Chapter 21 #3
Conn clapped him on the shoulder, and Niall fought to steady himself in an agony of indecision, a sheen of sweat dampening his body.
"The untarnished name you have fought for so long is yours," Conn proclaimed, "one fit for a hero who will someday dwell in Tir naN Og."
Niall kneaded his temple with his fingers, trying to clear his head, sort things through, the exhaustion and strain of these days at Glenfluirse taking a toll at last, tangling his thoughts. But he was determined to be honest in this much at least.
"I no longer wish to change my name," Niall confessed.
Conn stared. "How can that be? You have fought for this one boon your whole life, to rid yourself of your traitor father forever."
Niall's cheeks fired even warmer. He glanced down at the sword hilt glittering at his waist, and a knot tightened in his gut.
Little wonder he felt so strange. Somewhere, buried deep inside him, he had been dreading this moment of truth with Conn and with himself, knowing it would come.
And that when it did, he would hurt this man who had been his staunchest defender.
He leveled his gaze at Conn, certain the chieftain would never understand, no matter how hard Niall tried to explain.
"No mere words have the power to change the fact that I am the son of Ronan of Daire," Niall said slowly.
"His blood runs in my veins. His face will be my own forever, just as your sons bear your mark in their features, the reflection of your spirit in their eyes. "
"It is not the same!" Conn's mouth crumpled in denial. "You carry a vile murderer's name. It is a burden I would rid you of."
"Many years have passed. It is my name. Mine alone." The name Caitlin had first known him by, loved him in spite of. How could mere words hold any sting when she spoke them with such love in her voice?
"A tainist bearing a name carved in shame?" Conn snarled in disbelief. "A chieftain whose name echoes with betrayal? Who would follow such a man?"
Fintan's brave, generous-hearted daughter; Fiona with her rebelliousness and her fearsome loyalty; Niall's mother, whose love for him had never faltered. Who would follow such a man? The only people who mattered.
Niall wiped the sweat from his brow, fighting an odd lightness in his head.
He squared his shoulders, wishing he could explain the truth to Conn, knowing this man, above all others, deserved honesty from one he had raised as a son.
He confessed as much as he dared. "I want no man to follow me. I never wished to be chieftain."
Conn jerked back as if Niall had slapped him. Niall winced, regretting the confusion on Conn's face, the barest hint of alarm in the chieftain's eyes.
"Every man wishes to be chieftain!" Conn insisted. "Every man craves power to rule over others."
Niall wanted to rule over nothing except the calves Boann would bear, the mischief his sister would cause, his mother's visits to the fairy folk, and the love in Caitlin's heart.
And yet, did he dare confess that truth to anyone here at Glenfluirse until he was certain all was well? Would it not put Caitlin in danger?
Was she not already in jeopardy, which would only grow graver given time? Had not Conn suggested giving her in marriage to appease Magnus? What would the warrior do when he found himself robbed not only of his inheritance but of the honor of taking Fintan's daughter as wife?
He started as Conn gripped his arm. "What place would I hold in your tales when they are sung if I did not choose you as my heir?
" Conn demanded. "Seven quests performed for a chieftain who offered you nothing in return?
I would be shamed for all time! Tainist I proclaimed you, and tainist you will remain! "
Niall's gaze locked with his chieftain's, Conn's eyes suddenly burning with an anger Niall had never seen before. He could sense how much it cost Conn to extinguish it, the chieftain slowly unclenching his fists.
"You have endured much since you left on the quest I set you. You look weary this night. Go to your rooms. We will speak of this tomorrow when you are rested."
"The bard—" Niall objected. "I would not dishonor him or shame you..."
"It is not every man who is lucky enough to watch himself become immortal. Was there a touch of envy in the chieftain's voice?
"The honored one should be able to enjoy his epic the first time he hears it, should he not? The bard will forgive you as I do. All this will keep until the morrow. Go to your chamber and sleep. Your chieftain—nay, your father—commands you."
Head aching, body sweating, more exhausted than he could ever remember being in his life, Niall acceded. With a bow, he wove through the crowd toward the door.
Twice he nearly stumbled, so tired had he become.
He scarce saw the confused faces around him and did not so much as glimpse the hard glance that passed between Conn the Ever Truthful and his hot-eyed eldest son.
Nor did he suspect that the instant the crowd turned back to its revels, Magnus grasped the hilt of his dagger and followed him from the room.