Chapter Fourteen
He couldn’t take the way she looked at him. He knew that look all too well—it was the one he hadn’t been able to resist the night they arrived in Ath Luain.
“I’m going to need you to punch me,” he managed.
It took her several seconds to process his words. Then she was back, feisty as ever.
“I thought you’d never ask,” she grinned, taking up the stance she used with her sword and balling her fists.
“Wait, you’re teaching her to fist fight?” Dallan asked, squaring up against Finn. “What happened to her sword?”
“When Oran attacked me the other night, it was a fistfight,” she answered.
Dallan and Finn both turned to Conan. He hadn’t told them about it. He wasn’t trying to be secretive, it just hadn’t felt like his story to tell.
“You didn’t notice the giant bruise on her face?”
“Of course I did,” Dallan scoffed. “I’m just too much of a gentleman to comment on it, obviously.”
“Well, if Conan hadn’t been there, bruises on my face would’ve been the least of my problems.”
Finn lowered his sword, focused entirely on them now. “Wait. How was Conan there? Wasn’t this the day we arrived?”
“It was the next night,” Conan replied. “After you went to bed Oran broke through the front door. Alannah handled it more or less on her own.”
She smacked his shoulder, rolling her eyes. “They know perfectly well I couldn’t have won that fight.”
“Actually, based on the situation when we arrived, I assumed you could best him handily,” Dallan told her.
“She’ll never best anyone if you lot don’t start practicing,” Illadan bellowed, blocking a blow from Ardál.
Conan returned his focus to the beauty in front of him. He lifted his hand, palm out, creating a target for her. “Hit me.”
They sparred until midday. By then Alannah had mastered how to properly form a fist and land a right hook, but they had a long way to go before she’d be winning any bouts. After that, she had to hurry off to run errands in town for the inn.
The Fianna washed in a nearby creek, taking the opportunity to discuss their next strategy for destroying the bridge.
“What if we break it instead of burning it?” Dallan suggested.
Conan shot him a look. “Do you honestly think that would be faster? Or draw less attention?”
“Well it can’t be worse than not working,” he grumbled.
“We could get caught,” Illadan reminded him. “Destroying the bridge doesn’t matter if Cahill realizes Brian was behind it.”
Conan gritted his teeth at the mention of his father. He understood the value of political alliances, of not exacting vengeance at every slight. But he couldn’t understand how Brian let his father live, let alone how he met with him on friendly terms.
“Did they coat the bottom?” he asked.
As one, the Fianna turned their attention on him. It took only moments for each of them in turn to realize what he suggested.
“Even if they did,” Illadan thought aloud, “it would be far easier to scrape the bottom than the top. That’s brilliant, Conan.”
“It provides cover, is fairly easy to access, and isn’t close enough to the water to put out the fire.” Dallan nodded in approval. “I think it might just work.”
“We can plant tinder over several days or even weeks,” Finn added, grinning. “No one will notice it tucked between the bottom braces.”
“That’s the new plan,” Illadan announced. “We’ll need to wait a few days before we start sneaking out to the bridge. No doubt the town will be on their guard. In the meantime, we spend the afternoons collecting tinder in the woods and stacking it to dry.”
They decided on the details as they dressed and walked back to The Hart’s Rest. It was a good plan.
Burning the causeway was the entire reason they’d come to Ath Luain.
And yet, with every step he took toward the guesting house, guilt weighed heavier on Conan.
It was a damned good thing he wasn’t continuing his involvement with Alannah because, try as he might, he couldn’t figure a way forward without betraying her.