Brihan reassured the woman—his wife?—and she left. The other occupants of the hall trickled out also.
Brihan turned to his visitors, hard eyed. “Will ye sit?”
They did so, Fearghal and Brihan together, Ardahl, Cathair, and Tiernan slightly behind, like guards. Though how they could hope to safely guard their charge, Ardahl could not tell.
A hundred things might happen. A charge. A rush. Poisoned fare, he thought as a servant stepped up with a flask. Their ponies might be slain so they could not get away.
Nearly impossible for him to keep his hand from his weapon in such circumstances, but he managed. No need to appear threatening.
“Chief Fearghal,” Brihan said when they were all seated, “ye ha’ surprised me wi’ your arrival here today. I must admit, ye ha’ balls—or a surfeit o’ foolish temerity.”
“Have I?” Fearghal peered into his cup, clearly wondering whether or not to drink.
“Och, aye.”
“At one time,” Fearghal said slowly and clearly, “I would have been certain of my welcome in your hall. That was before ye turned against me and mine.”
Brihan gave a grunt at that, nothing more.
“We had an alliance,” Fearghal began.
“We never had an alliance.”
“No’ a formal one, mayhap. But ’twas understood between us we would live in peace aside one another, whatever happened around us.”
“Circumstances change.”
“Indeed, they do. Now ye send your men to attack and murder innocents while our warriors are otherwise engaged.”
Brihan’s face grew carefully blank, but a muscle jumped in his cheek. He said nothing.
“It is a betrayal,” Fearghal declared. “Of trust, if naught more.”
“I regret this, but we had no formal alliance.”
“’Twas given that I would no’ attack yours and ye would no’ attack mine. Brihan”—Fearghal leaned forward slightly—“wha’ happened?”
Brihan raised brown eyes to Fearghal’s face in a level stare. He did not speak.
“Ha’ ye made an alliance wi’ Chief Dacha that supersedes our own?”
“Nay.” Violently, Brihan shook his head. “I ha’ no alliance wi’ him either. No’ as such. I stand alone.”
“‘As such’?” Fearghal asked.
“Dacha is a strong neighbor. A dangerous one. This season, he has grown more so.”
Ardahl, watching Fearghal carefully, saw his eyes narrow. Brihan’s position—pinned between Dacha, who wanted Fearghal’s lands, and Fearghal, who refused to give up those lands—had, aye, long been a perilous one. Yet he had managed to balance there.
What had changed?
Fearghal clearly wondered. “Chief Brihan, had your neighbor become so strong as to threaten ye and your tribe, I should hope ye would turn to me.”
“Would ye? Would ye, so?”
“Aye.”
“Well, ye would be wrong.”
