Chapter 8
Niall watched Caitlin disappear into Castle Daire, the soft linen of her leine rippling behind her, her hair a dark tangle tumbling down her back.
And he wondered, was she so innocent that she did not know?
No matter how many walls she put between them, neither she nor Niall could ever escape what they had done.
Kissed beneath Caitlin's stars as if their very souls were starving, aye, and his body...
Niall stalked a few steps toward the castle. Forced himself to halt. Every muscle strained toward her, demanding that he follow her, scoop her up into his arms. Carry her up to the sea bed and show his convent-bred lady just what she had aroused in him.
Need sharper than any sword blade that had ever bitten into his flesh. Passion so hot it burned reason away. Yet had she not stolen his reason days ago in that frozen instant when he had looked into her terror-wide eyes and known he could not kill her?
Why? Not because of honor, nobility, not even because of mercy. But because from the first moment he had seen her, she had stolen his breath away.
Beauty. He had heard bards sing about it, trailing their fingers over their harp strings as they spun tales of ages-old lovers who had cast their lives to the fates because of passion.
Yet Niall had always scorned those star-crossed lovers.
Succumbing to such passion was just another excuse for weakness.
A warrior should not be slave to the shape of a woman's mouth, her eyes beckoning him.
Loyalty, courage, duty were the only goddesses a fighting man should worship.
That had been enough. He had simple, carnal hungers like any man.
He dealt with them as he had dealt with countless foes across a battlefield: swiftly and with finality.
He had made certain any lady he dallied with understood he had nothing to give her but one night in his bed.
Stripping away such needs had been simple, leaving him with nothing but vague dissatisfaction and a hard-edged amusement after the encounter was done.
But there had been no time to rally those defenses when Caitlin had glided toward him like a fairy wraith in the night. She had lanced deep into hidden places, dark, secret pain. She had dared him to feel.
And when they had crossed swords, there in the night, she had won. Never in all his years had he felt such sensation, as if all the life that pulsed within Caitlin's lithe body had rushed into his veins, filling him, showing him exactly how empty he was.
Niall gave a bitter laugh. As if he needed anyone to show him that, here, standing in the crumbling ruins of Castle Daire, with his mother's face still haunting him and his sister's hatred digging into the heart he had pretended not to have for so long.
Had Caitlin known? Had she sensed that he lay in the shadow of that tree, torn by an agony he had all but forgotten? Blessed by some fairy magic as her exalted father had been, had she bent her ear to the tiny window in the Sea Chamber and heard the voices that would give Niall no peace?
Not his mother's screams as they dragged his father away.
Nay, the ghosts that had stalked him this night were far different ones.
Faint images of what might have been if his father had been the hero Niall had believed him to be as a child.
Echoes of his mother's laughter, sweet as summer rain.
Fiona, plump-cheeked, two fingers thrust resolutely into her mouth as she toddled after him, clinging determinedly to whatever bit of his clothing she could grasp.
What kind of man might that boy have grown to be? Arrogant, so certain life would grant him all the wonder he could hold as long as he held fast to his duty, his honor, proved himself worthy to be the brave Ronan's son.
But it did not matter what might have been. Those years had merely been a sweet-tasting poison. Lies that had destroyed his mother, Fiona, aye, and the boy Niall had been.
And as if he had not been tortured enough to satisfy whatever demons were loose in the night, Caitlin had come. Floating through the moonlight like a fairy maiden, her leine shimmering in gossamer wings, her face soft as the dreams Niall had never had.
And for just an instant, Niall had seen the man he had imagined, the man he might have been, opening his arms to that woman of wondrous light.
Nay, she had caught him unaware, that was all. And he had tasted only lust upon her lips. Hunger of the body fed by anger, uncertainty, not something deeper. He need not concern himself. It was merely the instinct of any warrior, to conquer a creature so spirited and defiant.
And he had far more fortitude than many other men. He had spent every moment since he reached Conn's court hardening himself, learning control, that virtue his father had never mastered.
The control that banished pain in a warrior cut and bleeding, allowing him to fight on. The control that guarded a man's secret weaknesses, hiding them from his enemies. The control that held a man's lust at bay when honor demanded it.
Niall's jaw set, grim. This flare of desire for Caitlin had been a moment of madness, that was all. Within days, he would have a price upon his head. Conn, renowned for his honesty, was also thorough. For any ruler who hoped to hold his lands, reprisal for one who defied him must be swift, severe.
And yet... Niall closed his eyes, remembering Conn's face countless times when people had dared to scorn the son of Ronan the Betrayer.
Always affection had flickered in Conn's gaze when he glimpsed his foster son, and Niall could almost hear his thoughts.
Do not heed them. You are my son. You fill my heart with pride.
A fine sheen of sweat dampened Niall's forehead, and his hands clenched into fists as he imagined approaching his liege again, kneeling before him, telling him the truth of what had happened.
What would it feel like? Witnessing Conn's shock at the conditions at Castle Daire, his willingness to do all in his power to make things right there? Niall could see the chieftain's rage and swift retribution against those bloody scavengers who had picked the castle's bones.
It would banish every shadow of Fiona's dark accusations, put to rest forever the nagging doubts that had tormented Niall, no matter how fiercely he denied they could be true.
Would it not be wiser to trust in that affection—the honor and generosity Niall knew Conn to be capable of—than to sit here waiting for his fate to overtake him?
He had enemies aplenty at Glenfluirse who would delight in killing him before he had the chance to speak before the chieftain, sway Conn to show mercy.
Niall could ride alone back to Conn's fortress.
He could ask for Caitlin's life, implore Conn to let him take her back to the abbey.
If she swore never to leave its walls, she could not doom Conn or his domain. Surely, Conn would allow it.
Or would he? Conn must have considered leaving Caitlin at the abbey and dismissed it. What would Niall do if Conn forgave him, embraced him, yet still condemned Caitlin to death?
Caitlin's fate would no longer be in Niall's hands.
A chill pricked Niall's flesh as he glanced up at the window of her chamber.
For an instant, he thought he saw her there—a ripple of ebony hair, a crescent of flawless cheek, so warm, so pure, her only crime being born beneath a druid prediction of doom.
Predictions her cloistered sisters would dismiss as pagan nonsense, while Conn was willing to have her murdered to keep the prophecy from coming to pass.
Even if he dared risk his own life by returning to Conn, Niall reasoned, how could he take such a gamble with Caitlin's life?
Niall flung himself back onto the ground, wrapping himself in the tattered cloak he had unearthed somewhere in the castle.
Frustration jabbed at him more certainly than the twig caught beneath him.
Was she mad, desiring a man like him? He grimaced.
She had pulled him up from a cliff after he had tried to kill her.
Of course, the woman was mad. Mad with innocence and sweet dreams. Niall stiffened, resolutely dragging his mind from ripe lips and eyes glowing with eagerness.
There could be no turning back from the course they had taken.
But he could control what happened between himself and Fintan's daughter from now on.
Never again would he touch her, kiss her, no matter how much Caitlin and the clamoring of his own body goaded him. For if he failed to protect her from Conn's decree of death, it would only make it harder watching her die.
Something akin to fear drove deep, astonishing Niall with its power. Iron bars turning a rocky cave into prison, his father's face all but unrecognizable through the grime. Niall had been too young, too innocent to know the ugly fate that awaited such a prisoner then. He was ages older now.
He would not see Caitlin suffer such a fate.
Niall's teeth clenched. He had to plan, think what to do.
Leave Conn's holdings? If only that would be enough.
But the chieftain's power reached as far across Ireland as the color green.
Any enemy whose fortress offered sanctuary to fugitives might also be willing to return them to their chieftain if the blood price were high enough.
And Niall was certain Conn would cast half his wealth to the wind to capture the warrior who had betrayed him and the woman who might hold the power to topple his rule.
Niall needed time, time to think, to plan. How could he win it?