And he knew how badly Morda needed his help. In a way, he was aiding Brian as well by coming home to prevent an overthrow of the men sworn to him and a descent into war. But even surrounded by kin in his childhood home, even knowing how important his presence was here, it did not soften the loss of those closest to him that he’d left in Mumhain.
He was well and truly separated from Eva and Finn, the Fianna, Brian, and the life he’d started building. He thought he’d fight beside the Fianna for years, maybe a decade or more if he were lucky, taking the throne when Morda passed. Unless he were summoned to Mumhain or Finn and Eva requested special leave, he would never play with his first niece or nephew. He’d no longer see the sister he loved so dearly that he’d been willing to give up everything to save her. He’d never fight beside Finn again.
He’d never see Niamh again.
Looking at the plates he carried, his stomach turned sour, his appetite gone. He felt now the full force of his carelessness. Evenknowing what had gone wrong the first time, he’d managed to lose her again. Maybe she was never meant to be his after all.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Once Brona andCatrin told the true story of the attack, life in Thurles changed overnight. The same day that Dallan left, Cormac lifted the ban on travel outside the safety of the keep before he and Diarmid headed north to aid the Fianna in their rescue mission. It felt as though Niamh breathed in and life was filled with Dallan and the Fianna, her days spent in the keep. She exhaled and it was all gone, all different.
Brian decided to remain in Thurles until Cara returned. Niamh’s respect for the king only grew as she watched him spend hours teaching Catrin proper stewardship of the castle. The princess knew much of what needed doing to run the keep, but she hadn’t been instructed in politics or warfare. It would be a difficult transition, no doubt, but Niamh believed in Catrin’s ability to hold the keep. And, more importantly, so did Brian.
Niamh should’ve been happy that life had finally returned to normal. She, her mother and Máire could rebuild their cottage. Niamh could see patients from the comfort of home, surrounded by her herbs and tinctures. She could continue helping women live healthy and happy lives.
Instead, she wandered the wreckage of the cottage beside her mother and Máire, feeling a kinship to the destruction around her. Like the village, she, too, would need to rebuild. But not today.
Today she was still burning.
“Niamh?” Máire called softly, lifting up something so small that Niamh couldn’t make it out. “Come look what I’ve found! You’ll never guess what it is.”
Niamh reached down to scratch Morrígan’s chin as Máire bounded over a pile of logs, cupping something small in her hands. She opened them like a blooming flower, revealing one entire stick of cinnamon.
Tears welled in the corners of her eyes.
“No, Niamh,” Máire soothed hurriedly. “Oh, don’t cry. I’m sorry.” She wrapped her arms around Niamh, rubbing her back. “I thought you’d be happy to finally find it.”
Her mother set down the cloth she’d been inspecting and came over, hugging Niamh from behind.
Niamh let the tears fall, shaking inside their warm arms, encircled by people who loved her. “Why didn’t he tell me?” she cried, her voice whisper-thin and entirely too fragile. “Why did he have to leave?”
She knew the answers, of course. But knowing and feeling were two entirely different matters. And right now, she could only feel. Loss. Betrayal. Hurt. Anger. Confusion. So many thoughts whipped back and forth within her, but none made it any easier to accept that he was gone.
That he had left her.
Niamh supposed, in a darkly ironic sort of way, he’d finally gotten revenge—now she knewexactlyhow it felt.
“Do you want to talk about it?” Her mother asked.
“Not really,” Niamh sniffled, stepping away from them and wiping her eyes with her sleeves. “Let’s just get cleaning. I want to forget about it.”
It had only been a few days since the battle, hadn’t it? How could her world turn upside down and then back again in such a short time?
She knelt to help clear the rubble, sorting the pieces of their life into piles around them.
It had been the same way when she first met Dallan—her life had transformed overnight. Their connection had been equally intense and immediate, as though from the moment she met him she couldn’t remember her life without him.
Sensing her melancholy, Morrígan rubbed her little grey body against Niamh’s legs, squinting up at her through gorgeous green eyes. She gave the wee thing another good scratch behind her ears, ignoring memories of Dallan gifting her the kitten in a box under the trestle table.
“Maybe you should take a break, dear,” her mother suggested, wiping her own brow.
“I’m fine,” Niamh replied. “Really,” she added when her mother looked at her like the liar she was. She was absolutelynotfine, but that wasn’t going to keep her from pulling her own weight.
Her mother relented. “I’ve made a pile of the herbs I could find, and some of the jars and baskets and such. Why don’t you have a look through it?”
Niamh followed her mother’s gesturing to find baskets and broken jars filled with a jumble of stems, leaves, and flowers. She wouldn’t be able to salvage all of it, but it was certainly a start.
“Where did you find them?” she asked, walking over to get started. “I looked through here twice already.”
