Chapter 3 #3
Niall choked on the bread, came up sputtering. "Do not be absurd! The chieftain knows I have vowed never to wed." Yet, despite his brave words, he looked as unnerved as she felt.
He grappled with a small leather pouch tied to his waist, something that sounded like vellum crackling inside it beneath his grasp. "There is one way to know," he muttered. Suddenly, he caught sight of her questioning gaze. Reluctantly, he released whatever the pouch held.
"What is in there?" she asked.
"It is none of your concern," he snapped. "Only be certain of this: No woman will ever call me husband. No woman will ever wield power over me."
Why did his vow suddenly make her sad? That this man would never have anyone to hold him, touch him, meet him on his return from battle, her eyes shining a welcome.
He would have no woman to feed the hidden, hungry, tender places in his soul, no children clamoring for tales of his bravery on the field.
Simple, homely offices Caitlin had dreamed of performing as a lone girl.
But Niall would only scoff if ever he guessed that she pitied him. Even in the glow of the firelight, Caitlin could see his face darken, as if he knew how ridiculously dismayed he had appeared. His chagrin was so great she was tempted to laugh.
"Since you are so certain Conn would not force you to marry against your will, it is possible that Conn does not intend to see me wed, either."
"And why is that so? There is an army of other men in Glenfluirse."
"Few who would accept a woman who comes to marriage with empty hands.
" She shrugged. "I am not so simple that I do not know the ways of the world.
A wife has a duty to bring something to marriage—wealth, the honor of her family, allies to help guard her husband's borders.
I can offer none of these things." She took some small comfort in the thought.
Niall dashed it as he shrugged. "Any man in the kingdom except me would rejoice to have you as wife."
"I cannot imagine why."
"You bring a bride price far more precious than land or riches to the man who weds you. His sons will carry the blood of the finest spear caster ever to go into battle."
All thought of a dreaded marriage vanished. She caught her breath. "You know of my father? My family?"
Niall picked at the bread he held, suddenly engrossed, as if the crumbs held all the answers in the world. "There is time enough for you to learn of such things when you reach the fortress."
"You cannot mean that!" Unable to contain herself, she cast her bread onto the crumpled cloth sack and then leapt to her feet, her hands trembling. "I have waited my whole life to know why my parents left me alone, why I had no mother, no father like other girls."
"It is not my place to tell you anything. I was not instructed to—"
"Were you instructed not to?" she demanded. "Is there something to hide?"
"Nay, but—woman, you are snarling everything up again."
"I am snarling things up? My whole life has been a tangle!
You cannot imagine what it is like, always wondering, half fearing the answers, needing them anyway.
But now... they... my family... perhaps they are at the fortress.
I will meet them at last." She hugged herself tight, fear and delight warring inside her.
She saw Niall's eyes narrow, an odd expression crossing his features. He hesitated. "You will not find your parents at the fortress, Caitlin."
"They are someplace else, then? It does not matter. I can still find them."
He looked away. Caitlin stilled, bereft. Her voice trembled as she whispered. "They are..."
"Dead." He said the word so she would not have to, a gentle mercy in this man so battle-hardened.
She turned her face away from Niall to hide the glitter of tears.
Silence fell. A log broke apart, raining embers.
"Strange. Reverend Mother gave this to me before we left Saint Mary's.
" She touched the bracelet "It must have belonged to my mother.
All my life, I dreamed of my parents, wove images of them out of all my wishes.
Made them beautiful and handsome, brave and noble, a mother and father who loved me so desperately—who would hold me, touch me, tell me why they abandoned me.
For a moment, they were real. They were mine.
And now, in an instant, they are gone forever.
I never even had the chance to know them. Now I never will."
"You are wrong." She was stunned to feel the touch of his hand against her arm. "They will live in bard song for all eternity."
She looked down at him, saw the reluctance in him, yet he continued. "You are daughter of the mighty Fintan MacShane, a warrior so fine it is said he possessed fairy magic."
She brushed his hand away. "I do not want tales of fairies and magic any longer. I spun enough of my own. I wanted someone to touch, to hold."
"It is no fantasy, what I tell you of your father. It is true."
Something in his voice made her look at Niall. "You knew him? "
"I think no one but his wife, Grainne, really knew him. He was always separated from the other warriors by his gift."
"He was a spear caster? That is what you said. Why should that set him apart?"
"Never once, in all his life, did he miss what he aimed for. An amazing enough feat in itself, but that was not the miracle of it. Fintan was blind."
"Blind? That—that is impossible! How could he even know where he pointed his weapon?"
"The bard claims that what other men saw with their eyes, Fintan saw with his heart.
It is said Fintan had a rival for Grainne's love, and when she chose your father, the other man was so maddened with jealousy he blinded Fintan while he slept so he would never again see her face.
Knowing what the loss would cost the proud warrior she loved, Grainne went to the fairies and offered to surrender her own sight if they would restore Fintan's to him.
Her tears so moved the fairies, they took pity on the lovers and cast an enchantment upon Fintan. "
"Do not." Caitlin squeezed the words through a tight throat. "Do not spin stories trying to make me feel better."
"You do not believe me? I cannot blame you. I would scarce have believed it myself, except that one of his spear casts kept an enemy from cleaving my skull in two with a battle axe. I saw the miracle of Fintan's gift with my own eyes."
"And my mother? Did you know her?"
He looked uncomfortable and more than a little defiant. "She was like you—dark-haired, blue eyes. Yet even she was not so..." His gaze traced Caitlin's features. He stopped. "She might have been kind to me if I allowed her. But all I could see in her beauty was the poison that killed my father."
Caitlin's lips trembled, her eyes burned. He glared at her for an instant in alarm.
"You want to know about your parents?" he asked, gruff. "I can tell you this. I once heard your father say that he had been struck blind because she was... all the light he would ever need."
His eyes peered into hers, sparking with something almost like hope, as if he expected something from her. Approval for the tale he had spun? Gratitude for the story he had told? Something she could not give him.
Her throat ached, and this time she did not even try to hide the tears.
"Perhaps that was why they did not need me," Caitlin said in a small voice.
She curled her arms tight about her, imagining such a great love, a love that had never been shared with her.
The bracelet cut into her wrist as she wrestled with betrayal, a child's endless wondering about what terrible flaw she had that enabled them to abandon her, forget her.
And now they were dead. She would never be able to ask them, make things right.
Niall rose, and she was surprised to feel the woolen folds of his cloak swirl about her shoulders. It was warm from his body, smelling of wind and earth, horse, and a feint scent that was all Niall's own.
She did not protest. She only lay down on the ground, curling herself beneath the folds of wool to hold back the pain.