“No.” He whispered softly. “I’m asking you to come with me.”
That stopped her retort, leaving her with her mouth hanging open. Again. “You thought that after you kept a secret like that from me that I would leave my family, my home, to live with a man I barely know?”
He stepped closer, and this time she held her ground. “You know me better than almost anyone, Niamh, and I wouldn’t have it any other way. I hoped that after you learned how much I love you, you might consider spending your life with me, even if it meant leaving.”
A thousand responses raced through her mind, a thousand waves crashing against a rocky shore. But only one rose to the surface. “Goodbye, Dallan,” she whispered.
For just a moment he looked so vulnerable, so sad, that she nearly tried to comfort him. But it was only a moment. His face hardened as he turned to leave.
“Goodbye, Niamh.”
Chapter Thirty-Two
It had beenalmost a year since Dallan had last been to Nás, the seat of the king of Laigin. He’d ridden through the palisade with his father, on their way to aid Sitric in the battle in Dyflin against Brian. Predisposed to melancholy after that last conversation with Niamh, Dallan sank into that memory, one of the last he had of his father, who died in the battle less than a sennight later. His father’s deep blue cloak had covered much of the horse as Dallan followed him into the bustling market town. He could almost see it in front of him now as he rode the same track.
Fate had an odd way of twisting back on itself. Now Dallan was a sworn warrior in Brian’s elite guard, coming to help prevent a battle with him. Dallan’s sister, who had never wanted to marry, had fallen in love with his best friend—whom he hadn’t even known a year ago. And, perhaps craziest of all, he’d just lost the love of his life. Again. This time, however, he was the one who had to leave.
He wanted to spend a full fortnight drinking away her memory in the nearest tavern. He wanted to charge into battle, to run drills until he couldn’t move his arms.
He wanted her back.
If Morda didn’t need his support so badly, Dallan would fall into despair just as he had the last time they parted. He knew he should have told her. He understood her fear and anger. But, as he’d explained, trust went both ways. And until that night on the hill, Dallan didn’t know if he could trust her with his heart again.
As it turned out, he couldn’t. But it was a bit late for that realization.
Aside from its renown as a meeting place of kings, Nás had gained fame as a market town, connecting the shipping port at Dyflin to the center of the island. Clouds filled the sky, threatening rain across the rolling farmlands, as Dallan dismounted at the stables. It had been a hard day’s ride from Thurles, but he didn’t want to keep Morda waiting. He’d missed dinner, the sun already setting, but the light supper served before bed would be most welcome.
The sky finally opened as he entered the hall. His aunt Tuala kept a meticulous house, the rushes always fresh, the tables always clean, the fires always burning. The feasting hall at Nás was a large circle, just like all the halls built by their ancestors, with great wooden beams and trusses supporting a domed, thatched roof. Mismatched benches and chairs encircled the impressive central hearth and trestle tables filled the nearer half of the room.
His aunt and uncle sat before the hearth, surrounded by the lesser kings who answered to Morda. He recognized most of them, including Fachtna. His cousins, too, sat together playing a game of knucklebones at one of the empty trestle tables.
Bran, the eldest, looked like his mother with chestnut hair and eyes to match. Though tall and broad like most men in Dallan’s family, Bran was no warrior. Neither was he a scholar. Indeed Bran’s brother, nearly half his age and rather a surprise to his parents, appeared to be winning the game.
Carvill, just shy of sixteen, had all the makings of a future king but none of the experience. Untried in battle, still deep in his studies, and still growing into his own skin, he’d make a fine king after Dallan. But he was not prepared for the storm about to break, which is why Morda had called in Dallan.
Fachtna spotted Dallan first, standing up straighter, like a bird spreading its feathers. His posturing was so ridiculous Dallan would have laughed if he didn’t pose a real threat to Morda’s reign. Recalling Brian’s advice, he swallowed his annoyance and nodded a greeting to Fachtna. The shock on his face was worth the effort.
“Dallan!” His Aunt Tuala called, rising from her seat near the fire to embrace him. “Oh, I could hardly believe it when Morda told me you were coming back. We’re so glad to have you.”
“Aye, we are,” Morda agreed with a smile to match the fire’s warmth. “Come, you’ve had a long journey. Let’s see what the kitchens have left.”
The moment they were out of earshot of the hall, Morda turned to Dallan as they walked. “How did it go? You look tired.”
“Brian couldn’t have taken it better,” he said, keeping his voice low. He’d seen servants milling about and didn’t know how many could be trusted.
“I noticed you came alone,” Morda replied, more hesitant than usual. “I’m sorry. Truly, I am. We needn’t speak of it. Women can be more dangerous than a battle.”
Dallan couldn’t agree more. “A battle I’m finished fighting,” he grumbled.
“We’ll talk more of women and the meeting once you’ve rested. The council is still arriving, and we can spend tomorrow plotting while they get settled. The meeting will be the following morning. Hopefully, it will give us enough time to consider our options,” Morda told him, opening the door to the kitchens. “Now, then. Let’s see what Miryam has for us.”
Dallan didn’t have even a moment to process his uncle’s flood of information before Miryam, the cook of Nás for as long as Dallan could remember, greeted them warmly. She pushed two plates full of honey cakes, apples, and oat bread across thetable where she worked. “I was just putting together everyone’s supper. Shall I have yours sent to the solar?”
“No need,” Dallan told her with a wink, grabbing the plates. “I think I can manage it.”
“You’re carrying mine,” Morda declared, holding the door for him. “The last thing I need is for the lot of them to see me trip and fall while carrying my own supper.”
As they made their way to the solar, where they were guaranteed the privacy needed to begin discussing the particulars of Fachtna’s dissent, Dallan finally had a moment to close out the miserable day. Aye, it was wonderful to spend time with his family. He had always enjoyed Morda and Tuala growing up, and though he didn’t know Carvill as well as Bran, he had always had a close bond with his cousins.
