“Mother and I were discussing my betrothal to Pádraig.”
Chapter 16
Marcán didn’t like leaving Astrid, but Ian’s behavior was a bit disconcerting. If the lad hadn’t mentioned his worries about his brother taking over asri túaithe, Marcán wouldn’t have been quite so willing to abandon her. It felt an eternity since they had last met in the shed, and Pádraig’s allusion to some sort of announcement was just what he did not want to hear.
Even with Pádraig gone, Marcán had a bad feeling about the situation. Every attempt he’d made to discuss a betrothal with Diarmuid had been interrupted. Short of holding his friend still and forcing him to listen, Marcán could find no way to speak alone with him. He realized now that was exactly what he should have done.
These hostages were certainly more than a handful for everyone involved, and after their attempted escape, Marcán was almost ready to help with their execution just to be done with them. Almost. They worked well together, which made them an asset to any clan, and a threat to anyone trying to hold them.
Ian paused a good distance from the others but still searched around to be sure they were alone, his eyes rounded with concern. Finally, he turned to Marcán, his face tight. “I am afeared my father did not die unassisted.”
Not at all what Marcán had believed the lad was going to say. It took a moment for him to recover enough to respond. Murder was a serious offense. Murdering ari túaitheeven more so, as it would render the clan more vulnerable to attack. Normally atánaistewould quickly take over, but Ian’s clan had no one. And to make such an accusation? Ian was young, but the repercussions for making claims such as these could alter his entire life.
“Yethinkhe was murdered?”
“Iknowhe was murdered.”
“Yeknow?” Marcán studied the lad. “I know the loss of yer father must be a great blow to ye—”
“I am not wrong!”
“Did ye see it happen?”
“No—”
“Then ye don’tknow.”
Ian spoke through clenched teeth. “It was made to appear that he died in his sleep.”
“And were ye in the bed with him?”
“No.”
“In the room with him?”
“No, but—”
“Then. Ye. Do. Not.Know.”
Ian’s face crumpled, and the lad clearly struggled with his emotions. Marcán refused to back down. Such accusations would not go unpunished if they were proven wrong. He liked the lad. He didn’t want to see his future ruined.
“Short of a firsthand account, and even better a second witness, ye need to keep yer thoughts to yerself.”
“I knew my father, Marcán. I knew his habits.”
When Ian gripped his arm, his trembling fury surprised Marcán.
“He had a bit of chamomile tea each night before he lay down. Every night.”
“And he had not?”
“Oh the cup was there, but ’twas not only chamomile flowers I found in it.”
Ian pulled his closed fist out of the sack hanging from his belt and opened his hand. The telltale white flowers of a poisonous plant sat crushed in his palm.
“Ye found hemlock in his cup?”
Ian nodded, his eyes brimming with unshed tears.
