Niamh took a deep, shaking breath. “Dallan, before you go on, there’s something I must tell you.”
A sinking feeling tugged at his chest, but Dallan brushed it off. Of course, she’d have questions, or things she felt merited discussion before making such a commitment. “Of course,” he replied gently.
“My father spoke to me this afternoon,” she began tentatively. Too tentatively.
Something was wrong.
“He told me that he approved of whatever direction I chose to take my life.” She paused, her cheeks flushing a pale rose. “I don’t know if you are planning to propose marriage, or if I am getting ahead of myself, but I feel it is my duty to tell you this before we go any further.”
His stomach tightened uncomfortably. “Tell me what?”
Niamh looked at her feet, blinking back what he desperately hoped were not tears. “I can’t marry you,” she whispered. “I’m afraid it’s not possible.”
Dallan felt as though he’d been hit by a spear, straight through his chest.
“Niamh,” he managed, “if there’s a problem, we can fix it together. I won’t lose you without a fight.”
“I’m sorry, Dallan. Really, I am.”
“Is there another man?” he asked, unable to comprehend her sudden rejection of him. “I don’t understand. Please,” he choked, “please, just tell me why.”
She simply shook her head.
“Niamh,” he tried again, “just yesterday we spoke of our future together. Of the house we would build together. Of the children we’d have.”
She started crying softly, sniffling and wiping tears from her cheeks. “I can’t be your wife, Dallan. I’m so sorry.” She turned her hand to give him the ring, but he stopped her.
“It was made for you,” he told her, hoping she couldn’t see how hurt he was, “you keep it.”
He couldn’t. Not after such a thorough breaking of his heart. He’d never be able to look at the ring again. At least if she kept it, it would see some use.
Maybe in the morn she’d see reason. She’d see the ring. And she’d come back to him.
Instead, the following morn her family packed up their belongings and left Nás far behind them.
First a week came and went. Then a month. Then a year. Then five more.
Still, he never heard from his golden-haired Niamh.
And still his heart refused to let her go.
In the end, he had been so much more foolish than those lads who pursued the glittering girls.
He had held her in his arms and still managed to lose her.
Chapter Three
Autumn, AD 1000
Caiseal, Kingdom of Mumhain, Éire
Dallan strode acrossthe courtyard of the fortress at Caiseal in a stiff autumn rain, furious. Brian, king of Mumhain and his sworn liege-lord, had summoned Dallan to attend a visitor.
A visitor who should not have come, who could only have one of two reasons for coming to Caiseal and requesting an audience with Dallan.
Either his Uncle Morda planned treachery against Brian, or he wanted Dallan to swear his oath as second, heir to the throne of Laigin.
Dallan entered the solar ready to do battle if his uncle had come all this way to speak treachery in Brian’s own home. Since he had joined the Fianna only a few weeks earlier, Dallan’s loyalty had been split in two opposing directions. He didn’t welcome the possibility of being forced to choose between them. It was a decision he hadn’t expected to make for years.
