“It’s not like it was his fault.”
Brona shushed her daughter loudly enough that Niamh could hear it several paces away. She wished she hadn’t heard any of it.
Because now she was curious, and also obligated to tell someone that perhaps Brona and Catrin were keeping secrets about Aodh and the raid.
Disturbing secrets, if Catrin’s salty comment held any grain of truth.
How could it not have been Aodh’s fault? She had seen the man himself on the battlefield, leading his men, torching cottages. Determining she would think on it more later, Niamh pushed any thought of Aodh from her weary mind and focused on helping Alva.
If she hadn’t known precisely what the view from her cottage looked like, Niamh would never have found it. The remains of one building ran into the next, so that she could hardly tell where her home ended and another began.
Every step she took over the crumbled threshold broke another piece of her past. Items she once loved crushed to dust beneath her feet, crying out as they disappeared forever. She spotted several spindles from the chair where her mother had sat in the corner, warring with Morrígan. To her right was a patch of fabric from the padded woolen quilt that Máire had made her. It had been a Yuletide gift, made with love for the coldest nights of the year. Niamh knew she’d spent far too much money on the materials, and a good deal of time attending the detailed stitching. There was a good reason such blankets were rare.
And in the far corner of the room, shattered, broken and scattered, lay Niamh’s herbs. Fractured jars and burned-up pouches littered the ground. Reaching down, she picked up a thorn-covered stem, charred and bent. A rose.
Or what was left of one.
Deep in her gut, she knew she wouldn’t be able to salvage anything. Even seeing the futility in her search, Niamh tucked up the hem of her gown, sucked in a deep breath, and began her search for cinnamon and orange.
She never found it.
Chapter Fifteen
Aknock soundedon Dallan’s door as he fastened the belt around his cleanléine. After a day spent minding the infirmary and helping to repair the burned and broken palisade wall, Dallan had desperately needed a good washing and some fresh clothes. His belly rumbled demandingly as he opened the door to find Diarmid.
“Cormac wants us in the solar,” he grumbled.
“Now?” Dallan protested. “Can’t he just tell us at dinner?”
“Apparently not.”
When they arrived in the solar only minutes later, they found Cormac sitting thoughtfully before the hearth, his arms across his chest.
“We have a problem,” he declared. “Brona is openly defying my orders, and endangering others in the process.”
“What did she do?” Diarmid asked, taking the seat opposite his brother.
“She and Catrin spent much of the afternoon down in the village. Unguarded.” He turned to look at Dallan. “They took your healer with them.”
Dallan’s throat constricted. “She swore she’d get some rest,” he grumbled. And she wasn’this. Not anymore.
“I just spoke with Brona, who told me Niamh believed they had some sort of approval to leave the keep.”
Dallan could hardly believe it. Why would she do something so reckless? Didn’t she realize they were at risk of anotherattack? Until they could determine why Aodh came all the way to Thurles, specifically, the Fianna couldn’t be certain he wouldn’t do so again.
“I’ll speak with her,” Dallan promised. “I don’t know what she was thinking.”
“If I had to venture a guess,” Cormac replied evenly, “she was thinking it unwise to defy a queen. Brona is lying to us, that much becomes clearer with each passing day. What we don’t know is why.”
Understanding dawned on Dallan. “You want me to ask Niamh about Brona, not censure her for leaving the keep.”
“Precisely.”
“Brona’s position here is tenuous, and she knows it. I don’t know what she’s up to or why, but we need to find out. See if Niamh learned anything. If not, and you believe she can be trusted, perhaps have her try to get Brona talking. And you, little brother,” Cormac turned to stare down Diarmid, “you need to follow her more closely. I’m releasing you from all your other duties. Your only job is to keep an eye on Brona.”
Diarmid threw his head back against the top of the chair, with the sort of dramatic flair Dallan once loved to employ. “What of training?”
Cormac shook his head, sending Diarmid to his feet in frustration. Several choice oaths accompanied him out the door. Dallan turned to follow him.
