Chapter Five
The tempestuous beauty turned, leading them across the feasting hall toward the far door. Due to the tumultuous manner of their arrival and introduction, Conan hadn’t paid much mind to the guesting house itself until this moment.
The feasting hall was built in the old style, much like Brian’s own hall.
Except where Brian’s fortress was a relic of the ancient past, the hazel branches and oaken thresholds of The Hart’s Rest looked freshly made.
Many of the roundhouses yet remained in éire, but just as many had been replaced with the rectangular stone homes that grew in popularity with each passing year.
Conan couldn’t help but notice the fine form of their hostess.
She wore trews and léine, as a man would, though women on occasion wore them when they needed more ease of movement.
The trews hugged her round hips and emphasized the tempting legs beneath them.
The léine was regrettably loose-fitted, but even its generous size couldn’t completely hide the dip of her waist. He couldn’t take his eyes off her.
“You still haven’t told us your name,” he reminded her as they passed the central hearth, the beating heart of the hall. It crackled at him like an old friend.
“Alannah,” she called over her shoulder. “And my sister is Emer.”
“Did you build this hall?” Conan couldn’t contain his curiosity.
“We did.” She kept walking, passing the last of the eight trestle tables that lined either side of the hearth.
Beside Conan, Dallan pulled up short, taking a long look around the room before hurrying to catch up. “You built a new roundhouse?” Dallan asked.
“Well, I would’ve preferred to build a fortress with two stories and all manner of antechambers, but money exists, and we hadn’t enough for that.
” Her words fell like needles, prickly and sharp.
“And we had to build it ourselves. I can weave hazel branches for months, but carting stone would’ve required help. ”
“You did a fine job,” Conan told her, hoping to undo any insult taken. “It was a clever way to build something grand with less investment.”
Alannah stopped before she walked through the door and back outside, sighing in a manner that reminded Conan of Illadan.
“I realize the style is somewhat antiquated, and perhaps not to your liking. We have four small cottages of the same style as the hall, or one larger stone cottage in the current fashion. If you’ve no need of a separate space, we have cots in the feasting hall that you can use. ”
“I think we would prefer to share one larger space, if it’s all the same to you,” Illadan answered.
Conan knew it was so that they could plot with greater secrecy. Hopefully Alannah didn’t take further offense by his request.
He watched the sway of her hips, hypnotic as a dancing flame, as they followed her around the outside of the domed feasting hall.
It had been a while since he’d bedded a woman.
Not so long as Broccan, of course, but he’d never been so free with his affections as Diarmid, either.
Like Diarmid, though, Conan always ensured the woman understood that it was nothing more than a diversion for them both.
It wasn’t that he was wholly opposed to marriage as Diarmid had been—indeed, he saw how happy his friends had grown as they slowly accumulated wives of their own.
He simply hadn’t yet found the right woman.
And after his experiences with first his father and then Teague, Conan wasn’t quick to trust just anyone.
Alannah led them to the left, following the gentle curve of the waist-high wattle palisade she’d no doubt built.
The woman had tenacity, he’d give her that.
They passed the four smaller domed roundhouses she’d mentioned, with the typical low entry and thatched roofing that reminded Conan of something vague yet familiar, a memory hovering just beyond reach.
Passing through a large, empty space of patchy grass and mud, Conan spotted the stone cottage at the far end of the enclosure.
They’d come nearly back to the front of the hostelry.
“Emer will start serving dinner within the hour. I suggest eating sooner rather than later if you’ll be playing for us tonight.
We tend to be full up for meals. If you need anything and you can’t find me, you can come by our cottage.
” She pointed across the courtyard to the other side of the holding.
Conan saw only a stable and a pigpen, with some chickens running amok between them. “You live in the stables?” he teased, grinning so she knew he asked in jest.
“Our cottage is to the right, if you leave the hall by the back door. But you’re welcome to see if the horses can help instead.” Not waiting for a response, she walked past the men and the cottage, reentering the hall through the front doors.
“I like her.” Conan’s gaze followed her until she was out of sight.
Illadan frowned at him, opening the door to the stone cottage. “You’re not seriously considering bedding the woman who’s renting us a room?”
“I’m not considering it,” Conan grinned. “If she’s interested, then I’m planning on it.”
“We just got here!” Illadan grumbled.
“All of you,” Conan narrowed his eyes from one man to the next, “are married. I wouldn’t expect you to understand.”
Ardál crossed his arms. “I’m not.”
Conan pointed a finger at him. “Yes, but you, I don’t understand. You should be having fun with the rest of us unwed brutes.”
Illadan rolled his eyes, ducking into the cottage and apparently giving up on reforming Conan.
The inside was dark, but cozy. There was but one window, on the short wall farthest from the door.
The rectangular building spread no more than twenty feet long and about half as wide.
Oaken planks ran its length, a better floor than Conan had expected for a woman so keen to save coin.
In the center, a small hearth sat cold and unlit, but would provide enough warmth and light for the chilly nights.
Six pallets took up much of the floor space, three on either end of the cottage.
Conan walked the length of the building, running his hands across the rough stones.
He’d put in countless hours of manual labor in his life, but something about this place impressed him.
Alannah had built all of this herself. For some reason that thought captivated him, filling his mind with a thousand questions.
“Are you suddenly taking an interest in construction?” Dallan asked. “You’ve built homes and halls before.”
He was right, of course. He’d helped build homes whenever folk needed it. He was a prince, after all, and he took care of his own. This past winter, the Fianna had all helped build halls to house guests for a tournament in Dyflin.
Conan shook his head, hoping to clear it. “Something about this place feels different.” He turned to his companions, who regarded him with varying degrees of concern and amusement. “Perhaps it’s just strange returning to Connachta after all this time.”
“Perhaps you do need a good bedding, after all,” Dallan mused.
“Whatever you do, don’t lose us our room,” Illadan warned. He set down his pack and grabbed his bodhrán. “And do not give away our identities.”
When they returned to the hall to dine, they found a small crowd had already arrived for the meal.
“Have a seat, gentlemen, and I’ll bring your dinners right over.” Emer’s smile, genuine and bright, could’ve warmed the coldest day.
They sat down at the nearest table, stowing their instruments beneath it.
Alannah was nowhere to be found, but Conan had all night.
He wasn’t in any hurry. True to her word, Emer delivered a hot barley vegetable stew in trenchers of freshly baked oat bread.
The rich, salty, nutty aroma that wafted from the food set his stomach grumbling.
The men thanked her, then proceeded to devour the delicious meal.
Two bites in, Conan realized why they had so many dinner guests—it was easily the best stew he’d ever had.
When they’d finished their meal, Emer set them up on the side of the hall opposite the kitchen, where there was enough space to set five chairs for the men to sit and play.
By then, the eight tables were filled with diners.
Emer moved about the room delivering food and refilling ale, chatting with folk and hosting the meal masterfully.
Even if Oran hadn’t been such a bastard, Conan could now easily see why The Hart’s Rest was the best hostelry in town.
Though all of the Fianna could play instruments and perform poetry, few had voices for singing and none had a voice like Finn’s.
He could ensnare an audience from his first word, holding them captive until the last note slipped from his lips.
Conan had seen it hundreds of times since they’d begun training together, and still Finn’s skill amazed him.
They all played a few songs together, the ones they enjoyed most, the ones that encouraged folk to sing along. By the time the dinner ended, the dancing had begun.
And Conan had finally spotted Alannah.
Setting down his harp, he grabbed two ales from Emer and walked to stand beside Alannah. He thrust one of the ales at her.
“I thought you could use some company,” he grinned.
She ignored the ale, her eyes scanning the room like a hawk tracking mice. “I can’t drink that. I’m working.”
He set her drink on the nearest table, taking a long sip of his own. “What does ‘working’ involve?”
Her head dropped toward him, blue eyes hitting him with shards of ice beneath inky lashes. “I’m keeping watch.”
“Keeping watch over—?” Conan let his gaze sweep the room. It seemed a normal feast, and far tamer than some of the alehouses he’d visited.
“My sister.” She’d returned to scanning the room.
“She seems to be handling the crowd well.”
“So long as the crowd doesn’t start ‘handling’ her,” she grumbled.
That was oddly specific. Given Alannah’s state of alert, Conan wondered if this was a regular occurrence, like Oran’s visits, apparently. “Has that happened before?” he asked.
Alannah turned to him again. “Often enough that it’s my job to keep men’s hands off her. Between her warm disposition, kind heart, and stunning appearance, my sister is something of a catch. Throw in her talent at cooking—” Alannah shrugged.
Conan nodded, narrowing his eyes at her. “And what of yourself?”
She jerked her chin in surprise. “What of me?”
“Seeing as you have an equally stunning appearance, I imagine you would have much the same trouble.”
She blinked at him. “Are you…” Inhaling sharply, she tried again. “What are you even doing over here?”
Conan’s confidence came dangerously close to faltering. “Isn’t it obvious?”
Alannah’s eyes fell from his face, instead landing just behind him. The change in her was instant, her look murderous.
Turning to see what had caught her attention, Conan felt his own blood boil. In place of amusement, he felt rage sweep through his bones. In the darkest alcove of the room, a very large man stood with his back to them.
Pinned between him and the wattle partition, was a wide-eyed Emer, pleading with them for help.