Chapter 17
“ T here’s no point constructing another ship unless we have trained men to fill it,” Comgall pointed out impatiently. Hands on hips, he stalked around the edge of the training ground. Three young men stood in the centre of the ground, staring down at their feet. They looked embarrassed - and so they should. For all their noble birth and privileged upbringings, it seemed these three young men, all cousins, had failed to master even the basics of swordplay. If Comgall had to send them into battle, he’d have their blood on his hands.
“We need to start the basic drills again,” he said. “Ciaran, you fill in.”
He was just about to call the starting signal when someone else shouted. The sound was a little distant, but distinct.
Comgall and Ciaran reacted instantly, both drawing their swords as they turned to face this potential threat. They rushed around the wooden palisade that surrounded the training ground, and Comgall immediately saw what was going on. Just a few metres away, an elegant horse danced nervously in the middle of the road. Atop it was a large man with red hair flowing loose down his back, and a sword strapped to his hip. An Irishman, judging by his clothes.
It looked as if Dunadd’s guards had come to the same decision. Three of them stood in the centre of the road, their spears pointed at the horse.
“You do not have permission to enter Dunadd,” one of the guards called. “Turn back.”
“I have business here,” the Irishman roared. “A there’s only one of me and three of you. What are you so afraid of?”
The spear-brandishing guards took a step closer and the horse reared up in response.
Comgall narrowed his eyes. Something about the man seemed familiar - and then he recognised him. This Irishman was one of the warriors who’d accompanied Eithne’s brother on the day Donall was murdered. He would have to check with Tomás, the only Dal Riada man who’d seen the murder, but he was almost sure of it.
Fury washed through him, white hot and blinding. But he pushed it aside, forced himself to breathe, to think clearly. He controlled his anger, not the other way around.
“You there,” he called, strolling forwards. “What is your business here at Dunadd?”
The man inclined his head politely, his long hair slipping forwards. “I am here with a message for King Comgall of Dal Riada. Once it is delivered, I will be on my way.”
“I am the king,” Comgall said. “Be welcome to Dunadd.”
The guards stepped down, although they still gripped their spear hafts with white knuckles. Comgall slipped his sword back into its sheath, and heard Ciaran do the same beside him .
The man jumped down from his horse and raised his hands to show he was unarmed.
“I come in peace, lord king,” he said. “I am on my way east, to the Kingdom of the Picts, but I thought to stop here first and give you a message from Ireland.”
Eithne . Some trickle of foreboding slid along Comgall’s neck. Did Eithne’s family want to call off the wedding? Perhaps she’d somehow sent word about her ill-advised escape attempt.
“Let us speak in private,” Comgall said.
“I do not think that is wise,” Ciaran interjected in a low voice. “Can we trust this man, your majesty?”
The Irishman rolled his eyes.
“Here, take my sword while we speak,” he said, thrusting the hilt towards Ciaran. “And we will remain in sight, just on the other side of the road.”
Comgall nodded his agreement. Ciaran’s frown did not lift, but he took the sword, and remained still as Comgall and the Irishman stepped away.
When they were just out of hearing, Comgall turned to the other man.
“What news from Ireland?” he asked.
“Nothing so serious as you’re taking it,” the man said with a little laugh. “Just an informal notice that Princess Eithne is on her way to you. We set off at the same time, in fact, but she travels slowly. She might not arrive for another week or two, unless she speeds up a great deal.”
“Princess Eithne,” Comgall said hollowly. “On her way.”
“Yes, that’s right,” the man said. “I know she was supposed to be here for your inauguration and all that, but Eithne never works to any man’s timeline. She’ll be here when it suits her.”
“Of course,” Comgall said, trying to keep the shock and horror from his face. “Thank you for the news. It will surely help us to prepare.”
The man inclined his head with a little smirk.
“Happy to help. Now that we’re allies, of course.”
“I’m glad of it,” Comgall said with a forced smile. He slipped one of the golden arm rings from his wrist and offered it to the warrior. “Take this as thanks, and with it the promise of safe passage through Dal Riada.”
He turned back to his men.
“Return this man’s horse and sword and see him on his way. There is some business that requires my attention.”
He walked up the final stretch of road by himself. He barely noticed as he passed through the gates and trod the now-familiar route to the king’s quarters. Once upon a time, he’d walked this way to visit his grandfather. How things had changed.
So, Eithne was still in Ireland. That was troubling news. She would miss the inauguration, for one thing.
And if Eithne was in Ireland, who on earth was this other woman? Why would some stranger pretend to be his betrothed, then risk her life to escape him?
He had no answers - not yet. But he swore to himself that he would learn the truth.