Chapter 9
If Niall's horse had carried him straight into Conn's fortress, he would not have noticed, he had given so little attention to his surroundings in the hours since he galloped away from Castle Daire.
With each movement of the sun across the sky, he burned—his mind a tangle of memories, old and new, torn by the choice he had to make between the chieftain who had loved him like a son and the innocent beauty whose life had been cast into Niall's hands.
Niall's fingers shifted again to the leather pouch at his waist, the message he had written to Conn almost like a living thing within its depths.
He could not have loathed the missive more if it had been gnawing its way into his belly.
It seemed guilt—that emotion he had shrugged away with scorn for so long—had claws and teeth.
Niall wondered if he would ever be free it again.
If only he could rid himself of the letter, the deed would be done. His betrayal of Conn complete, no way to change it. Was it possible he could find some peace in that? No more peace than he had found in the days since he chose to let Caitlin live.
He rode over the crest of a hill, suddenly alert to the sounds of a disturbance below—a tiny croft, five boys near Fiona's age wrestling in play.
But nay. Niall's eyes narrowed. This was no game—at least not to the smallest youth who sprawled in the dirt.
Blood streamed from the boy's nose and cut lip as the other four lads loomed over him.
Niall's gut knotted. How many times had he been in that lone boy's place?
Fighting against impossible odds, driven by his anger and shame?
Even Conn's favor had not protected Niall from the fists of the other boys, especially the chieftain's six sons.
It was easy enough to stalk a lone boy in the vast fortress, lie in wait to strike.
Once the bloodying was over, no one had betrayed what had happened, not to the chieftain, the trainers in arms. Not to anyone.
Niall would have cut out his own tongue before he cried for help or for mercy. And he himself threatened to thrash anyone who told of the beatings he suffered.
Countless times, Niall had refused to explain the cuts and bruises on his face.
In that terrible silence, Niall had bided his time, grown stronger, practiced harder, until the day he could best his tormentors himself.
But he had never suspected what it was like for those few who had not joined in the brawls to watch such injustice, helpless to stop it.
"Stay down, you craven cur!" A burly lad with a misshapen mouth gave the boy a vicious kick. "Admit defeat, you son of a drunken slut!"
The lad curled his scrawny body into a ball and rolled away, seeming to surrender. Then, the instant the other boy turned to his friends in victory, the small lad launched himself into the burly lad's midsection.
Howling, the other three leapt on the boy, but he struck eight to ten solid punches before they dragged him off.
Damn fool! Niall gritted his teeth as the older boy pummeled him.
He should not interfere. Nothing would have infuriated him more during the years when he had been in the boy's place.
Besides, it might only make things worse once he rode away.
But when three of the boys imprisoned their prey and the other began to pound him in earnest, Niall could not watch any longer.
As he urged his horse into a run, he was uncertain. Who was he riding to aid? The boy who struggled in the dirt or the lad he had once been himself?
The thunderous hoofbeats did little to quell the gang of young brutes, insolent grins curling their mouths as if they expected nothing but approval from anyone who witnessed their sport.
With difficulty, Niall mastered the red tide of rage rising inside him. "Let him go," he said softly, a threat more terrifying than any bellow could be.
Genuine shock whitened the faces of the boy's attackers. One loosened his grip on the lad and gave Niall a sly smile.
"Beg pardon, fine sir, but you cannot understand. This coward is none but Owaine, the son of a drunken slut, his father one of any hundred men. He would not yield the road."
"So four of you fell upon him? An unfair number by any counting. Which of you are cowards now?"
The boys took a step back. One of the more daring raised his chin. "I am the son of the most powerful man in this valley. Who are you to judge me?"
For an instant, Niall thought of telling the boy his identity was none of his affair; then he changed his mind.
Considering the message he was sending to Conn, it would matter little if all Glenfluirse knew he was at Daire.
What could it matter if five farm boys knew his name?
Besides, the knowledge that a warrior had championed their prey might keep the boy safe from his tormentors, at least for a little while.
"I am Niall of the Seven Betrayals."
"N-Niall..." The other lads chorused in uneasy recognition, faces flushed, arrogance vanquished by awe.
The battered Owaine straightened, and Niall could see how much it cost him to hide his pain. "Is it really you?" Owaine asked, wonderingly. "Warrior of Glenfluirse? Champion of the chieftain Conn?"
Niall was so stunned by the adoration in the boy's eyes, he could only nod in answer. Had word of his exploits traveled so far?
"I know every one of your tales of valor!
How you fought to win your seat at the head of Conn's table.
The quests you set out upon to win a new name.
It made me believe that perhaps I could—" He stopped, suddenly aware of the other boys.
Niall could feel the embarrassment that sent color rushing into Owaine's cheeks.
"You will stay with me," Niall ordered Owaine. "As for the rest of you cowards, if ever I see you tormenting Owaine again, I will teach you a lesson in courage with my own hands!"
The boys scattered as if they feared he would take their hearts to the throne of the fairy queen, one of the legends that had sprung up around the first quest Conn had given him.
Owaine watched the boys run away with satisfaction, a smile curving his lips despite the nasty split in the lower one. Niall knew instinctively that Owaine's was not a mouth that smiled often.
"Go home, boy. They will not torment you now."
"I am not going home. Not ever again. There is nothing for me there but shame." The boy swabbed the blood from his face with one linen sleeve. "I go to Glenfluirse, to pledge myself to Conn."
Niall raised one eyebrow, fighting to keep the corner of his mouth from tipping in a wry smile. "You might have gotten there sooner if you let those other boys pass without a fight."
"That may be so." Owaine's gaze hardened. "Except that when I decided to go to Conn's fortress, I vowed to myself that I would never stand aside again, not for any man. If you could earn respect, honor, with the point of your sword, I could. But not if I kept running away."
Niall winced. This boy, betrayed by his mother, abandoned by his father, from what the other lads had said, had chosen a poor man to make a hero in his eyes.
What would Owaine think if he knew how Niall had betrayed his chieftain on this final quest?
The thought made Niall's gut knot, and he was furious with the boy and with himself for that flash of weakness.
Why should this boy's good opinion suddenly matter so much?
Owaine grasped Niall's dirt-encrusted sleeve, the boy nearly trembling with excitement.
"Perhaps we could travel together," Owaine suggested, his eyes shining with hope.
"I could tend to your horse, sharpen your sword.
I would not be any trouble, I swear it! And I am used to eating scarce anything at all. "
Niall looked at Owaine's bony frame, angry at whoever had so mistreated the lad. He swallowed hard, hating to fail the boy. "I am not returning to Glenfluirse. Not for some time."
The lad's face fell. "I will find Glenfluirse on my own, then. It was what I always planned."
Niall peered into Owaine's face, that stubborn jaw, determination burning like embers in a face still soft as a child’s. And Niall knew a lad like Owaine had thrice the warrior's heart of any grown man he might find along this road.
"Owaine," Niall said solemnly, "I do have an important task I must charge someone with. Someone worthy of my trust."
The boy did not even have to speak. Niall knew Owaine instinctively enough to be certain he would walk through fire for him. It saddened Niall, made him shamed and proud in the same moment.
Niall untied the leather pouch, removed the missive. No fear that such a boy would be able to read it! "Owaine, will you vow to put this into the hand of Conn? Let no other man touch it."
"Aye, I swear it."
Niall drew his own dagger, the gold inlay shining in the sun. "This will be your weapon."
The lad's eyes nigh popped from his head. "Did it truly belong to the fairy queen? Did she leave it for you in exchange for an evil giant's heart?"
Niall wanted to deny it, but if the story would give the boy courage on the journey ahead, let him believe what he wished.
"If you know the tales of my quests, you must also know I am not allowed to speak of them."
"You do not need to." Owaine grinned. "All of Ireland tells the stories for you!
You will live in bard song 'til the end of time.
" Owaine tucked the message into the front of his leine, against his heart.
Niall wondered what would happen to that heart when the boy learned that his hero had given him a lie to bear to the chieftain.