“Emer will start serving dinner within the hour. I suggest eating sooner rather than later if you’ll be playing for us tonight. We tend to be full up for meals. If you need anything and you can’t find me, you can come by our cottage.” She pointed across the courtyard to the other side of the holding.
Conan saw only a stable and a pigpen, with some chickens running amok between them. “You live in the stables?” he teased, grinning so she knew he asked in jest.
“Our cottage is to the right, if you leave the hall by the back door. But you’re welcome to see if the horses can help instead.” Not waiting for a response, she walked past the men and the cottage, reentering the hall through the front doors.
“I like her.” Conan’s gaze followed her until she was out of sight.
Illadan frowned at him, opening the door to the stone cottage. “You’re not seriously considering bedding the woman who’s renting us a room?”
“I’m not considering it,” Conan grinned. “If she’s interested, then I’m planning on it.”
“We just got here!” Illadan grumbled.
“All of you,” Conan narrowed his eyes from one man to the next, “are married. I wouldn’t expect you to understand.”
Ardál crossed his arms. “I’m not.”
Conan pointed a finger at him. “Yes, but you, I don’t understand. You should be having fun with the rest of us unwed brutes.”
Illadan rolled his eyes, ducking into the cottage and apparently giving up on reforming Conan. The inside was dark, but cozy. There was but one window, on the short wall farthest from the door. The rectangular building spread no more than twenty feet long and about half as wide. Oaken planks ran its length, a better floor than Conan had expected for a woman so keen to save coin. In the center, a small hearth sat cold and unlit, but would provide enough warmth and light for the chilly nights. Six pallets took up much of the floor space, three on either end of the cottage.
Conan walked the length of the building, running his hands across the rough stones. He’d put in countless hours of manual labor in his life, but something about this place impressed him. Alannah had built all of this herself. For some reason that thought captivated him, filling his mind with a thousand questions.
“Are you suddenly taking an interest in construction?” Dallan asked. “You’ve built homes and halls before.”
He was right, of course. He’d helped build homes whenever folk needed it. He was a prince, after all, and he took care of his own. This past winter, the Fianna had all helped build halls to house guests for a tournament in Dyflin.
Conan shook his head, hoping to clear it. “Something about this place feels different.” He turned to his companions, whoregarded him with varying degrees of concern and amusement. “Perhaps it’s just strange returning to Connachta after all this time.”
“Perhaps you do need a good bedding, after all,” Dallan mused.
“Whatever you do, don’t lose us our room,” Illadan warned. He set down his pack and grabbed his bodhrán. “Anddo notgive away our identities.”
When they returned to the hall to dine, they found a small crowd had already arrived for the meal.
“Have a seat, gentlemen, and I’ll bring your dinners right over.” Emer’s smile, genuine and bright, could’ve warmed the coldest day.
They sat down at the nearest table, stowing their instruments beneath it. Alannah was nowhere to be found, but Conan had all night. He wasn’t in any hurry. True to her word, Emer delivered a hot barley vegetable stew in trenchers of freshly baked oat bread. The rich, salty, nutty aroma that wafted from the food set his stomach grumbling. The men thanked her, then proceeded to devour the delicious meal. Two bites in, Conan realized why they had so many dinner guests—it was easily the best stew he’d ever had.
When they’d finished their meal, Emer set them up on the side of the hall opposite the kitchen, where there was enough space to set five chairs for the men to sit and play. By then, the eight tables were filled with diners. Emer moved about the room delivering food and refilling ale, chatting with folk and hosting the meal masterfully. Even if Oran hadn’t been such a bastard, Conan could now easily see why The Hart’s Rest was the best hostelry in town.
Though all of the Fianna could play instruments and perform poetry, few had voices for singing and none had a voice like Finn’s. He could ensnare an audience from his first word,holding them captive until the last note slipped from his lips. Conan had seen it hundreds of times since they’d begun training together, and still Finn’s skill amazed him.
They all played a few songs together, the ones they enjoyed most, the ones that encouraged folk to sing along. By the time the dinner ended, the dancing had begun.
And Conan had finally spotted Alannah.
Setting down his harp, he grabbed two ales from Emer and walked to stand beside Alannah. He thrust one of the ales at her.
“I thought you could use some company,” he grinned.
She ignored the ale, her eyes scanning the room like a hawk tracking mice. “I can’t drink that. I’m working.”
He set her drink on the nearest table, taking a long sip of his own. “What does ‘working’ involve?”
Her head dropped toward him, blue eyes hitting him with shards of ice beneath inky lashes. “I’m keeping watch.”
“Keeping watch over—?” Conan let his gaze sweep the room. It seemed a normal feast, and far tamer than some of the alehouses he’d visited.
