Chapter 4 #2
Had Conn been thinking of this bitter choice even then?
Preparing Niall somehow, or himself, for its bleak necessity?
What was the right path to take? Break a word of honor, or keep it and risk raining destruction down on all of Glenfluirse?
For a fortress without a strong chieftain would soon be annihilated. Niall shuddered.
This was the quest, the ultimate test of Niall's loyalty. This is why Conn had sent him. To stop a river of blood before it began to flow. To save an entire kingdom from destruction foretold by the druid.
In truth, Conn asked him to save countess lives by sacrificing just one. But did Niall have the stomach? The resolve? The faith in his chieftain to do this terrible thing?
He remembered Caitlin scrambling down the stones to the sea, wind in her hair, joy turning her incandescent as she danced amidst the salt spray.
Alive—more alive than anyone Niall had ever known.
He remembered the abbess, clinging to his promise—I will keep her safe.
The vow to Fintan was not Niall's to break, but the vow to the abbess was his alone.
You are pledged first to Conn, Niall upbraided himself. That vow must be honored above all. A warrior is sworn to fulfill his chieftain's every command. Even this one, grim as it may be. The druid prediction has left Conn and me little other choice.
Niall drew on every fragment of strength he had gained on countess battlefields, closed tighter and tighter into himself, to try to find the place where his battle fury lived—the man who was a sword arm for his chieftain, his spirit no longer his own.
Slowly, Niall drew his sword, hating the weight of it in his hand for the first time, feeling as if the fingers that clenched about its hilt were not his own.
Stealthily, he crossed to where Caitlin lay sleeping, the dark waves of her hair swept back, revealing the vulnerable column of her neck, white in the moonlight.
She will feel nothing—Niall attempted to take small comfort in it. It will be over in one sweep of this sword.
He raised the blade high, was stunned to feel his hands shake as he took aim, readied himself to deal the blow.
In that instant, some wild thing thrashed somewhere off in the brush. Lashes fluttered on white cheeks, eyes opening, still webbed by dreams. Dreams that shifted to nightmare the instant Caitlin saw the blade gleaming hellish orange above her.
"Wh-what are you doing?"
Strike! the warrior inside Niall bellowed.
Strike, you fool, make an end to this! "Forgive me," he ground out.
"Conn's orders." He brought the sword down, stunned himself by closing his eyes at the last moment, unable to see the damage he would inflict.
Caitlin screamed, but there was no give of soft flesh, no sickening crack of bone. The blade drove hard into the turf.
Niall opened his eyes, saw her scrambling away, her eyes wild, as if he were a monster. And he was, curse him. He was.
He lunged for her, nearly capturing one slender elbow, but she eluded his grasp, plunging through the darkness to escape him. He hesitated, uncertain what he would do if he caught her.
Run, Caitlin, run! a voice inside him urged, hot and hard as the knot in his throat the first time he had seen Conn ride down a red deer. The image suddenly burned into his memory—the exquisite creature terrified, fleeing, desperate, while blood-drunk hunters charged after it.
Yet a deer free in the wild lands was far different from a woman, one who knew nothing of the ruthless forces hidden in the beautiful hills.
He could not let her go charging off without so much as a knife to defend herself.
She had nowhere to go. A much more horrible, lingering death was all she would find if she eluded him.
The thought of this woman, so brave, so joyful, broken and starving at the mercy of the elements was more than Niall could bear.
With an oath, he gave chase. Lit by the moon, her path was easy enough to follow, marked by broken branches, trampled brush, deep-dug footprints in soft turf, and the horrible, desperate rasp of her breath as she fled for her life.
Niall charged after her, knowing only that he could not let her race off into disaster alone. But it made no sense! He had tried to kill her. Would have done so, if she had not evaded the blade.
Then, suddenly, Niall heard another sound, chilling, familiar in the darkened woods. The roar of a wild boar charging, wicked tusks dealing death.
Branches clawed at Caitlin's arms, roots catching at her feet with gnarled fingers, as she plunged through the dark woods, her senses still reeling with the vision of Niall standing over her, his sword blade flashing in a glittering arc toward her head.
He had meant to kill her. A voice kept echoing in her head, her imagination plunging onward, to the agony of the blade burying itself in her flesh, the horrible chill of death as her blood seeped into Niall's cloak
The cloak he had draped about her almost tenderly before she drifted off to sleep
She tripped over a stone, went down on one knee, the rough surface scraping the skin away. Blood ran down her leg, burning pain jolting through her, but she dared not let it slow her. She sobbed as she scrambled hack to her feet and kept running.
He was coming. She could hear him, crashing through the brush, sure-footed, determined, hunting her with the ruthless skill of one bred to be a warrior.
This cannot be happening! she thought wildly. He promised to guard her, protect her. He had sworn to Reverend Mother—was that why he had given her one glimpse of the sea? Some fragment of guilt. Knowing what was to come...
He had lied. She had trusted him. Not only with her life but with something for more fragile, her dreams about the mother and father she had never known. Yet if they were in the place where the dead dwelt, she might be meeting them soon.
She searched the eerie moonlit landscape for the path that would make it most difficult for him to follow her, someplace where her smaller size and lighter feet might gain her precious ground.
A tangle of thorny bushes loomed to the right, and she could hear the burble of a stream.
People settled near water. If she could reach it, she might find someone brave enough to help her.
Or at least some weapon she could use to defend herself.
She turned into the teeth of the thorns, bit her lip as one spine gouged her leg. But as she drove deeper into the brush, she took heart. It seemed her ploy was working! Was it possible Niall's footsteps were more distant now? Or was it only her imagination? God in heaven, she did not want to die!
She pushed herself harder, faster, almost sobbed in relief when at last she plunged into a clearing.
The water roared, tumbling down over a ridge of stone, a rocky cliff nearly as tall as the ones she had seen near the sea.
Was it possible she could hide herself somehow among those treacherous rocks? She had to try.
She hastened toward them, suddenly froze, a bestial roar splitting the silence. Shaking with terror and exhaustion, Caitlin stared as a massive wild boar reared its head up from where it had been rooting at the foot of a nut tree.
Lethal tusks gleamed in the moonlight, dashing any hope of escape, and Caitlin remembered tales of how the hero Diarmuid had died, his body torn wide open by a fearsome creature like this one.
She glanced back over her shoulder, the sound of Niall's relentless pursuit drawing nearer. Swallowing hard, she faced the boar again, black bristles coating it’s head, small red eyes glowing where the moonlight struck them.
Death in front of her, death behind her. Only one choice: to die fighting for her freedom or to stay here, frozen, dying as a passive victim of Niall's sword.
She looked at the ground, saw a fallen branch thick enough to wield as a weapon. Scooping it up, she edged toward the boar, a desperate prayer on her lips.
The beast shook its great head, slaver coating its mouth. In a thundering instant, it charged. Caitlin could not breathe, terror turning her muscles to stone. At the last instant, she leapt from the boar's path and slammed the branch down with all her strength, striking the boar between the eyes.
The branch cracked in two, a hellish sound tearing from the beast's throat, and she could see blood streaming down the side of its head.
But it barely slowed the boar's charge for a heartbeat.
Instinctively, she stumbled backward toward the ridge of thorny bushes, as the boar thundered toward her again, fury in its pain-glazed eyes.
Caitlin clutched the short end of the branch, praying that she could somehow jam the point into the boar's throat, knowing even that would not save her life. The animal would be too close, the tusks would do their gruesome work even if the boar were in its death throes.
It seemed to stretch into eternity—the boar charging, the branch clutched in her shaking hands.
She braced herself for the impact Suddenly, something struck her from the side, hurling her from the boar's path.
Caitlin screamed as she hurtled through the air, the breath driven from her body as she crashed into the stones.
She heard the boar bellow in rage, another deep voice cursing. She scrambled to her knees, swiping the hair from her eyes, stared at the man and beast locked in mortal combat.