Chapter 21
The banquet hall shone bright as a new-polished sword, tables groaning beneath the weight of the finest foods Glenfluirse could provide. Yet the people beneath the timbered roof were eager for a feast of another kind.
Weaned from their mothers' breasts to be nourished by the hero tales of Ireland, they hungered to witness the birth of a legend.
They moved through the days of celebration as people in a dream, knowing that their children's children would sit before roaring fires generations from now, listening while bards not yet born sung tales of Niall of the Seven Betrayals.
Garbed in their finest, they relished the fact that they were here during this magical time.
Torcs and bracelets coursed gold rivers about white throats and wrists, bodies adorned with rich billows of cloth ornamented with threads of madder and saffron and green.
Warriors boasted of their own feats of valor, while wives and daughters clustered about them.
But no man in Glenfluirse could compete with the guest the banquet honored, the champion Conn had claimed as his own.
Niall leaned against the table, reminding himself that the bard accorded him a rare honor.
The harp, that most exquisite of weapons, waited a mere arm's length from where he sat, the bard, with his ageless eyes and his voice rich with the essence of time, had promised all present a new epic, written for this occasion, to capture for all time Niall's courage and his quests.
Merely two moons ago, Niall would have rejoiced in all of it—the feast and the praise, the honor and the triumph.
But despite the haunch of the finest meat—the champion's portion—which steamed before Niall, despite the mad gaiety of a people who loved their revels nearly as much as their merry wars, Niall could scarce wait until the night was over and he could find respite in his own solitary bed.
For even the halls of Conn's fortress were haunted now by shades from Castle Daire.
From the moment the feasting began, all he could think of were the women he had left behind.
How Fiona's eyes would have widened at such a repast, how amazed she would be at countless delicacies she had never tasted.
How Caitlin would have glittered in this setting, a jewel so rare she would outshine any woman in the chamber.
Only his mother was impossible to imagine in this hall. Too many ghosts still lingered to overwhelm her. The faces might have aged in the years since she left Glenfluirse for the last time, but scattered among the crowd were some of the same men who had condemned her husband to die.
Why had he never considered that? Niall mused, picking at a splinter in the wood of the table.
He had lived at this fortress most of his life, knew almost all who dwelled within these walls, but never had he searched the faces, wondered who among them had taken pleasure in Ronan of Daire's execution and who might have felt regret.
He scanned the crowd, seeking out the grizzled beards, the lined faces, the hair threaded through with silver and wondered. After a moment, he shook himself inwardly. What was he attempting to do? Make this endless night an even worse form of torture? He should at least seem to be enjoying himself.
Niall tore a chunk of rich meat from the haunch with his teeth, but the venison tasted as dull as dried leaves.
Even so, he could not bear to waste it. Fortunately, there was one at Glenfluirse who would devour the haunch in a twinkling, Niall thought.
He grinned as Owaine's grimy face rose in his memory.
The boy he had charged to bring his message to Conn had obviously carried out his task in good faith. The vast remains of the champion's portion should put some meat on his scrawny bones so he would at least have a fighting chance on the practice field he had yearned after for so long.
Aye, Niall thought, an hour in Owaine's company would dull the worst of this yearning to be home. Excusing himself to the bard, Niall made his way to where Conn sat in his place of honor among his six sons. Ignoring glares that once would have pierced like lances, Niall bowed before Conn.
"Ah," Conn said, his smile touched with censure. "He comes to his chieftain at last, this son I honor above all others."
A discontented rumble sounded from Conn's flame-haired offspring.
"I feared you had abandoned me forever for the company of the bard. Of course, he will carve your name in the standing stones of time. What feat can even the wisest chieftain perform that can compare to that?"
"In truth, I come to you with a request." Niall chuckled, thinking tenderly of the grimy, fury-spitting scrap of humanity he had hauled out of the dust of the road.
A hard light sparked somewhere deep in Conn's eyes.
"I thought I had already granted you one, withdrawing my...
invitation to the woman—Fintan's daughter—to join us at Glenfluirse.
Not that I had much choice. Your reasoning was sound.
It would do me little good to have the people see the marks of strain on the girl's face.
It might rouse their sympathies where they are not needed. Make them question—"
"Yours was an act of great kindness and understanding, after all she has suffered."
"At my hands, my foster son? Or at yours?"
"I would say neither of us is blameless, would you not agree?"
Conn chuckled. "You never were able to flatter your chieftain as every other warrior manages to. Nay, painfully honest you are, when it is needed. So tell me, what is this request you bring to me?"
"I was appalled to realize there is someone I should have given thanks to long since. I would remedy that omission."
The chieftain's eyes glittered. "You need not be so harsh with yourself, my son. I am certain you have thanked me aplenty."
"You?" Niall shifted, uncomfortable, as if the hearth flames suddenly licked beneath his feet. "You know that you have always had my gratitude."
"And once your unquestioning loyalty. But that, it seems, is altered."
Was something hidden beneath those words? A sharp stone beneath a deceiving blanket of moss? Nay.
The strain of the past weeks was telling at last, causing his imagination to run wild. The chieftain's grin stretched so wide his teeth shone beneath his mustache.
Niall returned Conn's smile with his own. "Rebuke me all you wish, but I know the truth. Even before I rode through the fortress gates that first day with your missives in my hand, you knew I would never harm the woman."
"There are few men either brave enough or foolhardy enough to profess to understand the workings of my mind.
" Conn's lashes drooped, concealing what Niall was certain was a conspiratorial twinkle.
"However, I suppose you might possess special powers of understanding.
You are the chosen one of fate, he who is about to step into immortality. "
Niall snorted in dismissal. "You know as well as I do that I am not the hero they think I am. They see what they wish to see. A creature of imagination."
"Wise words, those. And surprising ones. I remember other revels in your honor when we celebrated your triumph over other quests. Then you believed as they do—that your feats could carry you to a plane far above the rest of us mortals. You cannot deny it."
Niall grimaced. "I was an arrogant fool, thinking all the mysteries of the world were unveiled to me when I understood nothing at all. Some would say I was scarce even alive."
Some, he thought, his heart squeezing. One vulnerable woman had dared to tell him that truth, shake him from his cold existence of duty into a world of color and joy and the only immortality that could ever hold real meaning—that of being cherished forever in his Lily Fair's heart.
"Ah, so now the mysteries of the world are truly unveiled to you, is that what you are saying? I would be most intrigued to know how you were so enlightened in the brief time you were parted from me. Perhaps you will share your secret, if I share a treasure with you."
The chieftain reached for his jeweled cup, drained it, then gave it to the son standing closest behind him. Magnus, his eyes glittering with a frantic gaiety, his face flushed from drink
"You will fill this for your tainist," Conn commanded with a careless wave of his hand. "For soon the cup of leadership shall belong to him."
Niall expected a show of the poisonous hatred seething inside Magnus for so many years because Niall held Conn's favor. But the warrior merely bowed, carrying the goblet away as if he were a servant instead of a chieftain's son.
In a season full of surprises, little had astonished Niall as much as the manner of Magnus's departure did now.
Niall peered after him. Was it possible that the most ambitious of Conn's sons could become so quickly reconciled to losing his place as Conn's heir?
From the time they were both boys, Magnus had brooded endlessly over the most insignificant slight Niall had dealt him and exacted revenge for it in some way.
Niall would have to be careful, watchful and wary.
Conn's voice roused him from his dark musings. "Now, tell me again, why have you come to me?" Conn inquired. "You bring me a request, was that not what you said? You wished to thank someone you are grateful to?"
Niall's unease faded as he remembered his purpose in coming to Conn.
Owaine. Despite his concern regarding Magnus, Niall could not keep his lips from curving into a half-smile at the memory of Owaine's feral determination, the abundance of anger and humiliation, pain and courage warring in that small, battered face.
Emotions Niall understood far too well, pain he remembered all too clearly from the days when he first drew his sword on the practice field of Glenfluirse, believing he could slice away the aching in his heart if only he were brave enough.