Ardál returned the look, unflinching. “Either he will prove the validity of his oath to Brian or he will out himself as untrustworthy. It’s as good a time as any to discover where his loyalty truly lies.”
That was a fair point, Conan admitted grudgingly. Sooner or later, Teague would be tested with sensitive information. He supposed discovering his brother’s intentions sooner would be better than later. He still didn’t trust the bastard, though, and he wasn’t entirely certain one secret kept would be enough to earn it.
“It appears I’m outnumbered,” Conan grumbled.
“He’ll be less likely to betray us if we tell him,” Dallan said.
They all stared at him skeptically. They might have agreed it was a worthwhile risk, but that didn’t make any sense.
“How do you figure that?” Finn asked.
“If we don’t tell him what we’re up to and Cahill becomes suspect, it would be easy for Teague to tell him we were here and implicate us without us even knowing it. If we specifically give him the directive to cover it up, he’ll feel the pressure from us knowing whether he did or didn’t do it.”
Illadan’s eyes narrowed, wandering off in thought. “If we ask for his help, he’ll no longer have the excuse of ignorance. I agree.”
Knowing when he’d lost a battle, Conan sighed. “Fine. We tell him. How?”
Somehow it irked him even more that they would be telling Teague—a man he wouldn’t trust with his lunch, let alone his life—while they worked even harder to keep it from Alannah and Emer. The women were far more trustworthy, and even if they learned the men’s true identities, it didn’t necessarily connect them with the bridge.
“We need to get him alone,” Dallan replied, looking directly at Conan. “What if I distract Emer and you Alannah?”
Conan swallowed hard against the rancid guilt rising from his churning gut. He didn’t like this plan at all. “What if we tell the women as well?”
Silence took up residence once more, all eyes flying to him.
Illadan brought the first challenge. “You must be joking.”
“I trust them more than I do my brother,” Conan continued.
“It’s too risky.” Ardál finally stepped away from his window. “Even if we only reveal our identities, your woman is actively searching for those responsible for the attack. It’s only a matter of time before she puts it together.”
He wasn’t wrong, of course. Alannah was as clever as a fox and as driven as a hound on the hunt. “She’s hardly my woman,” was all Conan could think to argue.
“You’re the only one of us who’s bedded her,” Dallan grinned. “She’s more yours than ours.”
Conan shook his head. Though something in his chest swelled at the idea, Alannah didn’tbelongto anyone, and he had a feeling she’d take exception to that choice of words. She may not belong to him, but he began to wonder if perhaps he belonged toher.
“Ardál, find out where Teague is staying. Tomorrow morning, Conan and Dallan will get the women out of the way and we will bring him in on the mission,” Illadan ordered.
Ardál left without another word, stepping back inside the cottage almost as soon as he’d left it.
Illadan frowned at him, opening his mouth to ask the same question that hovered in Conan’s mind.
“I found him,” Ardál announced, pitching his voice low, quiet. He pointed straight at the front door toward the east, where Alannah and Emer’s quarters lay across the cobblestone courtyard. “He’s staying in that cottage.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Alannah paced infront of the fire for the hundredth time. They still weren’t back, and the talk around Ath Luain was that most of the soldiers had returned by now.
“Unless you’ve learned magic, I don’t think any number of steps will bring them back.” Emer handed her a warm infusion of honey-sweetened peppermint with an even warmer smile. “Maybe they were further away than most of the others.”
“Maybe.” Something felt wrong, though. Off, in a way she couldn’t name. “Have you seen the men yet this morning?”
Emer shook her head, clearing the last of the dishes from the morning meal. “I thought maybe they decided to run before they ate.”
Alannah stopped pacing, her shoulders sinking. If that was true, then wouldn’t Conan have told her as much? Perhaps he’d forgotten. Or perhaps, as per tradition, Alannah had once again chosen to open herself up to the wrong man. She’d been suspicious of him since they arrived because no bard needed to be so skilled with the sword. As a group, they acted odd as well, clearly deferring to Illadan in a way that didn’t feel at all like a troupe of performers. Doubt threaded through her, cloying and grasping as her mind searched for answers just out of reach.
She’d been wrong about many men, many times, but never so terribly as when she’d agreed to meet with Oran. The last thing they needed was a repeat of that disaster or another deranged man attempting to destroy their livelihood.
