“Ah, Murdoch,” Marcán said, “’twould give me great pleasure indeed to assist on the council at this time.”
Murdoch’s frown lifted and he smiled. “I believe ye will bring great wisdom to our table. My thanks.”
“And I shall serve as diligently as my father before me. None shall be taking advantage ofthiscouncil.”
The man nodded, his gray eyes piercing Marcán. He’d swear he caught a sigh of relief. Was this one of the men Ian had insisted was indebted to Pádraig, or had Murdoch heard the same rumors as the lad? Regardless, Marcán would make sure, one way or another, that Pádraig would not be taking over asri túaitheof Clan Meic Murchadha, not if he had a breath left in his body.
Chapter 18
Days flew by in a blur, followed by sleepless nights, leaving Marcán’s insides raw and his temper short. Beibhinn had been surprisingly effective in finding ways to keep him from speaking with Astrid. And although each night he went to their place of refuge and waited for her, she never came to him again.
Clonmacnoise, the same spot where Diarmuid Uí Cerbaill, the firstChristianHigh King of Éire had been crowned, was where the council would meet. The glen was marked on four sides by massive boulders where animal sacrifices had been performed during pagan times, a reminder of the many sacred ceremonies that had taken place there, including the anointing of many ari. The council would attend in all their finery, with much celebration to follow.
“The council is waiting on ye.” The black circles under Ian’s eyes indicated he shared the same malady as Marcán but for different reasons. The lack of sleep made the boy look much older.
“Are ye not well?” Marcán asked.
Ian lowered his gaze. “I have been unable to keep any food down. ’Twas the same for my father before he passed.”
Marcán gripped the lad’s shoulder and met his frightened gaze. “Ye fear ye are being poisoned?”
The simple nod spoke of the lad’s feelings of defeat. Marcán handed him his cup of mead. It certainly was not poisoned. “Drink this to keep up yer strength. I am ready for this. Do not fash yerself.”
Ian nodded and finished the drink.
“Come. Let us see this done,” Marcán said.
Despite Marcán’s words of assurance, he could think of only one way to give the aid Ian had requested, and he wasn’t certain it was something he could do. There had been secret meetings with the others in thederb fine,but no clear decision had yet been made. That was telling in itself, since there was no competition and anyone who met the requirements should have been granted approval. Not this time. Instead, it was being left up to Pádraig to state his case, showing his worthiness to be namedri túaithe.
There was a great deal of satisfaction to be had in the knowledge that these men were not falling over themselves to pay homage to Pádraig. The man was a vile creature, and not just in his treatment of women. Their clan had fallen far from acceptable practices, even if they did not directly break their laws. If any of thederb finewere now willing to overlook that behavior, it would send a sure signal that would drop all higher expectations. No longer would there be a standard of behavior.
They were meeting as agreed at the place of anointment. A king would be decided today either way. Many were gathered in anticipation of the ceremony and the feasting that would follow. The workers lay about on their blankets with the children jumping around and making mischief. And why not? It was a bright, sunny day. Very unusual for this time of year, which many saw as a good sign—not that they believed in such things.
“Murdoch!” Pádraig was clasping the older man’s hand, his eyes squinting at the corners in a show of sheer happiness, when Marcán took his seat at the long table. The quickness with which Pádraig’s affable countenance dropped was almost humorous. “Marcán?”
His recovery was not quick enough to hide his annoyance. Marcán could not have ordered a better response, for it revealed the man’s true nature.
“Pádraig.” Marcán’s low, steady tone was met by the man’s confused glare. There was never any advance notice given of who would be at a meeting, who would be providing their counsel. If Ian was correct about Pádraig’s influence, his ally was not someone informed of the latest developments. Otherwise, he’d have heard of the new addition to their numbers, wouldn’t he? Marcán glanced to the farthest man to his right. The red-headed father of the twins, Eric and Eoghan. The man had arrived only this day, traveling from some trouble farther to the south. He was the reason the anointing had been postponed.
Pádraig’s bright blue eyes turned on Murdoch. “What is amiss? Why is Marcán at table?”
His accusatory tone was met with a stoic expression by their leader. “Pádraig, if ye’ve a mind to approach us with yer desire to become king, ye’ll need to show us proper respect.”
“I am not required to receive yer approval, though it would be beneficial.” Pádraig’s eyes shifted to Marcán repeatedly as he spoke. “Even knowing that, I am mindful that the man has no great regard for me. I am concerned at how fair he can be in considering me so that I may receive yer acceptance as king.”
Murdoch did not move. Neither his body nor his direct gaze, which now held the man as if by an unseen force. “This councilis a body of men outside the petty fighting between clans, and well ye know it. Ye insult each of us by voicing concerns over the motives of any one of us.”
Marcán kept his eyes locked on Pádraig, as he would any contemptible creature that intended to do harm. Murdoch’s response had shut Pádraig’s mouth, and now he was angry. More than angry,livid. The clenching fists. The flaring nostrils. The way his eyes flashed when they finally settled on Marcán.
All these things gave Marcán great satisfaction, and he met Pádraig’s glare with a smile. A quiet smile. A smile meant to raise his hackles even more. A smile meant to unnerve the man, causing him to slip up in this pretense of solemnity and respect for a group he’d had the audacity to try to bribe. A smile meant to stir him into action that would reveal his true nature. Even if thederb fine’s approval was not required, a king would have a hard time garnering support from more warriors if the council expressed disapproval.
“And what of Diarmuid, Marcán? Have ye heard from him?” Murdoch asked.
“He has returned and is seeing to his wife.” Marcán addressed Murdoch but kept his eye on Pádraig.
“But ye’ll stay on with us, will ye not?”
Marcán did not miss the spark of hope that flickered in Pádraig’s eyes. A spark he was happy to extinguish. “Without a doubt. I would not want to be missing such animportantdecision as this.”
