Dallan’s brows knitted, barely perceptible in the mantle of darkness now surrounding them. Whatever thoughts crossed his mind after her declaration, he kept to himself. When it was clear he had nothing more to say on the matter, Eva pulled him into an embrace.
“Be safe, dear brother,” she whispered into his chest.
He kissed the top of her head tenderly. “Fear not. I will return.”
Eva made haste away from the encampment, lest she be tempted to seek out Finn as well. The ache in her chest threatened to overcome her good sense if she didn’t hurry. She thanked Cormac before retreating to her own modest quarters.
Come the morn, she could lose the two people who mattered most—Dallan and Finn. How could she possibly sleep? How could she do anything except worry? Her deepest fears creeping in from the shadows of her heart, Eva did the only thing she could manage.
She reached for her harp.
Hours later, as dawn broke over the eastern horizon, the final chords of her song, the Song of the Fianna, fled on a westerly breeze.
*
Finn refused togive in to despair completely. His heart was wracked over the guilt of betraying his best friend and the ache of losing the woman he loved.
Belting on his scabbard, he stepped into the crisp air of daybreak. One by one, the other men joined him in silence. No one jested this morn; every man knew it might be his last. Dallan emerged, his face grim. He nodded at Diarmid and Conan, ignoring Finn entirely. As one, the eleven men walked up the hillside to the courtyard.
Brian sat on his white stallion, a crown of gold about his brow. His sons, Murrough and Tadc flanked him on their own steeds. Cormac and Broccan took their positions behind him. Like the rest of the men, they went on foot. Queen Dunla stood atop the staircase leading to the feasting hall, resplendent in a blue and gold léine to match the king’s.
Finn’s breath caught when he spotted Eva, standing in the doorway to her quarters on his other side. Her eyes cast down, her chestnut hair plaited tightly down her back. Boring into her with his eyes, he prayed to all the gods that she would feel his gaze and look up at him one last time.
She didn’t.
When Brian spurred his horse to begin the march, Finn realized he had lost her forever.
Chapter Thirty-Four
They rode forover three days, reaching Nás, the seat of the kings of Laigin, just before midday on the fourth day. Finn looked to Dallan, wishing his friend would speak with him. He’d love to hear Dallan’s thoughts on returning to his ancestral home as part of another king’s retinue.
Stopping only long enough to sleep and eat a small meal, they continued the march toward Mide, now joined by Dallan’s uncle, King Morda of Leinster, and his cousin, King Sitric of Dyflin. Dallan shared features with his uncle but could not look more different than Sitric. Sitting tall atop his speckled stallion, this man, who had become something of a mythical figure to Finn, stood apart from all other men. Just as all aspects of Brian’s appearance cried out as echoes of his ancient forefathers, so, too, did Sitric embody all that Finn associated with the homeland of his father’s kin.
His golden hair, near the color of Finn’s own, fell to his shoulders, braided here and there with golden beads. His beard was shorter than Finn expected, particularly for a man nicknamed ‘Silkbeard,’ but was impressive all the same. A deep crimson cloak flowed behind him, draping both horse and rider in the rich, blood-red fabric. The golden trim on his snow-white tunic showcased his immense wealth. Unlike the natives of Éire, Finn’s kinsmen from the north wore armor into battle. Sitric wore a shirt of mail rings over his chest and leather bracers on his forearms.
When Sitric caught sight of Dallan, he fell into step with him, dismounting and walking beside him.
“Cousin!” he bellowed, holding his horse’s reins in one hand and smacking the breath out of Dallan with the other.
Finn barely concealed a laugh at the vivacity of this man he’d heard so much about over the past months. From Eva.
His heart lurched in pain at the thought. How she’d love to be here, to see her uncle and cousin again. If she ever spoke with him again, Finn would tell her all about her cousin’s antics.
As if realizing he watched them, Dallan and Sitric both turned to look at Finn. Dallan glared at him. Sitric attacked him with an utterly disarming smile before narrowing his eyes. Finn pitied the lady who was on the receiving end of such charm.
The following day, marching in the same order, Cormac appeared at his side while Finn watched Sitric and Dallan.
“I thought you might appreciate knowing our plan before charging into battle,” he remarked casually.
Finn looked at the modest size of their force—no more than two hundred men altogether—and sighed. “Whatever it is, let’s hope we have enough men. Or they don’t.”
Cormac’s lips thinned. “We don’t have enough men,” he replied. “That is the test.”
“Brian is willing to throw away two hundred men for a battle he knows he’ll likely lose?” Finn asked incredulously. “Wouldn’t it be better to simply send the Fianna in and reserve his allies’ forces for a more favorable encounter?”
Cormac leaned closer, so that no one else could overhear his reply. “The Fianna are not the only ones being tested this day.”
Understanding dawned, followed quickly by resignation. So, Brian tested the bravery of the Fianna and the loyalty of his new suppliants in one. If Finn’s fate was to die in battle, surely it would be this one. He hadn’t much faith in the latter’s loyalty.
