Dragon's Moon (24 page)

Her heart full, she crept quietly from the room and
followed her father and Eirik down the stairs. They found Abigail and Guaire going over the records of the keep's stores at the main table in the great hall.

Abigail looked up with a smile for all of them, but her eyes were on Ciara when she said, “I am glad you came to say good-bye before leaving.”

“I would have regardless,” Ciara promised. “But we have a question for, um…father.”

Abigail's smile became brighter and the laird's pleasure could be felt in the air around them. So simple a thing, to use the words that had resided in her heart so long.

She wanted to apologize, but both laird and lady's expression revealed an understanding Ciara would never take for granted.

Abigail made sure they were all seated at the table with watered wine before Talorc asked, “What is your question?”

“I should have asked it this morning, but I am unaccustomed to speaking of my secrets.” It was not quite an admission of regret, but close enough. She hoped.

“You will learn it is safe to share them with your family,” Abigail said softly. “I did.”

The laird smiled at her, a silent message passing between them. “What is your question, daughter?” he asked Ciara.

He'd called her daughter many times, but for today was the first time Ciara had allowed herself to accept the title fully. The word now caused a sweet pain inside her. “I possess a sword that Eirik believes belonged to one of the original Chrechte kings,” she said instead of asking about the luminous caves, surprising herself.

And apparently the others at the table as Abigail gasped, Talorc cursed, Guaire said, “Now, that's a treasure to protect,” and Talorc growled, swearing a second time. Guaire did not look worried and Ciara was pretty sure the human mate to her father's second-in-command had nothing to worry about.

“Niall…” her father snarled.

“Has said nothing he ought not to,” Guaire said with the acerbity the seneschal had become known for. He might be almost half the size of his mate, but the man was no
pushover. “But I live here. I see things. I know what he does not say, when he does his best to hide things from me. You might recall I was well aware of the import of your and his Chrechte nature long before he would ever have admitted it to me.”

Her father gave Eirik a significant look and the Éan prince just rolled his eyes. “Think you that the Éan have no secrets we carry generation to generation? Whatever treasure you protect with your covert words and actions, it is safe from my curiosity. Guaire is right in saying that the fact your daughter had a sword of a Chrechte king in the trunk at the end of her bed is a secret worth knowing.”

“Because it means she really is a descendant of the original Faol kings?”

“That and the sword itself has power to help her see visions of the sacred stone.”

“Really?” Abigail asked, her soft brown eyes glowing with interest.

Ciara nodded but kicked Eirik's ankle under the table. He hadn't needed to share that bit of information.

The look he gave her was bland, but his tone was firm. “No more secrets, remember,
faolán
?”

Her father's chuckle stopped the words of protest from fully forming and she simply nodded.

“I take it that is the second sword you wear,” Talorc observed.

“It is.” Eirik went to draw the Faol sword. “Do you want to see it?”

Her father's nod, his eyes filled with a deep desire she never would have expected sent a sharp stab of guilt through Ciara. She should have told him about the sword long before this. She'd known it was special, even if she had not known its true illustrious heritage.

Eirik drew the sword and laid it on the table, the emeralds in the hilt not glowing like they had in her bedroom, but looking magical all the same.

Her adopted father reached out slowly, his blue gaze dark with reverence. “'Tis truly of the ancient Chrechte. Look at the
conriocht
on the handle.”

“Pick it up. Try the warrior's dance with it,” Eirik said in a voice Ciara found compelling, though she found the suggestion odd.

Her father saw nothing wrong with it though, because he did exactly as Eirik suggested. Wielding the sword through the pattern of movement she had seen many times before, he yet managed to make the dance something more than it had ever been.

And Ciara realized the stones in the hilt were glowing now.

Talorc stopped and held the sword like it had been made for him. “The handle is hot.”

“I was taught that none but those of my line could wield the sword given me upon my father's death,” Eirik said. “That it would accept only a Chrechte of righteous heart as its master.”

“It's a sword, not a horse,” Ciara's adopted father said with some disbelief.

Learning carries within itself certain dangers because out of necessity one has to learn from one's enemies.

—L
EON
T
ROTSKY

“A
ye, but it is connected to your
Faolchú Chridhe
through the stones in the hilt,” Eirik claimed. “Our tradition says that the original sacred stone was cut into the large stone used in our ceremonies, and a series of smaller ones.”

“I have never heard of such,” her father replied.

Eirik shrugged, clearly unsurprised. “Originally these stones were held by different members of the family that had been entrusted with the protection and use of the
Clach Gealach Gra
on behalf of our people. Later, some of the smaller stones were lost while others were used in jewelry to decorate weapons that became as important as bloodlines in claiming the title of spiritual leader or king.”

“You believe it was the same among the Faol?” Ciara asked, thinking it sounded right.

Eirik looked down at her. “Aye.”

“So, he is feeling the heat in the handle because he is also of the bloodline.”

“Aye.” Eirik touched her temple as if imparting a truth
directly to her. “Fate sent you to this home for a reason when you lost the last of the family of your birth.”

“I have always believed that.” Abigail reached out to take Ciara's hand and squeezed. “You were meant to be my daughter.”

The lump in Ciara's throat prevented her from replying.

“You are saying any other warrior could not wield this sword just as easily?” her father demanded of Eirik, clearly uncomfortable with the overt emotion swirling around them.

“Exactly.”

“I do not believe it.”

“Call another warrior inside.”

Guaire jumped up. “I'll find Niall and ask him to send a soldier to the great hall.”

Talorc inclined his head in acknowledgment and the seneschal left the great hall. Her father laid the sword on the table. “Was that your question, Ciara?”

“What?”

“Whether I could wield the sword, or not?”

“Oh…uh…no. I did not realize Eirik thought you could, or that some could not. The sword has nothing to do with my question.”

“Directly,” Eirik interjected.

And she nodded in agreement. She could not deny the connection between it and the
Faolchú Chridhe
, not after her waking vision.

When her father just gave her a look of question, she swallowed and prepared to share more of the secrets she'd kept held so close for so long.

“Is this about your dreams?” Abigail asked, clearly trying to help Ciara get the words out.

Ciara swallowed again and then forced the words from her tight throat. “In my dreams, I see the
Faolchú Chridhe
in a vast cavern that glows with a strange green light. It's not torches, but almost as if the walls themselves put off the light. Do you know of caves or a cavern such as this?”

Saying it out loud made it sound even more fanciful than when she thought about it.

Before her father had a chance to answer, Guaire came in with Everett, one of the Chrechte soldiers.

Abigail smiled in welcome, but Talorc wasted no time in indicating the sword on the table. “Use that to demonstrate the beginning sword movements taught to all warriors.”

Everett did not ask why but simply obeyed his laird. However, it was quickly obvious he did not like the sword he was using. His movements lacked grace and the sword looked more like a heavy boulder in his hand the way it moved than a weapon of such impressive craftsmanship.

Nevertheless, Everett finished his demonstration before setting the sword back on the table with a frown.

“It is beautiful, but the weight is all wrong. I'd probably end up cutting my own arm off if I tried to use this sword in battle. Was it a gift sent north by our lady's family?” he asked in confusion.

“Nay. You may leave, Everett.”

Everett shrugged and did so, showing no reluctance to get back to his training.

Eirik crossed his arms and looked at Ciara's father. “Do you still doubt the unique nature of that weapon?”

“Everett is a competent warrior.” Her father's confusion was even more pronounced than his soldier's had been. “He has moved up the ranks and now trains the younger soldiers.”

“But he cannot wield the sword of the
Faolchú Chridhe
.” Eirik evinced no surprise at that turn of events.

“You really think my father is like me, a descendant of the keepers of the stone,” Ciara said with some awe.

“I do. You yourself said that those that remained with that blood in their veins, no matter how diluted, were scattered among the Highland clans.”

“But some must have more connection to the stone than others,” Guaire observed while it was clear Abigail and Talorc were sharing a silent conversation between mates through their mindspeak.

“Aye. They do. You heard the Sinclair say the handle grew heated in his palm?”

“Yes.”

“That is a sign the sword accepts him. It is not enough to carry the blood of original keeper of the stone; it must also call to you.”

No one present who knew Everett and Talorc could doubt Eirik's words, because the warrior and his laird were distant cousins. “Then we should leave it with my father.”

“Not until we have found the
Faolchú Chridhe
.” Eirik's voice said he would not be moved.

He put action to words and slid the sword back into its scabbard.

“But—”

“I agree,” her father said over her objections. “The sword is yours, Ciara, and must remain with you.”

She looked beseechingly at her mother.

But though Abigail gave her a look of understanding, she said, “Your father is right. Please listen to him.”

There was no point in arguing further, so Ciara simply gave a silent gesture of agreement. She didn't have to be happy about it, but she wasn't going to pout like a child, either.

Much.

“What do you think of this oddly lit cavern?” Eirik asked their laird, closing the subject of the sword with finality.

“It is not so uncommon in caves, particularly those with some source of water, to glow as Ciara describes. I can think of none that open into a large cavern like you describe though.” Talorc wrinkled his brow. “You should begin your search with those caves our people have always considered sacred. Mayhap there are passages we are not aware of that lead to this cavern.”

“I do not know why I am certain, but there is no question in my mind that the cavern is deep in the earth,” Ciara said. “It would not be so far a stretch to think there are passages we have forgotten that were once used by our ancestors.”

Her father nodded, not questioning her belief the cavern was deep in the ground. Unlike her brother, the Sinclair laird was clearly not stuck on the idea that the Éan had stolen the
Faolchú Chridhe
.

“Not all such caves are on friendly lands,” Guaire said and then pursed his lips at the look his laird cast him. “Niall does not keep secrets from me, but one.”

Her father jerked his head in acknowledgment.

Further discussion revealed that there were four sets of caves that Talorc knew about which the Faol of the Chrechte had considered sacred for many generations. Two were on Sinclair and Donegal lands, one was located in the MacLeod's holding and one was in the unclaimed forest to the north.

“Mayhap the Balmoral will know of others,” Talorc suggested. “I dinna think they come across the water to perform their sacred rites, so they must have someplace consecrated on the island.”

“We'll start the search there then, after we talk to his elders,” Eirik said, though he didn't sound as if he expected to find the
Faolchú Chridhe
on Balmoral Island.

Her father frowned. “If Ciara's family of birth came from land near the Donegal holding, mayhap you should start there.”

“I don't know if they did,” Ciara said. She knew far too little about her first family's history, she'd come to realize. “After all, Eirik—prince of the Éan—ended up here, though his family used to live in the wild forests of the north, but closest to my former clan's lands.”