The small bubble of hope she’d managed to conjure popped. Niamh looked down at her hands, willing an idea to her. She had always been the instigator, the plotter. She had always been the one spurring Dallan onward to adventure.
Morda tilted his head, regarding her with a kind look. “However,” he continued, “I have a plan to win back their goodwill, regardless of Dallan’s fate. If we can save him, andif you can somehow lessen Fachtna’s sway, then I can manage from there.”
His words sparked a thought. Which led to another. And another. Within moments, Niamh had finally devised a plan, though she knew it was one that Dallan would never willingly follow, no matter how much she goaded him. Hopefully, Morda would be more accommodating.
“I have an idea,” she told him, “but it’s quite risky.”
“Dangerous or uncertain?”
“Both,” she admitted.
“Then let me take the risk,” Morda offered. “Dallan would kill me himself if I let harm come to you.”
Niamh pulled her lips tight. “It has to be me, or it won’t work.”
“Then at least tell me what you’re thinking, so I can devise a way to support your efforts.”
“Only if you swear not to try to stop me.”
“On my honor,” Morda replied, leaning forward intently. “Now, tell me what you’ve got in mind.”
Chapter Thirty-Six
In spite ofgiving her his word, Morda did attempt to talk Niamh out of her plan, though he admitted it held promise. She was grateful that he discussed the details with her, for his knowledge of the people and politics involved gave her some confidence that, even if it went poorly, Dallan could still be freed by her efforts.
By the time they’d finished meeting, it was long past dark and Niamh’s stomach growled as she stood to leave the cozy solar. Morda walked her to the kitchen, piled her arms with as much food as she could carry, and led her to the room where Dallan waited.
Thinking this was his last night.
Niamh’s heart lurched at the idea of him feeling so desolate, of being faced with such an unthinkable burden. She wished she could tell him of their plan, give him some small hope that perhaps things would change.
But she and Morda had agreed that Dallan couldn’t know the plan, for he would almost certainly intervene. And, though it may temporarily lift his spirits, success was not guaranteed. So, though she couldn’t share her plan to free him from his sentence, she could share the night with him. No one should be alone on what they believed to be their last night.
They reached his door and Morda told the guards that Niamh was allowed to come and go as she pleased. Thanking him, she stepped into a small chamber, lit by a brazier in one corner. Furscovered a generous bed on a wooden frame, so large it took up much of the modest room. A stool and a small, empty table had been squeezed into the slim space between the bed and the wall.
More impressive than the soft furs, however, was the man lying atop them. Dallan reclined on the bed, his hands behind his head, his mess of dark waves catching the flickering light. When he saw Niamh, a heart-melting smile spread across his face.
He rose from the bed, hurrying over to take some of the food from Niamh’s arms and set it down on the table. His arms were around her before she could thank him, squeezing her so hard she laughed. Picking her up, he carried her to the bed and they tumbled onto it.
“How are you here?” he asked, kissing her instead of waiting for her reply.
Niamh sank into the bed beneath him, savoring the feel of his lips on hers—soft and demanding. She ran her hands through his tousled curls, something she did at every opportunity.
He pulled back for just a moment, cupping her cheek in his hand.
“I realized that even though you left Thurles, I was the one running away,” Niamh told him. “And I’m not going to run anymore.”
His head dropped to her chest and he let out a shuddering breath. “I fear it may not matter.”
She lifted his face up again, brushing back his wild hair with her fingers. “I spoke with Morda already.” She hesitated. It pained her to see him this way. “He’s working on a plan to stay the execution, but it’s not for certain. He’s doing everything he can.”
“That sounds like him,” he replied, mustering a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “He’s not putting himself in danger, is he?”
“No,” she assured him, which was entirely truthful. “But I propose we make a rule for the rest of the night.”
He snorted. “No speaking of tomorrow?”
“Precisely,” she said. “No matter what happens, I say we make this night spectacular.”
