Chapter 17 #2
It was a bitter draught to swallow, knowing his only claim to legend was as vassal to another man—not in rank but rather in valor.
But he had repaid Fintan for the slight in a way no one else would ever know.
Despite all Fintan's courage and fairy magic, the legendary spear caster was dead.
He had not had the power to save his daughter's life from beyond the grave.
Caitlin of the Lilies lay moldering in the dirt, dead at Conn's command.
Grim satisfaction filled the chieftain as he heard Magnus reenter the chamber. Conn turned, catching his first glimpse of the thief.
Filthy hair clung to the squat dome of his skull.
Thick-fingered hands twisted in the folds of wool covering a coarse body.
His features, repulsive enough, were made ridiculous by bristly eyebrows that crawled like a fat caterpillar from ear to ear.
Most disgusting of all, he was blubbering, so terrified Conn feared the wretch would soil himself at any moment.
If only Fintan could see this disgrace of a man who had outwitted him. It was a pity Conn could not reward the thief rather than execute him, but then, this man was such a pathetic figure, perhaps execution would be the greatest mercy Conn could show to him.
"So," Conn intoned ominously. "You are the thief who dared steal from the greatest warrior Glenfluirse has ever known."
"N-nay, oh great one! I am an honest man!" The wretch cringed. "I swear on the Stone of Fal that I stole nothing!"
"A brave man or a foolish one, since the Stone will blast a liar into eternity." A liar, Conn thought with a twinge, or a false chieftain. "If you did not steal this bracelet, then where did you come by it, my fine fool? In a fairy bower?"
"It was traded for a cow I owned. A most wondrous cow, bewitched, she was, and—"
"Bewitched?" Magnus chortled. "Liquid gold would have to pour from the beast's udders to be worth such a price! Father, this fool keeps babbling nonsense. But no one with half a wit would make such a trade!"
"It was not only for the cow," the man amended.
"It was payment to keep someone's head from beneath the blade of a sword.
She stole the cow from me, she did! I admit to looking forward to seeing the little witch get her due—er, at seeing justice done.
But life is hard. I—" Conn glared at the groveling mess before him, out of patience with the whole affair.
"From whom did you get this bracelet? The truth, man.
And no more blubbering, lest I am tempted to sever a finger for each unnecessary word you utter. "
The man's doughy face went gray, and he stuffed his fists behind his back "I do not know who gave me the—I mean, I had never—"
"Magnus." Conn coldly held out his hand. "Give me that dagger."
"Nay! Oh, mighty one! I tell you what I know! The witch who stole my cow is called Fiona, the betrayer Ronan's spawn. Wicked as her father, is she, and—"
"The daughter of Ronan of Daire? Thieving cows?"
The man nodded so hard it seemed his head would pop off.
Conn waved away the dagger Magnus offered, the chieftain pausing to allow himself a chill smile.
Fintan and Ronan might hold thrones with the Ever Young, but when the two warriors who had been his nemeses gazed beyond the enchanted walls of Tir naN Og, they would finally know how powerless they were against him.
He had killed Fintan's only child and turned proud Ronan's daughter into a starveling thief.
Conn turned away, stroking his mustache. "There might be truth in what you say. Fintan's wife was a tender-hearted creature. Fintan and Ronan comrades in arms. Grainne could have sent the bracelet to Ronan's widow in secret. Aniera of Daire would have kept such a treasure."
"The bracelet would not have lasted a fortnight at Castle Daire!
" Gormley exclaimed. "I would have taken it when I—" The man choked the words off as if he had swallowed a nest of bees.
"I mean to say, the women have all but starved since Ronan's death.
Fiona would have traded the trinket long before her brother returned. "
"Her brother?" Magnus scoffed. "You see, Father? Proof this wretch is lying! Niall would sooner have his skin flayed from his body a sword stroke at a time than return to Daire!"
Nay, Conn thought with a smile, it made perfect sense. Where else would a man like Niall go with innocent blood on his hands? He would hurl himself into hell. But despite its lack of fire and brimstone, Daire was an appropriate replacement.
"So my champion has returned home at last," Conn said, savoring the image of Niall's reaction to what he must have found there.
Destruction, poverty, all at Conn's command.
He had intended it as his final sword stroke against Ronan—reducing the proud warrior's wife and daughter to beggary.
Now, their plight would prove useful in a way he had not anticipated.
There were rumors Niall's sister was half wolf cub by now, feral and angry and raw with hatred.
Nothing would be more likely than that additional burden of guilt to give Niall the tiny push he needed to fall on his own sword.
It would seem logical he had done so to anyone who might question the death Conn planned to deal him should Niall prove uncooperative.
Was it possible the noble champion had stooped so low as to steal booty from the corpse of the wench he murdered? Was the bracelet to be proof to Conn that the deed was done? Or was it a cross to tie about Niall's neck? Either was a pleasant thought.
"I will ask you one more time, Gormley. Where did the bracelet come from? Did Niall trade it for the girl's life?"
Gormley's mouth fell open like that of a dead fish.
"Nay! I would not have dared... if Niall of the Seven Betrayals—" He shook himself.
"The wench gave it to me. The wench hiding behind the chest. Never laid eyes on her before that day, though by God and the saints, I will never forget that face now. "
Conn's nape prickled. "There was another woman at Castle Daire?"
"Aye. A rare beauty she was. I would have traded the cow for just one ride between her legs."
"Her name," Conn snarled. "What was her name?"
Gormley swallowed hard. "Fiona called her Caitlin."
Conn's blood froze. His hand knotted on the bracelet. "What did she look like?"
"Hair black as night. Eyes blue. Like pools. And a face—never had I seen such a face. Beauty the fairies would envy."
Poetry from this swine of a man. A bracelet of gold bearing Fintan's name. And honor—the girl had traded it for the life of someone she scarce knew. Conn closed his eyes, the face of Grainne, Fintan's wife, swimming before him in the darkness.
Fintan's wife was fairer than any flower in Ireland. "Was this Caitlin lily fair?"
Gormley raised his eyes heavenward. "She would make Cuchulain himself forget he was a hero born."
Or seduce Niall of the Seven Betrayals to abandon his quest, his chieftain, the honor he had fought to win, Conn thought. The chieftain's hand clenched on the bracelet until it nearly cut his palm.
Ronan's son had betrayed him! Aye, and had been clever enough to hide the girl away. Niall would try to spirit her off again, to a faraway place where Conn could never find her, and if any man could protect the girl from the chieftain's wrath, it would be Ronan's son!
Conn paced to the arrow slit, his skin icy despite the warmth of the sun. As long as Niall lived, as long as the girl lived, his hold as chieftain of Glenfluirse would be in peril. He should have seen to the girl's death himself instead of plotting and planning. His schemes had trapped him now!
"Magnus, you will take your prisoner to the great hall. Feed him. Then let him go."
"Then I—I am free?" Gormley all but wept in relief.
"You have done me a great service. I will repay you as you deserve."
"Father!" Magnus objected.
Conn turned hard eyes on his son. "You will do as I command you. Once our friend Gormley is breaking his fast, you will return to me here."
Scowling, Magnus did as he was ordered.
The moment the chamber was empty, Conn braced himself against the rough stone wall and battled back sick waves of panic.
He was undone.
The woman foretold to destroy him was alive, and under the protection of the only living warrior in Glenfluirse whose abilities Conn held in awe. Not awe, he realized with a start. Not anymore. It was fear he could taste on his tongue, thick as the stench of death and sickly sweet.
"This riot of fear in your head will not save you!" Conn muttered fiercely under his breath. "Calm yourself! Think."
Always before when his rule had been threatened, he had found a way to avert disaster. Why? Because he was willing to sacrifice anything, anyone, to rule—but no man in Ireland had ever discovered that fact and lived to tell.
What weapons had he chosen? Not the clumsy, unpredictable blades his warriors brandished.
His weapons were his wits, his secret ruthlessness.
His mastery in keeping his own emotions hidden so that his quarry never suspected they were about to be destroyed until it was too late.
He had begun to believe he could never fail.