Perhaps she’d have to wait and find out from the warrior himself.
The moment he entered the field, he turned and winked at Niamh. A few of the women beside her cast curious looks her way but didn’t deign to speak to her. It didn’t bother Niamh in the least. From that first look, she had eyes only for her mysterious warrior.
His lean, muscular body moved deftly against his opponents. Halfway through his first fight with a man so burly Niamh thought for certain her charming warrior couldn’t best him, things took a turn. The burly man landed a solid blow on her warrior’s chest, knocking him onto the ground. Niamh and Máire both gasped, along with most of the other ladies watching the spectacle. She would never forget the moment she realized that, perhaps, his boasting was not entirely in vain. Before the burly man could lift his sword, her warrior had spun, still on the ground, knocking the legs out from under his opponent. He pounced on him so quickly, sword against the man’s throat, that everyone had shouted and applauded.
In the end, he won all but two matches. The first he lost because he was simply outmatched, fighting a seasoned warrior in his prime. The second he lost because he was making eyes at her and not paying attention. She had a good laugh at that, though she reluctantly admitted the lad was quickly winning her over with his charms.
He couldn’t have been more obvious in his efforts to impress her. And still it was working.
As it neared midafternoon, the men wound down their practice. Gathering on the opposite side of the field from the ladies, they packed up their sparring equipment, stacking shields, swords, and spears neatly and efficiently. One or two men waved at the women who’d come to watch them. Then they all walked away in the direction of the river.
Except Niamh’s warrior.
Bold as that grey kitten, ignoring the stares, he strode toward her across the field.
Niamh stood, waiting awkwardly as everyone watched their interaction. Her heart hammered in her chest.
When he reached her at last, he leaned down so that his lips were a breath away from her ears. “I’ll see you in the hall for dinner.”
It wasn’t a question.
And even if it had been, the answer felt inevitable.
“I’d like todine in the feasting hall tonight,” Niamh announced as she emerged from her quarters into her family’s small solar. Máire had helped her weave her hair into plaits, approximating the styles of the noble ladies as well as they could, even adding a single golden rose into one of them. She wore the nicest gown she owned, made of finely woven, deep blue linen.
Her father looked ready to argue, but her mother silenced him with a single glance.
“I assume we have an invitation to do so?” her mother asked, standing and motioning her own maid to help fix her hair.
Niamh swallowed, ignoring her father’s horrified stare. She nodded.
“And who invited us?” he managed at last.
“I’d prefer not to say,” Niamh hedged. “You’ll meet him soon enough.” She wasn’t about to admit she didn’t even know his name or lineage.
Her father’s eyes widened, his frown deepening. “Him?”
“Oh, lord in heaven, Colban,” her mother chided. “What else did you expect?”
“She could have made friends with a nobleman’s daughter,” her father argued sullenly.
Her mother just shook her head. “We don’t want to keep him waiting,” she told Niamh, gesturing to the door.
The moment her family entered the hall, her mystery warrior appeared, walking confidently toward her father. He extended an arm in greeting. “Master Colban,” he began, shocking Niamh.
How did he know her father’s name? They’d never even been introduced.
“Allow me to welcome you to my uncle’s hall.”
Niamh’s breathing faltered. Hisuncle’shall? But that would mean…
“I am Dallan, son of Conn mac Murrough, nephew of King Morda, and Prince of Laigin. I hope you don’t mind if I invite your daughter to dine with me?”
God’s teeth, she’d been flirting with aprince? Her mother shot her an approving wink. Beside her, she heard Máire’s sharp intake of breath.
Her father, rendered as speechless as Niamh, simply nodded and moved out of her way.
Dallan offered her his arm, guiding her toward the dais where the royal family sat. Everyone in the hall watched, an uneasy silence descending as she took a seat near the end of the king’s table beside Dallan. Then the whispers began. Just as Niamh’s nerves threatened to overwhelm her, Dallan turned to her.
