Dawn Of Desire (22 page)

Albyn felt sick with disappointment, for at Egan’s first
mention of the Stones of Tomorrow, he had hoped that Oriana might be persuaded to teach him how they were used. All he had found, however, was yet another empty illusion rather than the deep insight he craved.

“I’d hoped for more than a fancy bag of souvenirs,” Albyn muttered dejectedly.

“What does it matter if she rolled acorns in a bowl before telling fortunes? Her prophecies are painfully accurate. When we met, she warned me of a terrible danger and insisted that I should return home with all possible haste. I laughed at her show of concern and had to become her champion to entice her into coming home with me. But the closer we came to the fortress, the more she was convinced that someone I loved was dead. After we arrived, she insisted the danger to me had not passed. Now, which of those prophecies would you care to disparage?”

“None,” Albyn exclaimed, for Oriana had been accurate with each one, but he still felt a fool for having hoped he had finally found the key that would unlock the mysteries of the future. He took a reluctant step toward the door. “There are herbs which might dull your pain better than ale. There was simply no time to seek them out yesterday.”

Egan shook his head emphatically. “Poison is too easily concealed in bitter herbal brews, and I’ll not risk it.”

Egan’s expression was far too serious for Albyn to discount his fears. “We’ve had no time to talk about Cadell, but do you suspect he might have been poisoned?”

Weary, Egan rubbed his hand over his eyes. “Aye, I do, but it wasn’t to hand me the crown.”

Intrigued, Albyn sank down on the bed. “Kieran, then,” he proposed. “But Ula would have known, and she adored Cadell, or at least that’s the way she behaved when I left to join the Druids. Had she and your father become estranged?”

It pained Egan to recall how deeply devoted a wife Ula had been. “No. Whenever I saw them together, she was
wrapped around his arm or fondling him openly. She listened to his every word with a rapt attention I wish Oriana would display. But …”

“But what? You’ve described only Ula’s actions. How did your father treat her?”

“I barely remember my mother,” Egan finally confessed. “But when my parents were together, it was my father who always held her in a warm embrace. What I recall most vividly was how often they laughed together. My father was kind to Ula, respectful, but they shared little hearty laughter.”

A loud knock at the door announced the arrival of Egan’s breakfast. Albyn admitted a pair of shy young women, and he was pleased to find they had brought a large pitcher of ale. He kept silent as the servants placed the tray on Egan’s bed, giggled into their hands, and brushed by him on their way out.

“Eat and sleep,” Albyn suggested. “I have neglected my fellow Druids and must make up for it this very day. If there was a plot to give Kieran the crown, then someone will know of it. Such an evil secret will be difficult to keep.”

“Take care,” Egan warned. “Do as Oriana suggests and just listen rather than ask questions and reveal our suspicions.”

“Aye, she possesses extraordinary wisdom. I’ll return in the afternoon. Would you care to send a message to your dear wife now?”

“No, let her rest. As for any others you may meet, do not even whisper my name,” he warned.

Albyn readily understood the need for discretion and pulled the door shut behind him. He and Egan had exchanged their fears concerning Cadell’s death in their first conversation, but there was an enormous difference between nagging suspicion and indisputable fact.

The coming of Samhain and the excitement of the challenge were bringing more people into the fortress
each day. At present, there was an uneasy balance between the clans that supported Egan and those more closely related to Ula, who had taken Kieran’s side. Careless accusations of murder could easily incite a deadly melee that only a few warriors might survive.

Neither he nor Egan would risk the fate of their tribe for revenge, but neither could step aside to allow murderers to rule the Dál Cais either. He entered the great hall and joined a table of Druids at breakfast, but the glances they sent him were all forbidding, and their conversation disclosed nothing of value.

Then he remembered the bard, Quill.

Egan made a sincere attempt to eat, but even the fresh-picked berries tasted no better than lumps of sand. He took a long drink of ale and gazed about his chamber. Nothing was out of place, nor did a particle of dust rest on any surface, but rather than a well-kept room, all he saw was pathetic emptiness.

It was his own fault, but that made it no easier to bear. He shifted uncomfortably, knowing precisely what he had to do to lift his downcast mood. He rose shakily to his feet. Fatigued by his earlier exertions, he used first the chair, and then the walls for support. Gaining confidence, he made his way down the corridor, past the stairs, and down the adjoining corridor to his mother’s room.

With all the effort it had taken him, he hoped that Oriana would be there rather than out on the bluff serenely contemplating the sea. He rapped lightly, but when there was no response, he cursed his own miserable weakness. He quickly decided to wait for her there rather than make the long trek back to his own chamber, but when he shoved open the door, he found her sound asleep on the bed.

He doubted she would welcome him, but as he began to sway, he had to catch himself, and ceased to worry over how he would be greeted. He could hear voices on the
stairs, and in no mood to speak to anyone, he moved into the chamber, swung the door closed, and threw the bolt.

When Oriana did not stir, he made his way to the bed and carefully eased himself down beside her. That it took him so long to simply sit completely disgusted him, but he gradually lowered himself down on his side, and then slowly rolled to his back. Since he moved with the grace of a man older than the tallest trees, he was relieved Oriana had not been awake to observe him.

Then it occurred to him that she had probably not slept at all last night, and after the way he had sent her away, he was certain she had been not merely lonely, but badly hurt.

He longed to hold her in a comforting embrace, but could only rest his arms at his sides and dream of the day when he would again be strong enough to show her how much he loved her in the way he liked best. A slight smile crossed his lips as he fell asleep, and his dreams were filled with loving her.

Oriana sensed Egan’s presence before she came fully awake. He was breathing so deeply, she doubted that he would awaken for hours, but she was surprised he had come to her chamber to nap. Perhaps he felt guilty for banishing her from his quarters yesterday, but that he had sought her out made it plain he did not wish to be alone today.

Despite her rest, she still felt drained, but rose, shook the wrinkles from her gown, and paced slowly as she combed out her hair. In just six days, Egan would have to build a wing and master the art of flight. His uncle Yowan was eager to assist, but the enterprise would still be fraught with danger.

She tried to imagine Egan soaring aloft and instantly remembered the magnificent hawk they had spied while out hunting.

“Wake up!” she cried, and she quickly sat down beside Egan and squeezed his knee.

Egan opened one eye. “Is the fortress ablaze?” he asked sleepily.

“Nay, my lord, but I’ve thought of something important.” Now afraid she should have let him sleep, she started to rise, but Egan caught hold of her arm to keep her in place.

“You have my attention,” Egan assured her. “Speak.”

Fearing the newly created tie between them had grown tenuous, Oriana had to swallow hard first. “Albyn told me your men used to soar with a single wing and glide like a falcon on the wind. Before you practice with your wing, I believe you should take your hawks out and closely observe how they sail the sky in lazy spirals. The man who most closely duplicates the ease of a falcon will surely win.”

Egan studied the sweetness of her profile and wondered how he had managed to survive without her for twenty-seven years. “Aye, that’s a good plan. I’ll give it a try but you must come along with me just as soon as I can sit a horse.”

“We have only six days,” she reminded him.

“I’ll not waste them,” Egan replied, and her smile turned so wistful, he was inspired to apologize. “I should not have sent you away …,” he began, but then words failed him.

“I understand. You’re a proud man, and it pained you more to be helpless than to suffer the injury itself.”

Even that much was difficult for Egan to concede. “Pride is my flaw, isn’t it? A clever enemy would use my own pride against me. Perhaps Kieran already has.”

“Perhaps, but I’m guilty of it too. I’m Lugh’s daughter, after all, and have survived by my wits alone as few women are able to do.”

“Few men either,” Egan added. “Now, I need your help with something other than flight. From the instant I learned of my father’s death, I’ve been haunted by the horrible possibility that he may have been murdered.”

Oriana had hoped he had simply missed her company,
but perhaps all he had truly missed were her insights. “People are murdered for a reason,” she observed. “Why would anyone wish him dead?”

Egan tried to prop his hands behind his head but the motion stretched his sore side too badly and forced him to lie still. “To create chaos among the Dál Cais and defeat us in battle. But to poison an enemy is the height of cowardice.”

Oriana rested her hand lightly upon his thigh. “In addition to being cowardly, poison is a woman’s weapon.”

Egan turned the idea in his mind. “Are you accusing Ula? While my father never admitted it, I always believed he was still in love with my mother; but Ula was so attentive, I never doubted her love for him.”

“Yet if you’re right, someone wanted him dead,” Oriana mused thoughtfully. “While we were traveling, you described your father’s expertise in settling disputes. Isn’t that usually the Druid’s realm?”

“Aye, they serve as judges and settle most arguments elsewhere, but my father had a passion for justice and truth, and most came to him with their complaints rather than consult Garrick. Garrick led all the festivals though, and conducted the sacrifices with such lavish ceremonies that it never occurred to me he might be bored.”

“Not bored, jealous,” Oriana corrected. “And jealousy can be a terrible flaw.”

The possibility of truth in Oriana’s words sickened him. “I told you Garrick and Ula might be lovers. Perhaps he was also jealous of my father’s hold on the woman he loved. With my father dead, he might have thought he would then be the ultimate judge among the Dál Cais, and he would have Ula as well.”

Oriana had to rub her arms to shake off a chill. “The man has always frightened me, but I think he’d be wary of you. How could he have trusted your fate to Kieran?”

Egan could barely contain a derisive snort. “When I need help to take more than a few steps, I’d say Kieran has justified his faith thus far.”

Oriana needed a long moment to reflect before deciding it was time to reveal her suspicions about Adelaine. “I climbed the stairs to the battlements not to admire the view, but to see where your mother fell to her death. You’ve been on the wall walk; how do you imagine that she could have tripped and fallen through a crenellation when they are so high?”

The hideous sight of his mother’s lifeless body flashed in Egan’s mind, and he quickly shook it off. As a child, he had shut away the tragic circumstance of her death and not examined it since. Now he realized his error.

“She’d not have leapt to her death,” he swore. “She loved my father and me too dearly.”

Oriana laced her fingers in his. “I’ve not spoken of her to spare you pain, but her spirit lingers here with an anguishing sorrow. Could someone have murdered your mother to provide an opening for your father to take a second wife? Then could your father have been murdered to make way for that woman’s son to rule?”

Egan stared at his bride as he considered the years such a fiendish plot would have required. “The Dál Cais have suffered through all manner of treachery, but if Ula’s clan wanted Kieran named king, why was I allowed to live? I’ve traveled alone for years, and I’ve not been set upon by assassins.

“That I’m alive makes it doubtful that Ula’s clan produced anything approaching the evil you imagine. Quite frankly, the whole lot lack sufficient imagination.”

“At this point, we ought not to underestimate anyone,” Oriana stressed. “Madi is related to Ula, isn’t she?”

“Aye, they’re cousins.”

Egan apparently did not think it a significant link, but Oriana did. “Madi’s father is Garrick’s brother, is he not?”

“Aye, Skell resembles him closely, but Garrick arrived here with Ula, not before.” Tired of contemplating murder, Egan pulled her down beside him. “It’s being here in this dank fortress that’s depressed you. In a few days, I’ll
be able to take you out to the forest, where the sunlight will brighten your mood.”

Oriana cuddled against him as though she agreed, but until she had seen him fly and land his wing safely, nothing would bring her good cheer.

Egan took Oriana’s hand in a tender clasp and laid it on his left side. “Your touch eases the pain. Is it an effort for you?”

Oriana’s insides had been twisted in knots since Kieran had cut Egan, and she could not believe her touch could be more than sweetly soothing. “No, but when I’ve caused you this agony, I wish I did possess a gift for healing.”

“I believe you do, and you’re not to blame that I’m in need of it. I’ve never treated Kieran as a brother. You wisely warned me of the danger of creating enemies in my own home, but it was too late. I’ve caused my own misery, and I’ll get myself out.”

“You have to!” Oriana exclaimed.

“Hush,” Egan scolded softly. “I feel better just being with you.”

His compliment pleased her, but even if he had not mentioned her pitiful lack of success at telling fortunes of late, she knew her earlier confession had to have disappointed him.

“You’re not angry that my Stones of Tomorrow aren’t enchanted?” she asked.

“Nay, and at least one of them is,” he murmured.

“Your amethyst?”

“Aye. It led me straight to you.” Egan wished he could laugh as he teased her, but he could not risk more than a sly grin.

Oriana’s curiosity made her bold. “If my touch eases your pain through your tunic and bandage, wouldn’t it feel even better against your bare skin?”

It was a logical assumption, but Egan had spent so long donning his tunic, the thought of removing it exhausted him. Having to gaze down at his wound was also distasteful. “Slip your hand under my tunic and rest it lightly on the bandage. Give me a moment to judge how that feels before I strip down to my skin.”

Fearing she would cause him more pain, Oriana slid her hand slowly under his tunic and ran a tentative caress over the linen bandage. She was cautious, but her arm brushed across his groin, and immediately aroused, he moaned deep in his throat.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—” she apologized.

Egan locked his fingers around her wrist before she could withdraw her hand. “I’m a man, and it’s natural for me to respond to your touch. Relax and just rest here with me a while longer. Then maybe I’ll feel well enough to engage in something far more entertaining.”

She knew precisely what entertainment he had in mind, and fearing he would rip out his stitches and leave them both awash in his blood, tranquility eluded her. She lay pressed against his side, and attempted to replace the bloody images cluttering her mind with the serenity of the forest. She was only partly successful, but she was greatly relieved when Egan’s breathing slowed, and he returned to his dreams. Oriana remained convinced the falcons had inspired Egan’s ancestors to craft wings. There was much to be learned from the elegant birds, and she hoped Egan would soon be well enough to venture out and observe them.

Ula circled the men who argued over how to best construct a wing, but Kieran ignored her summons until he
was satisfied they had hit upon the best method. He then followed her to her chamber, and the instant he had closed the door, she began to berate him in a furious shriek.

“Egan should already be dead. He was pale, wavering slightly as he stood, and if you’d only taken up a sword against him, he’d have offered no more resistance than a kitten. But no, you had to take to the skies!”

Kieran caught her wrist before her palm grazed his cheek, but he was more amused than offended. “You voiced your opinion on the subject last night, Mother, but my choice was already made. Father seldom accepted your advice. Why do you expect me to heed it?”

“You are my son,” Ula reminded him in a threatening hiss.

“And also Cadell’s,” Kieran countered smoothly. “I will be king, but I’ll win that honor in my own way. Egan will be no more able to fly in six days than he could have fought me today. But by choosing the wings, I’ve shown a daring no other man can match. Mark my words, it will serve me well when I rule.”

Ula dug her nails into her palms and welcomed the pain. “Cadell would have struck swiftly. He’d not have given an enemy six days to prepare. I pray your arrogant bid for glory doesn’t cost you the crown.”

“It’s already mine,” Kieran boasted proudly. He risked stepping close to kiss her cheek, but hurried out the door before she could again raise her hand to him.

Kieran had once been a dutiful son, and though Ula was proud to have raised such a handsome and clever young man, she soundly cursed his defiance. Even worse, he had shamed her by noting how frequently Cadell had dismissed her opinions.

She had loved Cadell with all her heart, but to her great despair, she had never truly won his. She had given him a fine son, but as the firstborn, Egan had been a constant reminder of the dear wife he had lost. Cadell had mourned his beloved Adelaine with his dying breath.

Ula knotted the ends of her long sleeves as she paced her chamber, and, not satisfied to rely on Kieran’s luck to hold, she began to plot ways to destroy Adelaine’s son on her own. What was needed was a vicious enemy to do the deed, and she swiftly recalled how Egan had battled Duncan O Floinn over the bitch he had brought home. Perhaps Duncan would relish another chance to fight Egan, and she would gladly award him the haughty Oriana as the victor’s prize.

Delighted by the prospect of ridding the fortress of two distressing problems, she ran to her door. Garrick would know how to summon Duncan, and she rushed down the winding stairs to find him.

Kieran found Madi strolling the bluff, her hair blowing with the beauty of silk ribbons in the wind. He accurately assessed her mood from the stiffness of her shoulders, and after reaching her side, he remained quiet until her curiosity got the better of her, and she glanced up at him.

“Have you missed me?” he asked.

Madi’s first impulse was to shove him off the bluff, but she controlled it. “What is there to miss in a suitor who fails to value my virtue?”

Kieran feared all women were as vain as his mother, and because flattery worked so well on Ula, he relied upon it now. “What of a suitor who would rather become king himself than have to beg for the privilege of wedding his lady? I’ve risked my life for you, Madi. No man could offer more.”

“You’ll risk your life, but not your pride,” Madi repeated numbly. “Why should that please me?”

“No man worthy of the name will sacrifice his pride for a woman,” Kieran argued. “But think what you will. In six days I’ll be king of the Dál Cais, and regardless of how fine a dowry your father provides, I’ll match it. Now kiss me as you always have.”

Rather than turn toward him as he took her hand,
Madi continued to gaze out at the sea, where the sifting gray-green mirrored her own fractured mood. She recognized the mention of a simple kiss as yet another attempt to lure her into his bed before they were truly wed.

“While it appears unlikely, what if Egan should win the challenge? Will you again refuse to have him arrange our marriage?” she asked.

Shocked by the lack of faith her question implied, Kieran grabbed hold of her tiny waist and pulled her close. His dark eyes narrowed as he exposed her query for the folly it was. “Has it not occurred to that devious mind of yours that if I lose, I’ll not be welcome here? My brother won’t arrange our marriage; he’ll likely toss me out the gate. Rather than a wife, I’ll have need of a sword and a fleet horse.”

The sun turned her hair a rich blue-black, and the salty breeze whipped at her long gown. The sea mimicked the roar of a wildly cheering crowd. Despite the combined assault on her senses, her thoughts remained crystal clear. She had always loved him, but if she gave herself to him and he lost the crown, then she would be left with nothing, not even her pride. He wanted so much more than a kiss, but had not even considered how dearly it might cost her.

She placed her hands upon his chest and shoved hard. “If it’s only the king who’ll need a wife, then come to me when you’re our king, and not before.”

Rather than release her, Kieran wound a hand in her hair and bent her head back for a bruising kiss. He punished her with his lips until she was breathless. Then he strode off the bluff intent upon finding Fiona, who would welcome him with gentle laughter and eager kisses rather than tedious arguments over pride.

Albyn had set out early in the day to speak to Quill, but he was unable to find anyone who could actually swear to having seen the bard in the bailey that morning. When he finally found the poet asleep in the stable, he had to bend down and shake him awake.

Quill yawned and stretched, but as he took in his unexpected surroundings, he could not imagine why he had spent the night with the horses. He only dimly recalled a buxom lass who had begged him to sing after they had made love, but doubted he had bedded her there.

His harp lay at his side with nary a string broken, but his clothes were wrinkled, and one foot was bare. He rose shakily, and after waving Albyn aside, searched for his missing shoe. When at last he found it buried beneath the straw, he slipped it on and carried his harp out into the sunlit afternoon. He smelled more like a horse than he cared to, but with the fortress so crowded, he thought he would be lucky to find a bucket in which to bathe.

“I’ve need of you, Quill,” Albyn confided.

The name rang with a painful echo in the bard’s head, and he raised a hand to plead for silence. “It matters not at all what you need, Druid. It is an inopportune time.”

Albyn rested his hands on his hips. Quill appeared to be a few years older than he, but that might have been due to a hard night that had left his fair hair tangled, his face puffy, and his eyes bloodshot and weary.

“My name is Albyn. I’ve not seen you so disheveled. I’ll walk you to your chamber, and we’ll talk while you prepare for the evening.”

“The two of us won’t fit in my humble chamber. Indeed, I can barely turn around when alone.” He covered a wide yawn and shoved his hair out of his eyes. A man of medium height, he had to squint to avoid the sun’s glare as he looked up at Albyn.

Albyn gestured broadly. “Then you must come to mine. While modest, there is ample room for the discussion I require.”

Puzzled, Quill frowned unhappily. “Is this about the lass? If you want her, we’ll have no quarrel. She is yours.”

Albyn had to laugh. “The lass I want would not leave me at risk of being trampled while I slept. Now come along.”

“Is it a song you want?” Quill asked as they climbed the stairs.

Albyn waited until they had entered his chamber to answer. Its size was more suitable to the lad he had been, but it was still adequate for his needs. “I want more than music. Sit on the bed if you like,” he invited. “You’ll find it far softer than the straw clinging to your hair.”

Quill sank down on the bed, and then had to fight the temptation to stretch out upon it. He felt stiff and sore. Worse yet, the gap in his memory made him wonder if he would even recognize last night’s companion when she next appeared. Because he greeted every pretty lass with a smile, he hoped he would not offend her.

Albyn leaned against the wall and folded his arms across his chest. “Your rhymes are clever and everyone is humming your tunes. How long have you been here?”

Quill was far too smart not to recognize a compliment often preceded a curse, but he bowed his head as though he were extremely flattered. “I’m pleased you appreciate my talents. This will be my fourth winter at the fortress.”

“Good. You’re present at most gatherings. I’d like you to recall the time before Cadell fell ill. Were there any unusual visitors? Had he settled any violent disputes? Had he been involved in any bitter arguments himself? What of Ula? What was her mood this last summer?”

Quill came fully alert. He listened attentively to each of Albyn’s questions and grew increasingly frightened by their direction. “What are you seeking?” he blurted out.

“The truth. What do you recall?”

Quill clutched his harp tightly on his lap. “Cadell heard all manner of disputes, some serious, some silly. Most involved stray cattle or lambs whose ownership was questioned. One man accused another of seducing his wife. But Cadell always listened to each complaint with a thoughtful frown, and he settled every argument with admirable wisdom.”

“What did he do with the unfaithful wife?”

“The couple had no children, so he advised her to
divorce her husband and return to her father. The husband was glad to be rid of her, and the second man eager to pursue her. All were happy.”

“Aye, Cadell created remarkably peaceful times,” Albyn murmured thoughtfully.

“Prosperous as well,” Quill added, but his glance quickly shifted toward the floor.

“Speak. It will go no further,” Albyn encouraged.

“Do you take me for a fool? You are Egan’s friend.” In a flash Quill’s expression filled with dismay. “Did I sleep right through the final challenge?”

“Nay, wings are being built so that Kieran and Egan may fly on the eve of Samhain.”

Quill could barely contain himself then, and his fingers played nervously over his harp. “They mean to fly? Then I’ve verses to compose and must go.”

Albyn just shook his head. “I heard that along with Cadell, many fell ill. Were you among them?”

“No, but then I eat scraps from the kitchen, rather than dine at his table.”

“So, you do believe that he was poisoned,” Albyn observed.

“I’ve accused no one!” Quill sent an apprehensive glance toward the door, but feared Albyn would surely block his way if he tried to flee. He felt trapped, and hoping to escape, pointed out the obvious. “If someone did poison Cadell, it wouldn’t have been in the great hall where others would have witnessed the deed.”

“Of course not,” Albyn agreed. “But you have no suspicions?”

Again, Quill looked away quickly. He did indeed harbor a few dangerous thoughts, but so did many others at the fortress. His life had been good there, however, and he wanted it to continue in the same fashion. But he did feel he owed Cadell more than strained silence.

“I wrote a song for Cadell that he cautioned me to sing only for him,” Quill reluctantly revealed. “It was of Adelaine, whom he had adored. Often in the evenings, he
would pretend to listen as Ula spoke at length on whatever caught her fancy, but his gaze was filled with the same longing as when I sang of his beloved Adelaine.”