Chapter 21 #2
"I wish to thank the boy who carried my words back to Glenfluirse," Niall said. "Young Owaine who would become a warrior."
"Owaine?" Conn's brows knitted in confusion, then awareness seemed to dawn, and he laughed. "Ah, Owaine. A most determined lad."
Niall himself had chuckled over the boy more than once. Why, then, did Conn's amusement regarding Owaine chafe? "The boy will make you a fine warrior if you give him the chance," Niall attested. "I would stake my life on it."
Conn's lip curled in an odd expression.
"Owaine is fired of a rare, fine mettle," Niall insisted.
"The same mettle as you were," Conn said. "Is that not what you are trying to say? Fired in the flames of hardship, rejection and shame?"
Niall's face burned, but his jaw set hard. "A boy who has endured such trials will fight and die for any man who shows him kindness instead of scorn. Whatever welcome you give the boy will be repaid you a hundredfold."
"I fear you are mistaken, since he nearly gave me a bleeding nose when first we met."
Niall frowned. "I do not understand."
Conn laughed. "He was most, er, exuberant when he arrived. Ready to slay dragons, storm fortresses and decimate enemy hordes single-handed."
Niall's frown melted, gruff affection for the boy tugging hard at his heart. "And you with no dragons nearby." He shook his head in mock regret. “What a terrible misfortune for the boy.”
"You have been around to dispatch all the impossible quests at Glenfluirse for so long that I fear there is a shortage of bold adventures at present.
Not knowing what else to do in this predicament, I sent the boy off on a mad chase with the understandable hope that he might wear off a bit of his enthusiasm before he hurt himself or goaded someone else into quelling his exuberance for him.
He seemed the sort of lad who will create trouble when he cannot find it, imagine danger where there is none. "
Niall's chest ached. Conn might as well be describing the boy Niall had been. "I am sorry to miss the chance to speak to him again."
Conn shrugged. "I have no doubt he will return far too soon for anyone else's peace of mind. Unlike my son, who has carried out his task at a dragging pace." Conn cast Magnus a reproving glance as the burly warrior returned with the chieftain's cup.
"I am not accustomed to tending a servant's task," Magnus observed with unsettling mildness, wiping at a dark, damp stain down his front.
"You had best become accustomed to serving Niall," Conn growled.
"Tending his needs will be your lot in life from this day forward, aye, and the lot of your brothers.
" The chieftain all but yanked the goblet from his son's grasp.
The liquid splashed over its rim, the gold vessel shimmering between Conn's long fingers.
He held the goblet to his lips, tipped it back, his throat convulsing.
Wiping his wet mustache with the back of his sleeve, Conn handed the goblet to Niall and smiled.
"Sample this, and tell me, my foster son, does the drink of a tainist taste different from the fare of a simple warrior?"
At the moment, all Niall thirsted for was a moment alone.
But even with all the changes inside him, it seemed he could still be provoked by the taunting of Conn's haughty sons.
Surrounded by their muttered insults, he returned their scorn in the most effective means in his power: he raised the chieftain's goblet to his lips and drained it.
Conn's eyes burned with intensity. What had he done to so please his chieftain? Niall wondered. Did Conn approve of the way Niall had confronted the chieftain’s sons by draining the goblet?
"You have given me much pleasure in the years since you first came to me," Conn said. "I take a father's pride in you. That is why it grieves me to disappoint you on this night, filled with tales of your victories. Tell me, Niall, is there no other boon I can grant you?"
Niall searched the familiar landscape of Conn's face, the shrewd eyes half-hooded beneath coppery brows, the bold blade of nose, the drooping mustache that veiled his mouth.
And the smile, that smile that seemed to draw a magic circle around just the two of them, as if he and Niall shared a secret bond no one else would ever understand.
Niall felt a stab of sadness at the trust he and his foster father had both lost during this final quest. There had been another time in his life when he had fought against the lure of that smile—as a boy, trusting no one, especially not himself.
Yet, in the end, wariness had always softened in the light of that smile.
Now a strange, slow warmth spread through Niall—from the mead he had drunk or the glow of Conn's approval, he was not certain.
He was astonished to hear the sound of his own voice. "There is one reward only I would ask." Had he run mad? Niall felt a sudden sting of alarm as he struggled not to let anyone see how dismayed he was that the words had escaped him. He had nearly confessed the truth about his love for Caitlin!
Yet would it not be wisest to tell the truth about the love they shared before Conn's boasting fool of a son announced his betrothal from the fortress gates?
Magnus had already been humiliated at this feast by the foster brother he scorned.
He would not suffer another such slight without taking grim revenge.