Chapter 22 #2
"But your father—he tasted it—"
"Said... if you drank it... even I should be able to... kill you."
Rage spread hot through Niall's veins, and he struggled with all his will to cling to his wits despite the dragging haze. "You gave the cup to your own father! He could have died—"
"Promised... he promised..." Magnus whimpered like a child, tears running down his cheeks. "All would be well if... just did as he... said."
"Who?" Niall roared. "Curse you, who plotted this? Who put that knife in your hand?"
Magnus's agonized gaze pierced Niall's. "Father."
"Impossible!" Niall recoiled, remembering the shimmering gold between Conn's fingers, the burning intensity in the chieftain's eyes. "He drank from the cup before he offered it to me."
"Pretended. Lull any suspicion later."
Niall's stomach churned with realization as Magnus's mouth curled with triumph even in death.
"My... father. He was... mine," Magnus cried fiercely. "N-never yours." The warrior convulsed, cried out. His body went still.
Niall struggled to his feet, fought for balance.
There were people spilling out of the fortress, their faces weaving dizzily around him, weapons ready.
Had they heard the sounds of battle? Believed it an attack by an enemy?
A few of the faces shone stark with shock.
Disbelief. Horror as if they had heard...
He glimpsed Caitlin, held back by a pair of spear casters, an intruder, a stranger who might be responsible for whatever had just happened. Her beloved features contorted in terror, anguish. Real. She was heartbreakingly real and in the grimmest of danger.
For if Conn had plotted Niall's death, the chieftain must thirst for Caitlin's as well. How much time did he have left before the poison finished its work? He had to save Caitlin! And there was only one sure way: his sword buried in Conn's lying throat.
"Conn!" Niall bellowed, staggering around the ring of people, searching for the chieftain's face. "Murdering coward! Come forward! Face me like a man!"
A murmur of discomfort, disbelief, rippled through the crowd. Suddenly, Niall glimpsed the chieftain, standing apart upon a raised dais, his red hair gleaming in the torchlight, his robes seeming to writhe like flame.
"I am here, betrayer's son," Conn said. "Come forth if you dare. The rest of you, stay back! This matter is between me and this foster son of mine."
"Nay!" Caitlin cried out, struggling against her captors. "Niall, do not!"
But there was only one way he could free his lady now.
Niall staggered toward Conn, determined to face the chieftain, kill him, before the poison ended his own life.
But the wound in his side was draining what little strength he had left, his head threatening to explode.
Niall stumbled to the dais, the sword in his hand so heavy he could scarce hold it.
He dragged himself up the stairs to the floor which seemed to heave beneath him like waves in a sea storm.
Conn shimmered, swam in the orange glow, like a dragon in a hero tale, deadly and terrifying. Invincible. "The sword is too heavy, Niall," Conn murmured with peculiar gentleness. "I know you cannot lift it."
Niall tried to prove his nemesis wrong, but it was as if the chieftain's words had cast a spell upon him, robbing him of the last of his strength. "You..." Niall struggled to force the words from his throat. "You wanted to kill me. Why... not do it with your own hand?"
Conn's eyes widened with something like hurt. "I had an affection for you."
"Yet you used your own son?"
"Some men value sons far more than others. I view them as expendable—regrettably expendable, but expendable nonetheless. Perhaps because I had so many of them. Your father, however..." Conn tugged at his mustache meditatively.
"My father..." Niall echoed.
"Perhaps it is safe for you to learn the truth at last. An eternity of guilt will be a fitting blood price for killing my son. All these years, you have hated Ronan of Daire. Loved me. Were loyal to me. All this time."
"Nothing you can say will change anything. I know the truth. Father... told me himself. Love him... in spite of it."
"How generous of you. You love your father in spite of the fact that he lied to you."
"Never... lied."
"Everything he told you from his prison was a he. He killed your love for him with those lies so that you might live."
"K-killed?"
"I gave Ronan a choice. Condemn himself to you and to all of Glenfluirse, declare to all Ireland he was a traitor who murdered his closest friend for the lust of a woman. Make everyone believe he was responsible for the blood that was on my hands, and I would let his son live."
Niall staggered back, horror all but buckling his knees. Horror and the certain knowledge that Conn told the truth. "You?"
"Scota was a most intriguing woman. Sons sired on her body would have been magnificent.
A fitting legacy to my rule. Not like the puling lot I got on my wife.
It was simple enough to smear your father with guilt in the minds of everyone in Ireland.
Merely dipping Scota's finger in blood, writing Ronan's name.
I could not believe my good fortune when the lout rode up to Lorcan's fortress scarce an hour after I had killed her.
I made certain many people saw him. Then I appeared, shocked and grieving at the carnage I found.
Only my most trusted men knew what had really happened.
I missed them very much when accidents befell them. "
"You monster..."
"Can you think of no better name to call me?
Your father did, I assure you. Especially when he was wrestling with the terrible choice I gave him—to live forever in infamy and shame and let his son be raised by the man who destroyed him or to watch you die.
I expected to have to kill you as well. Imagine my astonishment when I discovered that Ronan loved you more than his honor, more than life, more than truth. "
Conn sneered. "I wonder what your father felt when he saw your love for him change to hate.
When you ran away from his cell, I was watching from the shadows.
The great Ronan of Daire wept there, all alone.
It might have comforted him a little—how loyal his wife and daughter remained to him after his death.
No fire or storm I could rain down upon them would shake their faith in him, make them hate him as I desired. "
"You laid waste to Daire. Just as..." Nay! a voice cried in his head. Cannot remind him of Fiona, leave her vulnerable in case I fail—nay, but I will not fail.
"So much loyalty to someone a chieftain has executed can be most dangerous after all. I had vowed to let them live as well, but I hoped fending off starvation would keep them too busy to think about revenge."
"Curse you..."
"I hope Ronan saw their sufferings from the halls of Tir naN Og, but more than that, I hope your father saw every quest you fought to rid yourself of his name.
I fed your hatred of him, so certain you would sacrifice anything to free yourself of the taint of his supposed treachery.
I staked my lands on it, my title of chieftain.
But you surprised me. You did not carry out the quest I planned for you from the day I brought you to Glenfluirse. You refused to kill Fintan's daughter."
"You... you planned..."
"Every act of kindness, every bid I made for your loyalty, was all for one purpose: to hone you into the blade that would rid me of that curse. Aye, and in murdering an innocent girl, destroy yourself as well."
Conn gazed out over the crowd and sighed.
"But now, because of Magnus's babbling, some of my people know much of the truth.
They will soon guess the rest. Can you not see them, amidst the crowd, Niall?
Their doubts? Their suspicions? Even with all my power, I will never be able to find them all, silence them before the rumors spread.
Rumors are hard to silence. The truth, impossible once it escapes.
The curse, it seems, will come to pass. The girl doomed my rule.
There is only one thing I can do in the face of all you have cost me. "
Before Niall could move, the chieftain snatched the sword from Niall's numb hand. "You will die by your father's sword,” Conn murmured. "It is the perfect end to this sordid tale. Ronan's son will never rule in my place!"
He drew back the sword, his voice a roar. "Niall killed my son! It is my right to take his life!"
Niall searched for another weapon, stumbled to his knees. "Caitlin!" He screamed her name, helpless, loving her.
Caitlin saw the sword flash high above Conn's head—knew in a heartbeat what the chieftain intended. Not even the finest warrior could help her love now! Nay, it could not end this way after all Niall had suffered!
She tore from the grasp of the stunned warriors, wrenching a spear from a burly hand. Desperation and hopelessness clawed through her. Every time she had aimed a shaft before, she had failed.
This time, she closed her eyes, groping through time and space for a hand she had never held, a love she had never known, though both had been there all her life.
"Father, help me!" she cried out as she hurled the spear into the darkness. A guttural cry rent the night, and she opened her eyes to see Conn crumple, the spear buried in his heart. Niall's sword clattered from the chieftain's hand to the wood dais.
Clutching up the folds of her leine, Caitlin plunged through the shocked crowd. She clambered onto the dais, gathered Niall in her arms.
Blood. There was so much blood. A sob tore from her throat as she clutched him close.
"You are safe now," Niall said, with a tortured peace in his face. "Declan will take care of... of—"
"Take care of me yourself! You promised me a home! Family! Promised me babes!"