Chapter 19
Caitlin had lived almost her whole life in a world without men.
The rhythms of a household made up of only women should, at the very least, have felt familiar.
But even the stones seemed to strain to hear Niall's heavy tread, the three women rattling around, restless, edgy, leaping at the slightest sound, as if ghosts had come a-haunting Castle Daire.
And they had. So many ghosts. Ghosts of doubt, suspicion, regret. The past cast long, chill shadows that clouded the tenuous future.
No one spoke of the strain they were under.
It was as if some secret law claimed that if they could keep busy enough with mindless tasks, they could outrun disaster.
As if the mere act of not speaking of their fears would keep them from coming true.
And, maddening as the situation was, not even Caitlin dared break the silence, lest some black curse descend upon them all.
The curse that had loomed over Caitlin even before she was born.
She shivered, chilled despite the afternoon sun warming her shoulders. How could she bear it if she had brought this danger down upon the heads of those she loved?
With a flick of her wrist, she finished draping the last of the clothing upon a bush to air, then stepped back, wondering what else she could find to take up the interminable weeks until Niall returned to her.
If he ever does.
The words came, unbidden, her hands suddenly trembling. She thrust them into the folds of her leine in an effort to still them.
"You cannot think such things," she told herself fiercely.
"If you do, you will go mad! Niall is the finest warrior in all Ireland!
If he survived in Conn's fortress as a hated, friendless boy, he can surely survive as the chieftain's champion, a hero lauded throughout the land. Tainist. The chosen one."
Yet when one man was chosen, others were not. How many might hate him, secretly or openly? Even if Conn had summoned Niall in good faith, how many other warriors at Glenfluirse might wish to destroy him? So many things could go wrong, so many private dangers might lurk beneath public smiles.
She closed her burning eyes, tried to banish the sudden tightening in her throat as her mind filled with the image of Niall, so tall, so strong, so honorable, riding into the gates of the fortress she could only imagine, a warrior like those in the legends the abbess had told her what seemed a lifetime ago.
Always, the hero had won honor, immortality, yet sometimes at the cost of his life.
She did not want to spend the rest of her life with her bed cold, her womb aching with emptiness, listening to bards string golden phrases into a hero crown for her beloved to wear.
She wanted Niall in her arms, wanted his laughter and his anger, his tenderness and his uncertainty, not praises of his courage charging into danger alone.
But he was not alone. Declan rode at his side, trustworthy, brave, believing that Niall would regain his inheritance—a name he need not be ashamed of.
The castle he dreamed of rising up from ruins.
The life he had been destined to live before his father had given violent rein to his dark obsession for another woman.
Before tragedy had flooded every corner of the land he loved.
Before his family had been shattered, his sister turning wild with rebellion, his mother retreating into a gentle madness.
Aye, it was a grand quest he had set out upon, Caitlin knew. The one hope they all had—Fiona and Aniera, Niall and Caitlin herself—of building a home, creating the kind of life most people took for granted. Simple joys. Simple pleasures.
If only she could bear the nights! They stretched to forever without him.
Caitlin rubbed her palms against her opposite arms, trying to chafe out some of the wildness that pulsed through her veins.
Her whole body burned with feverish need, her spirit so restless it was driving her mad.
The uncertainty was the worst torture. Yet Niall had vowed he would not fail them, had he not?
He swore he would ride back into Daire's castle yard, safe, triumphant.
But she did not care about triumph or glory. She only wanted to be with him. Banish the emptiness that left her aching.
Strangest of all, she did not care if he were being greeted even now as Declan predicted, with a welcome Cuchulain would envy. She wished she could snatch him away from Glenfluirse. Out of the grasp of his chieftain, the lavishness of his old home, the lure of his old life.
Jealousy? Was that what she was feeling? She had no doubt other women had seen Niall's handsomeness, and now that he was named tainist, power and strength and honor would be an elixir few could resist.
Yet in spite of all the temptations that must have been dangled before him, all the women eager to bed the champion of Glenfluirse, Niall had never cared for a woman before her.
He had told her that, not only with his lips, which never lied, but with his body—their lovemaking something as new as the dawn of time.
Why then this gnawing dread? Did she fear that once he returned to Glenfluirse, he would change his mind about returning to Daire, wish to remain at the fortress where he had earned such honor?
Being lauded as a hero and named as tainist, was a temptation to power few could resist. Or did she fear something even simpler than a deadly betrayal?
If Niall became tainist, their dreams of Daire as home could not come to be.
The heir to Conn's lands would face heavy responsibilities.
Niall would have to remain at the chieftain's disposal.
The chieftain. Caitlin shuddered. The man who had ordered her death, whether in a wager or no. The man who had put her and Niall through torture unimaginable these past weeks.
She winced at the memory of Niall when Declan had found them along the rain-drenched road. Niall had looked so earnest, wanting to believe in the man who had been like a father to him.
He had sought desperately for some way to excuse the chieftain for what he had done, and even now, days later, Niall's description of Conn still haunted her: A man who knew me better than I knew myself. Knew you were never in danger.
Caitlin shivered. Could the answer be so simple?
So many things in this whole situation did not make sense.
The destruction of Daire, Fiona so fiercely honest, claiming Conn's men raided here.
It was possible Fiona's imagination had been fired by her hatred of the man she blamed for her father's death and the destruction of her family.
It was also possible that Niall had been right as well when he claimed the warriors could have struck without Conn's knowledge, disguising their perfidy from the chieftain, Niall's own indifference to his former home the shield they could hide their vile acts behind.
But whatever the truth about that might prove to be, there was one question Caitlin could not answer. How could she ever trust this chieftain?
Conn had announced to all of Glenfluirse that Niall was a hero.
He had rained honors down on his foster son's head.
Such a public display made it impossible for the chieftain to betray Niall yet again, did it not?
So why did she feel this creeping sense of disaster?
Nights tossed on the sharp blades of terrifying dreams, days racked with confusion, desperate bargaining with the fates?
Unable to bear being alone any longer, she abandoned her task and walked out to the garden.
Aniera knelt among the growing things as she had so often in the time since Niall rode away.
But his mother no longer aimlessly gathered flowers.
Rather, she worked with purpose in her hands, a fresh clarity to her eyes.
Caitlin grimaced, suddenly aware that anything she confided would only worry Niall's mother as well. Resigning herself to more pointless prattle, she knelt down beside the older woman, aiding her in thinning some of the tiny sprouts. Not that her heroic efforts mattered.
After a few moments passed, Aniera leveled her with a probing, tender glance. "And so it begins for you, my poor treasure," Aniera said, casting her a sympathetic smile. "I pity you. Aye, and envy you with all my heart."
"I do not understand. Because of what?"
"The waiting. It is the lot of any woman who dares to love a warrior.
Off they dash into battle, so eager, so determined to do brave deeds, they scarce glance back no matter how much they love you.
A kiss, a vow of devotion, and we are left to fight something far more treacherous than a sword or a spear. Uncertainty. Loneliness. Helplessness."
Aniera sighed, peering out into the empty blue of the sky.
"We watch them die a thousand times in our dreams. They scream our names as they wade through rivers of blood, but we cannot reach them.
Then we awaken to the silence, rise from our solitary beds, and tend the babes, work in the garden, stitch by the fire, never letting anyone guess we are dying inside without them. "
Tears sprang to Caitlin's eyes, the hard lump that never seemed to leave her throat choking her. "I cannot bear it, not knowing what could befall him. He is such an honorable man, he cannot fathom dishonor in anyone else."
"He is his father's son."
"His father is dead!" Caitlin cried, all the fear, all the frustration and fury, bursting free so suddenly it stunned her. "I do not want Niall to follow in his path!" She stopped in horror, pressing her hand to her mouth. "Aniera, forgive me. I did not mean to—"
Niall's mother rocked back onto her heels, her hands gripping the feathery shoot she had just plucked from the ground. She stared down at the delicate stem, broken as she had been for so long. Her eyes flooded with pain.