“Something tells me that’s an understatement.” Fachtna, another of Dallan’s uncles, had always had designs upon Morda’s throne. In recent years, he’d begun attempting more openly to convince the small council—the group of lesser kings who advised Morda—that he would be a stronger leader. His son, Baeth, had supported his efforts—until his death in battle against Dallan. When Dallan had left Laigin, Fachtna had managed to stir the pot, but Morda’s decades-long reign had held fast. “What has he done?”
“Well, after losing at Dyflin and being forced to support Brian in his bid for the high kingship, it seems some of the council members are more open to considering Fachtna’s claim to the throne.”
“He’s going to try to kill you,” Dallan warned. “If the loss is enough to gain support, it won’t be long before he and the others take the throne by force.”
Morda leaned forward onto his elbows. “Which is why I need one of the best warriors in the nine kingdoms by my side.I admit, my position is weakening by the day and I cannot guarantee your safety. But I would ask your help.”
Dallan sighed. No matter how he felt about Niamh, or the Fianna, or his new life here, he could not sit idly by and watch his kingdom crumble. “I’ll do it.”
“I know it’s a great sacrifice and a great risk,” Morda replied. “Thank you. I will do everything I can to keep us both alive, but in the end the kingdom is what matters. We must maintain the peace.”
“Entirely fair,” Dallan agreed. He’d spent the last year helping Eva get settled into her new life. Now, it was time for him to help the rest of the family.
As he spoke the words to his uncle that had been passed down for countless generations of kings, Dallan couldn’t stop thinking about Niamh. And Finn. And Diarmid and Cormac and Conan. Even Brian. All the new friends he’d only just made that he would now be leaving. But family was everything, and Dallan’s family needed him.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Samhain Eve cameentirely too quickly for Dallan. Cormac kept him busy for the rest of the day after Morda’s visit, taking away any hope Dallan had of stealing another meeting with Niamh. He’d thought of her nearly every moment since she’d handed him a bag of cinnamon.
He needed to speak with her about returning with him to Laigin. Though, after hearing more of the details and learning just how dangerous the politics had become, he wasn’t entirely certain he wanted her there just yet. By the end of that day, however, Dallan knew he couldn’t make that decision for her. He would tell her everything and let her decide.
Since she’d come back into his life, Dallan had wavered in his resolve to continue seeking her out. At first, he’d wanted nothing to do with her. But once they’d gotten past the initial shock of their chance meeting, he started remembering all the reasons he’d fallen in love with her in the first place. And he could see in her eyes that she still enjoyed his company, still felt as drawn to him as he did to her.
Moment by moment, they’d built a tentative, new friendship.
Except the more time he spent with her, the more he realized he didn’t want only her friendship. He still wantedher.
But she was not the carefree girl he’d courted. She was a woman full-grown who held painful secrets beneath her somber expression. And he knew he’d never have all of her until heuncovered the truth of it. So, the question became, was the risk worth the reward?
The moment she handed him the cinnamon, he realized the answer had always been “yes.”
He strode into the hall, a mug of warm milk with cinnamon and honey in each hand and a grin on his face. He needed his charm at full force if he was somehow going to convince her to go to Laigin with him after Samhain. He knew she’d give him trouble for pushing his help on her, but he also had no intention of letting her do anything so foolish as to try to balance a ladder unassisted in the middle of the hall.
Which was exactly what she was doing when he spotted her.
“Where is everyone?” he asked, walking over to her ladder and taking in the oddly quiet hall. Normallysomeonewas inside, either for the warmth, companionship, food, or rest. Or to see to a duty. But there was no one, not even the servants.
“Brona sent them off. She wanted them to be surprised.”
“By your swift and violent demise?”
“I’m doing just fine,” she called, reaching precariously to hang a strand of oak-leaf garland on a hook in the rafters.
He set the mugs down on the nearest table, leveling her with a skeptical stare. “You are wobbling atop a ladder, supported only by a table that is far too small. You’re lucky I got here before you broke your neck.”
“I’m not going to break my neck.”
“Aren’t you the healer?” He watched her closely as they spoke, knowing it was only a matter of time before the ladder gave way. “Who do you think will heal you when you’re grievously injured?”
She stopped working long enough to glare at him, her gaze falling from him to the mugs of spiced milk.
“I brought you a drink,” he explained. “A token of good intention, if you will.”
Her face softened, a smile playing at the corner of her lips. “Warm milk and cinnamon?”
“With honey, of course,” he scoffed mockingly. “I’m not an animal.”
She giggled, at the same time reaching for the next hook. The ladder slipped from the table’s edge. And Niamh fell straight into his waiting arms.
