Chapter 6
Stark as a skull picked clean by the war goddess Morrigan, the lone crumbling tower of Castle Daire loomed against the sky.
The setting sun cast a red glow across the walls until the stones seemed to bleed.
For years, the castle had haunted Niall's dreams, a bleak home to the ghosts of a past he had struggled to forget.
Niall gripped the reins of his mount tighter and stared over the crown of Caitlin's head at the stone edifice growing nearer with every strike of the horse's hooves against the debris-strewn ground.
He winced inwardly, remembering those first nights he had spent as Conn's fosterling.
Sick with shame and loss, he had huddled beneath his cloak, bedding down at the fire like one of Conn's hounds.
Sleepless, he had stared into the fire and dreamed of possessing the might of the legendary warrior, Cuchulain.
He imagined hoisting the castle onto his shoulders, flinging it so far into the sea even the mermaids could not find it.
He had dreamed of possessing the power of the sun god, Lugh, burning the walls with his gaze until the stones melted.
A fiery blaze, wiping away every trace of the life that had been.
Obliterating it forever, as if it had never existed at all.
Yet always, he had known Castle Daire was there, waiting to pull him back in his nightmares.
But even when he had watched his dream-self ride up to the stone tower, he had always been alone, with only the arrow slits of the castle to witness the sick clenching of his belly, the sweat slicking his palms.
Never had he guessed that he would face this place under the gaze of a woman who had already probed deeper beneath his defenses than anyone he had ever known.
It made him feel as if all his weapons had been stripped away. He hated himself for that weakness. Hated her for making him aware of it.
Caitlin shifted in the saddle, and a dull ache throbbed in Niall's leg. He welcomed the distraction, transferring both reins into one hand, kneading the swollen knot of muscle with his fingers.
"I knew your wounds were paining you," she said softly. "I told you, we should have stopped long ago. Rested for the night."
"My wounds are my own affair," Niall snapped. "I need no woman to tell me when I need to get off my horse!"
She straightened. "Next time, I will say nothing. Merely watch you fall off. I wonder how proud and stubborn you will look facedown in the dirt."
He grimaced. Her words were true enough. Exhausted as he was, his bruises throbbing, it was a wonder he had been able to stay astride the beast so long.
What had possessed him to push himself so hard to reach their destination? He should have leapt at Caitlin's suggestion to make camp on a distant hillside—delayed returning to Daire as long as he could.
And yet he had learned on the battlefield that it was best to yank a javelin from flesh swiftly. If you hesitated, the pain came alive inside you, jeering at you as it held you in its grip. Nay, delaying would only make things worse. The sooner they reached Daire, the sooner they could leave it.
"We need to reach the castle as soon as possible." He did not know why he felt a need to explain to her. "Every moment on the road is a danger. If anyone saw us riding past, they might tell Conn once he begins searching."
"Niall, I much doubt they would remember me."
"With that face of yours?" he bit out more harshly than he intended. "Any man who saw it would be burdened with its image forever!"
She stiffened in his arms, and he saw the bright gleam of tears in her eyes before she turned her face away. He cursed her. Cursed the fates that must be jeering at him even now, dragging him back to this place. Most of all, he cursed himself for the change he had caused in her.
True, Caitlin of the Lilies would always have a face so rare and lovely it would carve itself into the memory.
But it was not the same face that had glowed with pleasure, buffed by the sea wind.
Those were not the same eyes that had blazed defiance and outrage when she had struggled with him at the druid stone—a warrior queen too certain of her strength ever to fear defeat.
Now Fintan's daughter knew that the world she had raced out to meet with delight could break her heart, if not her courage.
The horse stumbled, and Niall fought to hold Caitlin upon the animal as it scrambled to regain its footing. "Curse it! What was that?" he muttered, glancing over what had once been the finest castle yard in all of Ireland. His mother's pride.
The expanse that had once been banked with flowers was strewn with refuse, the tidy paths that had been laid out with tender care now overgrown with weeds.
Splintered furnishings had been scattered about, and a cart leaned crazily on one broken wheel.
The blossoms his mother had tended tangled wild across the debris, reminding Niall of a shamed woman attempting to hide the disorder with her cloak.
Niall's throat tightened, and he blocked out the image of his sister toddling through the blossoms, stubbornly trying to pick handfuls of roses, no matter how many times the thorns pricked her skin.
He drew rein, slid down off his mount Struggling to school his face into lines of carelessness, he helped Caitlin from the horse. She looked about her, and Niall could see her quiet dismay.
Not that he could blame her. The ground itself seemed to pulse with hostility, as if it would hurl the intruders from it if it could.
Dark and forbidding, the walls towered above them, the stone work crumbling and sprinkled with clay-colored lichens.
It seemed nature and neglect were doing what Niall could not, obliterating Castle Daire one stone at a time.
"This will be a good place to hide," Caitlin said, glancing about nervously. "No one could possibly live in such a place."
But at that instant, the door flew open. Caitlin cried out as a whirlwind with copper-bright hair and a rusted sword swooped toward them. Niall lunged for his own weapon, but it was too late. The point of his assailant's blade was at his throat.
"Move, and I will run you through," the grimy-faced warrior snarled with unmistakable relish, the breeze riffling through the gray rags that draped a painfully thin body. Niall could not speak, his chest afire as if the waif had driven the blade home.
Caitlin stepped forward, compassion softening her mouth. "We mean you no harm, lad. We are only seeking shelter here, as you have. We have food to share."
"I take no charity!" the waif scoffed. "This castle is mine!"
"The castle is mine, curse that it is," Niall growled, his voice harsh, unfamiliar to his own ears. "Do you not recognize me, Fiona?"
He caught a glimpse of Caitlin as she glanced up at him in astonishment that the waif before them was a girl, but it was Fiona's expression that lanced his heart. Disbelief, a tiny, unquenchable spark of joy for just an instant before it was drowned by hatred.
"Niall! You! You traitor! The chieftain's stinking cur, groveling at a murderer's feet!"
Dull crimson stained the hard planes of Niall's face. "Enough, girl." He reached up, trying to grasp the sword, but the girl dug the point deeper into the tender flesh of his neck. Blood welled up, trickled in a red path down his skin.
"Stop or die," she said fiercely, only the slightest tremor in her hand betraying her uncertainty. "There is no one I would rather run through with my sword except Conn himself!"
Niall stared at her, trying to gauge whether she would strike. Aye, he judged grimly, if only to prove that she had the courage. Shifting only his eyes, he glanced at Caitlin's ashen face and then struggled to steady his voice as he looked back at his sister.
"Fiona—"
"Do not call me that! I am Finn now, master of Castle Daire. Quick enough with my sword to drive away the thieving bastards who used to steal from us."
The words raked through Niall, flooding him with confusion. He wished he could close his eyes, ride away and scrub from his memory the sight of his sister and what she had become. "You were robbed?"
"Mother was helpless, and I was but a girl-child, alone, unprotected! What did you think would happen?"
"The castle was teeming with servants, and the fields—" Niall insisted, more to himself than his mutinous sister.
"Finn?"
Niall started at the sound of Caitlin's voice.
Blood of Boru, could the woman not see how dangerous the girl was?
Teetering between fear and fury? If the sword had not been at his throat, he would have grabbed Caitlin's arm.
But she eased forward, hands extended palm up in the age-old gesture of peace.
"Finn?" she repeated. "Is that your name? I am Caitlin. I have earned Conn's malice as well."
"Any woman who would let such filth as Niall of the Seven Betrayals touch her deserves whatever befalls her!"
"Curse it, Fiona!" Niall snapped. "You will not insult her!"
"She can think what she wishes of me," Caitlin said. "But she needs to hear the simple truth. Conn ordered my death. Niall was supposed to kill me."
Fiona's brows lowered, her gaze suddenly flicking to Caitlin's face. "By a merciful sword thrust or by breaking your heart the way he did our father's?"
Niall's jaw clenched.
“By the sword. Niall tried to do as Conn ordered, but in the end, he could not kill me. We are outcasts now. We need to find someplace to rest, to plan, prepare the things we need to make our escape."
Fiona stared a moment in silence. "And so you come here. Conn would never believe you would sully yourself with the dirt of Castle Daire, would he, Niall?"
"I would rather hide her in hell," Niall admitted.
"Go there and be damned, then! There is nowhere I would rather see you!” Rage flared in Fiona's eyes, almost obliterating something like hurt. “Get off my land. My land, brother!"
Niall let fly an oath, but Caitlin broke in, infuriatingly calm. "Perhaps it would be better if we found some other place to go."