“And if I can’t?” Diarmid honestly wasn’t certain whether he’d make it or not, but for free ale, he’d give his best effort. Not to mention the joy of holding his victory over their heads forevermore.
“Then you buy ours,” Dallan said simply.
Though Diarmid didn’t relish the thought of losing that much coin, he knew it would be a powerful motivator. “I believe we have a wager.” Perhaps he could find a lady tonight and…
“It starts tonight,” Finn told him, interrupting his plotting.
Illadan, the leader of the Fianna, strode into camp, abandoning his watch. “It’s time.” He looked to Ardál and Dallan. “You cover us with your bows. Broccan claims there are fewer than twenty men at their encampment, and most will be sleeping. I will remind you that Brian has ordered Aodh be spared so that he has leverage for negotiations later on.” Illadan’s piercing hazel gaze landed on Diarmid. “You find the princess, since you’re apparently so good with women. The rest of us will take care of Aodh’s men.”
The one downside—if he chose to see it as such—was that Diarmid always ended up minding the women. Normally, it would be a pleasure to spend time entertaining a lady. Even outside of his bed, Diarmid had always loved women. He found them to be clever and witty, without any of the posturing that so often accompanied his interactions with other men.
However, his last female ward had proved to be a tedious chore. Before following Aodh and the princess, the Fianna stayed in Thurles, believing that Aodh and his men had razed the village and overtaken the keep in an act of open hostility against Brian. During that time, Diarmid had, unsurprisingly, been charged with the ‘management’ of Brona, Queen of Thurles. ’Twas a long and convoluted tale, but in the end the Fianna learned that Aodh had been acting in self-defense. Thus, in spite of his capture of Princess Cara, Brian sought to spare the king and hopefully bargain with him in the future.
The men stood, securing their weapons. Diarmid’s heart pounded, but his mind grew sharper, clearer. Though Diarmid made a point of enjoying his free time, these were the moments he truly lived for: the ones where his actions made a true difference in the lives of others.
He joined the Fianna to help Brian unify the disparate kingdoms of éire, to defend the people from further incursion by the Fin Gall, the foreigners who continued to ravage their shores and lay claim to his people’s lands. To fight for the folk who couldn’t fight for themselves. Though he was born the son of one of Brian’s rivals, Diarmid’s commitment to Brian and the Fianna was absolute.
When they needed him, he would be there. Always.
Only moments after Illadan’s call to arms, the Fianna disappeared from the small clearing of fallen logs, the graveyard of a massive oak. Roots and moss and lichen passed silently underfoot as the Fianna crept between the shadowed trees.
Darkness descended upon Aodh’s camp.
And with it, the Fianna.