That made sense, at least enough to lower her suspicions. “The weapons stay in your room,” she told them, crossing her arms and standing straighter. She still couldn’t believe how these men dwarfed her. “Will you be performing for us, then?”
“As often as you’d like,” he promised. “You’ve already met Finn and I. And that’s Dallan.” He pointed to one of the shorter giants, with dark, shoulder-length hair.
“Ardál.” The shortest of the giants inclined his head, though still several inches taller than her. Ardál also had dark, wild hair like Conan, but he kept it to his chin. His face reminded her of a fox, beautiful and cunning.
“And I’m Illadan.” The man who’d escorted Oran back strode toward them down the path. “It’s good to see that you take the safety of your establishment so seriously.”
“It’s my job,” Alannah replied simply. “Believe me, you’d not want me to be the one doing the cooking.” And once their brothers were gone, it became painfully clear that someone would need to keep order at the inn and drunken men’s hands away from her sister.
She led the men inside, grabbing a broom to sweep up the shards of broken vessels—casualties of their confrontation with Oran, the bastard. She smiled as she recalled breaking it on his shoulder. He’d deserved it, too, laying hands on Emer like that.
Emer’s sweet face lit up into a sunny smile as the men trailed inside. “How many rooms would you like?”
“Just one will suffice,” Illadan answered, reaching for a coin purse on his belt.
Her sister took the coins he offered, far more than needed. “How long will you be staying?”
“Let’s call it a month.”
“That’s a lot of coin to spend in one place,” Alannah commented, her suspicions returning. “You must make good money to expect to make that back.”
Conan grinned at her as Illadan paid Emer. “We are excellent at what we do.”
“Then I look forward to hearing you play tonight.”
Chapter Five
The tempestuous beautyturned, leading them across the feasting hall toward the far door. Due to the tumultuous manner of their arrival and introduction, Conan hadn’t paid much mind to the guesting house itself until this moment.
The feasting hall was built in the old style, much like Brian’s own hall. Except where Brian’s fortress was a relic of the ancient past, the hazel branches and oaken thresholds of The Hart’s Rest looked freshly made. Many of the roundhouses yet remained in Éire, but just as many had been replaced with the rectangular stone homes that grew in popularity with each passing year.
Conan couldn’t help but notice the fine form of their hostess. She wore trews and léine, as a man would, though women on occasion wore them when they needed more ease of movement. The trews hugged her round hips and emphasized the tempting legs beneath them. The léine was regrettably loose-fitted, but even its generous size couldn’t completely hide the dip of her waist. He couldn’t take his eyes off her.
“You still haven’t told us your name,” he reminded her as they passed the central hearth, the beating heart of the hall. It crackled at him like an old friend.
“Alannah,” she called over her shoulder. “And my sister is Emer.”
“Did you build this hall?” Conan couldn’t contain his curiosity.
“We did.” She kept walking, passing the last of the eight trestle tables that lined either side of the hearth.
Beside Conan, Dallan pulled up short, taking a long look around the room before hurrying to catch up. “You built a new roundhouse?” Dallan asked.
“Well, I would’ve preferred to build a fortress with two stories and all manner of antechambers, but money exists, and we hadn’t enough for that.” Her words fell like needles, prickly and sharp. “And we had to build it ourselves. I can weave hazel branches for months, but carting stone would’ve required help.”
“You did a fine job,” Conan told her, hoping to undo any insult taken. “It was a clever way to build something grand with less investment.”
Alannah stopped before she walked through the door and back outside, sighing in a manner that reminded Conan of Illadan. “I realize the style is somewhat antiquated, and perhaps not to your liking. We have four small cottages of the same style as the hall, or one larger stone cottage in the current fashion. If you’ve no need of a separate space, we have cots in the feasting hall that you can use.”
“I think we would prefer to share one larger space, if it’s all the same to you,” Illadan answered.
Conan knew it was so that they could plot with greater secrecy. Hopefully Alannah didn’t take further offense by his request.
He watched the sway of her hips, hypnotic as a dancing flame, as they followed her around the outside of the domed feasting hall. It had been a while since he’d bedded a woman. Not so long as Broccan, of course, but he’d never been so free with his affections as Diarmid, either. Like Diarmid, though, Conan always ensured the woman understood that it was nothing more than a diversion for them both.
It wasn’t that he was wholly opposed to marriage as Diarmid had been—indeed, he saw how happy his friends had grown as they slowly accumulated wives of their own. He simply hadn’t yet found the right woman. And after his experiences with first his father and then Teague, Conan wasn’t quick to trust just anyone.
Alannah led them to the left, following the gentle curve of the waist-high wattle palisade she’d no doubt built. The woman had tenacity, he’d give her that. They passed the four smaller domed roundhouses she’d mentioned, with the typical low entry and thatched roofing that reminded Conan of something vague yet familiar, a memory hovering just beyond reach. Passing through a large, empty space of patchy grass and mud, Conan spotted the stone cottage at the far end of the enclosure. They’d come nearly back to the front of the hostelry.
