Lily Fair (Celtic Rogues #6)

Prologue

The Prophecy

It was a perfect night to become immortal.

White wind swirled in from the Irish Sea, whispering of heroes stretching back to the dawn of time.

A druid moon pulsed above land no invader could ever tame.

A path of light wavered toward that mysterious sphere, as if daring any man with the courage to climb skyward into legend.

It was easy for some men to take such a journey since they touched by the fiery hand of fate. But for others... insurmountable, a cruel jest that left pride in tatters and bitterness where souls used to be.

Conn the Ever Truthful, high chieftain of Glenfluirse, stood at the arrow slit of his castle, a restless light in his hooded eyes.

He should be rejoicing in the revelry of the warriors he had led into battle.

Men even now drinking and bellowing across his vast table, recounting tales of valor to their adoring wives.

He had won. Enemies in full retreat. More pleasing still, he had heard his fledgling bard and aged druid whispering again.

Soon now. Soon all Ireland would know Conn as the Undefeated One.

It was a sobriquet any chieftain would lust after.

One that would ensure his name would be marked as indelibly on the landscape of Ireland as the Slieve Mish Mountains that hunched their giant shoulders skyward.

And yet even that glorious title would not be his because he’d earned it.

His legacy would be the careless gift of another man.

Fintan MacShane. Conn turned, his gaze finding the warrior despite the confusion.

Tall, powerful, with a spear caster's broad shoulders, Fintan sat in a corner with his wife, oblivious to the fact that half the women in the hall would have shed their husbands and rushed to his bed to claim they had sampled his unique magic.

Or that any warrior would trade all he owned for the gift fairies had placed in Fintan's hands.

The gift of never missing a spear cast in battle, despite the fact that he was stone blind.

Battle after battle had been won because of Fintan—his skill, his courage and his ability to lead men.

Conn had been dragged along upon the tails of his glory.

Yet over the years, Conn had taken secret pleasure that no son or daughter would ever mark the blind spear caster's acts of valor. Fintan’s beloved wife was barren and long past the age of childbearing.

Fintan's seed would die, even as Conn's sons thrived.

Yet now that comfort was to be denied Conn. The fairies had worked fresh magic for Fintan. His wife swelled with the babe both had longed for. Even now, they whispered together as if they were newly wed, desperately in love, Fintan's hand caressing the child through Grainne's gown.

Poisonous frustration welled up in Conn, bitterness he hoped no one in the hall would see.

But at that moment, the bard rose, resplendent despite his youth, his clarsagh in his arms. A grim reproach filled his eyes as he cast a glance at Conn.

"I shall tell a tale of Fintan." The bard's mellifluous voice filled the hall.

"Fintan whose place is already marked among the stars. "

Conn knew he could ill afford the bard's disapproval, or that of the warriors Fintan had awed yet again with his skill. Conn forced a smile to his lips and swaggered back to the trestles, taking up a tankard.

"Fintan!" he roared, saluting the spear caster. It did not matter that the man could not see it. The other warriors did. "May your name live forever, and your son live long to praise it!"

But despite his efforts, the bard still stared at Conn, peering into the deep, secret well of his hate. Shaken, Conn fought to distract the bard by shouting out in a hearty voice.

"Druid!" He summoned the dark-robed holy man in the bard's shadow. "Use your divining arts for the hero of this day! Tell us what manner of warrior Fintan's son will be."

A relic from a vanishing age, the druid glided across the room in a sweep of dusty robe, as if he belonged to a realm beyond the physical world and his feet did not touch the earth.

Fintan's wife looked up, a hint of alarm in her eyes, one hand curving over her babe as if to shield it—from the ugliness of war yet to come?

Or from the dark power of predestination?

"Whist, light of my soul." Fintan chuckled, obviously sensing her reaction. He drew her hands away. "There is no power on earth we need fear. Nothing ill can happen to this child," he murmured. "It is a child of destiny, given to us by enchantment."

He smiled, so arrogant in his gift, as if immortal already. Conn's hate for him was superseded only by his need for Fintan's skills.

A hush fell over the chamber, even the stone walls seeming to hold their breath as the druid closed one long, white hand over Grainne's vulnerable belly.

A gasp tore from the man's lips, and he yanked back his fingers as if they had touched fire.

Grainne cried out, eyes wide as she peered into the druid's ashen face.

"What is it?" Fintan demanded, sensing the sudden terror in his beloved wife's heart.

"The babe," the druid murmured, as if he had aged a hundred years from that single touch. "It is a daughter."

"You are a fool if you believe such news will dismay me, druid!" Fintan scoffed. The spear caster turned from the old man to his wife. He cradled Grainne closer. "A daughter of yours is finer than any other man's son."

"Fintan, there is more. The child..." The druid cast a haunted glance from the parents to Conn, and what Conn saw in those ageless eyes turned his blood to stone. "The child will be the downfall of the chieftain. She must be put to death the instant she draws her first breath."

"No!" Grainne cried, clutching her belly. Fintan rose, weapon in hand, as if terrified the druid would cut the babe from her womb.

"You are wrong, druid," the warrior growled. "No man is more loyal to the chieftain than Fintan MacShane." A low murmur rose from the crowd.

"It is not a question of loyalty, Fintan," the druid pleaded. "It is her destiny."

Fintan spat on the floor beside the old man.

"Destiny? Bah! If any man dares touch my child, I vow that act will be his last." The blind spear caster turned toward Conn, unnervingly as if he saw him.

"I have fought for you. Bled for you. Tell me now, my chieftain, what has my blood purchased?

Where does your faith lie? Do you trust in the oath of Fintan MacShane that no child of his will do you harm or in the blathering fear of this old man? "

Conn stood, frozen, knowing that the future lay in his hands.

How often had he dreamed of holding some weapon over Fintan's head, of possessing real power instead of merely the illusion of it?

Now he could destroy Fintan in one devastating blow, but all hope of being called the Undefeated One would be gone.

Distasteful as glory might be when given as another man's charity, it was better than no glory at all.

Conn sucked in a steadying breath. "Fintan, lay down your spear. May the gods curse me if I were to murder the only child of a man I love as a brother."

"But you must listen," the druid pleaded. "Great disaster. I saw it when the babe leapt beneath my hand."

Conn shrugged. "What danger could a girl child be?

What weapon could she wield save the beauty of her face?

Once the babe is born, I will send her off to a nunnery, where the sisters shall raise her as if she were royalty.

When she grows to a woman, I will call her back to court and wed her to a man strong enough to ward off any curse. "

Grief and gratitude warred in the faces of Fintan and his wife.

"But to surrender our babe!" Grainne sobbed. "I cannot bear it!"

Fintan gathered her in his arms, his voice rough with grief and resignation. "It is a gift Conn has offered us. The child's life. Love, there is no other way."

Three days later, screams rose from the chambers of Fintan, the hands that had cast countess spears clinging to his wife's as she brought their babe into the world. For one night, the beautiful child lay in her mother's arms, her father's fingers stroking her silky cheek.

At dawn, Fintan gathered his daughter in his arms, strode from the chamber of his grief-stricken wife. In the shadow of the druid's hut, the warrior faced Conn. "Your word she will be safe."

"Do you doubt me? They call me the Ever Truthful," Conn said steadily, hiding the tiniest flicker of triumph. This time he was the one who held Fintan's fate in his hands.

Fintan surrendered his child to the horseman waiting beside a standing stone. "Her name is Caitlin," Fintan said, his voice rough with grief. "Caitlin of the Lilies, for she is lily fair."

Disbelieving, Conn leaned over to peer at the girl child's face. He froze, staring at the most beautiful babe he had ever seen, a child otherworldly, like the Christian angels he had heard about or the fairy maids who had enchanted mortals, luring them to their distant kingdoms.

For an instant, Conn quailed, fearing that the girl had her own brand of magic. But he shoved the thought aside. No, she was but a mortal child. A mere girl. No threat to a chieftain cunning as he.

Conn watched as the rider and child disappeared into the dawn.

Problems such as the one this girl presented must be handled delicately, he mused.

He needed Fintan's strength and skill to gain his own place in the annals of legend.

And even a high chieftain dared not challenge the fairy magic.

Let the child live, for the present. Then, the instant Fintan's usefulness was past, Conn would know what to do.

Conn glanced at Fintan's face, sightless eyes following the daughter he would never touch again, the warrior's rugged face streaked with unmanly tears.

Aye, it would be simple enough to unravel this coil in the end, Conn reasoned. Even legends had to die.