Chapter Twenty-Five
“Are you absolutely certain?” Alannah asked for the hundredth time.
Teague crossed his arms. “I’m starting to feel you don’t want me to stay here,” he laughed. “The accommodations are just fine. Truly.”
Alannah wanted to believe him. After seeing first-hand the splendor of the rath at Cruachan Aí she knew the ten foot roundhouse was not fit for royalty.
Emer had happily agreed to give Teague use of their own stone cottage, his guards having to rough it in the roundhouses, but even the cottage paled in comparison with the rath.
Still, she wasn’t about to harass him over her concerns.
Emer brought over his breakfast, a bowl of hot porridge with honey and baked apple.
“Thank you darling,” he cooed. He lifted his spoon but paused, his eyes pinned to the front door.
Both women turned, and Alannah’s stomach fluttered when Conan flashed her a mischievous grin. “Good morning, gorgeous,” he purred, striding over to where she stood near the hearth and pulling her in for a kiss on the cheek.
His hold on her stiffened the moment he spotted Teague, and she realized that they hadn’t been introduced.
“Good morning, gentlemen,” she greeted them, deliberately including the other men. “I don’t think you’ve had the chance to meet our newest guest, Teague O’Conor mac Cahill, Prince of Connachta.” She turned to the prince, gesturing toward each bard and introducing them in turn.
An odd smile tugged at the edge of Teague’s lips. It reminded her of a cat toying with a mouse. “Pleasure to meet you, gentlemen.”
“I assure you, the pleasure is all ours,” Illadan answered, though Alannah thought his tone a tad acerbic for addressing a prince.
“Please,” Teague smacked the wooden tabletop, “join me.”
“We wouldn’t want to impose.” Conan’s piercing stare never wavered from Teague.
The prince broke into a full, toothy grin, meeting Conan’s bold stare. “No, I insist. Alannah, why don’t you join us as well.”
“Me?”
He nodded. “I’d invite Emer, but something tells me she’d politely decline.”
“Something tells me you’re correct,” Emer called from across the room, not missing a step as she carried breakfast to the newly-seated arrivals. “It will only grow busier as the sun rises higher.”
“So,” Teague leaned forward onto his elbows expectantly, “what brings such an impressive group of men to Ath Luain?”
“We perform as bards,” Illadan answered. “Though we don’t carry that rank.”
“No less a noble endeavor for it,” Teague grinned at him. “You shall play for me tonight.”
The muscles in Conan’s jaw strained at the prince’s comment. It seemed odd that he felt the need to argue over such a compliment as a request to play for one of the royal family. Alannah placed a hand on his arm, hoping to diffuse whatever about the conversion had him getting riled.
“Of course.” Illadan sounded about as happy as Conan looked, but that wasn’t unusual for their stern leader.
“Where are you from?” Teague pressed, looking from one man to the next.
“We came from Mumhain,” Finn answered. “But we’ve traveled all over éire.”
“They’ve even been to Dyflin,” Alannah added. “To my knowledge, we’ve not had anyone here who’s been that far east.”
A polite chuckle danced around them. “I was there just recently myself,” the prince told her before turning to Conan. “How did you find it?”
Conan met Teague’s stare as though it were a contest of who could go longest without blinking. “We were welcomed warmly by Sitric’s household. Some of his other guests proved more antagonistic, but they were dealt with accordingly.”
The air thrummed with unspent tension. Alannah knew the feeling well—it was just how she’d felt right before she fought off Oran. She leaned closer to Conan, whispering against his cheek. “Am I missing something?”
He turned toward her, one dark brow raised. “How do you mean?”
Beyond them, conversation continued along much the same. The deep rumble of the bards speaking and Teague’s answering chuckles faded as her focus shifted to Conan.
“It seems tense.” She inclined her head toward the rest of the table. “Like there’s a problem I’m unaware of.”
“There’s been a lot of raiding between Mumhain and Connachta of late,” he whispered.
Alannah nodded. That made sense. She knew about the increased animosity between the two kingdoms, but only from what she’d heard through merchants and other travelers. Luckily she’d not seen much of it herself.
Conan’s stormy eyes sparkled. “I have an idea.” Sitting straight, he waited until he had the prince’s full attention. “Teague, as prince you help command the king’s army, do you not?”
“I do.” He narrowed his eyes, a deep, rich, chestnut.
“Alannah and Emer have two brothers who should have returned home with the other local men who fought to the north.”
Alannah’s breath caught, her heart racing. How had she ever doubted him? She’d never have thought to question the prince himself on her brothers’ whereabouts, yet here was Conan, championing her fearlessly.
“Is that so?” Teague tipped his head to better see her. “I take it they did not?”
Alannah shook her head slowly. “No, lord.”
“I’m terribly sorry to hear that.” Teague sounded more genuine than she’d expected for a man who faced lost soldiers nearly every day. “I am grateful to them for their service. I wish there were something I could do, but unfortunately if they didn’t return—”
“Actually, there is something you can do.”
Alannah’s mouth fell open. Had Conan really just interrupted the prince and then asked him for a favor? She shifted in her seat, unable to find a comfortable position.
“Oh?” Teague didn’t reprimand him. He didn’t even blink in surprise.
“You see,” Conan leaned toward the prince, “we learned from someone who’d joined alongside them that they were transferred into a different unit.”
“They were likely sent north to deal with Aodh, were they not?” Illadan asked.
All the men joined in now. Whatever tension had existed dissolved, leaving behind a rapid debate on her brothers. The men spoke so quickly that Alannah couldn’t get a word in.
“They weren’t sent into Mumhain, if that’s what you’re asking,” Teague answered with a lilt to his deep voice. “But we have men all along our borders.”
Conan snorted out a laugh, the most relaxed Alannah had seen him since sitting down. “You cannot have me believe you’ve put men between you and Midhe.”
Teague chuckled again, matching Conan’s tone. “No, no, you’re right about that. Malachy wouldn’t look kindly on being stalked as though he were anything but our ally.”
Dallan pointed a finger at the prince. “We’re circling back to that.”
“To the fact that we don’t prepare for a battle against our ally?” Teague balked. “That seems an unnecessary waste of breath.”
“Stop distracting him,” Conan ordered, tossing a frown at his companions. “I know most of your men patrol your northern border. Aodh may not be actively after Connachta, but he’s no ally.”
“Says the men from Mumhain.” Teague folded his arms. “Brian is actively after Connachta and raiding across our borders.”
“There haven’t been any raids in months,” Dallan argued.
Conan smacked the table to silence them all. “God’s bones, could we just focus?” He turned to Teague once more. “Send runners to each of the units. Her brothers must be among one of them. It’s not as though they just disappeared.”
Hope swelled in Alannah, a wave rising so high it threatened to knock her over. Emer had been right. Conan really was a good man.
Teague nodded, laying a hand on Conan’s shoulder. His eyes pierced Conan like arrows, filled with purpose and resolve. “I’ll find out where they are, brother. It’s the least I can do.”
Every man stilled. Teague sucked in a breath, his eyes widening in shock even though he’d been the one to speak.
Brother, he’d called Conan. She couldn’t have heard that right, yet the blood drained from her face all the same. “What did you just say?”
“He said he’s going to find your brothers.” Conan’s voice broke over the words.
She looked at each of the men. Their gazes slid from her to Conan or the table. “Why did he call you ‘brother’?”
Conan eyed the other diners in the room then looked to Illadan, who shook his head so slightly that Alannah would’ve missed it had she not been watching the entire exchange.
Her stomach flipped, the wave of hope crashing against her gut like the sea churning against the shore. “Conan.”
It wasn’t a question. She watched the debate in his eyes, in the way his throat bobbed and his fists clenched. She knew he was considering lying to her.
With a sigh that shook the rafters, Conan ran a hand through his dark, wild waves.
“Because I am.”