Lady of Conquest (14 page)

There was sudden silence below his chin. “Do you think Moira will make us some tarts?”

He chuckled softly. “Leave it to the mention of food to cheer you.” His voice became serious again. “I have one thing to ask you before you raise those damned eyes and make me guilt-ridden again.” She tried to raise her head but he kept his chin firm upon it. “Please, Gelina, stay out of the weaponry room.” He stroked her arm. “And please, Gelina . . . forgive me.”

There was only a subtle nod to indicate she had heard him but it was enough for Conn. He rubbed his cheek against her hair, his eyes pressed shut.

Bounding out of bed, Gelina ran to the window and threw open the shutters. This was the day. The warm sun slanted across her cheeks in a fresh way. Beneath the shield of night the world had melted to green. It was not the deeper green of summer that clung to the grass, but the minty green of new leaves unfurling, shiny and wet, a green that could be blown away by a strong breath. A light mist blanketed the mountains in the distance, covering its final victim before being deposed by the warm sun. From far away Gelina could hear the resonant cry of the bittern echoing her joy.

She dressed, pulling on a simple linen dress that laced up the front and fell to mid-calf on her tall frame. Standing in front of the mirror, she ran the ivory brush through her curls, then leaned forward to examine her image. Had it been her imagination or had the dress been more time consuming to lace this morning?

She ran a curious hand over her chest and murmured, “Surely I’m not developing bosoms.”

“Why not? ‘Tis about time, is it not?” Nimbus stood in the doorway, a cocky smirk on his face.

“Oh!” Gelina shrieked, drawing back her arm to hurl the brush at him. “Haven’t you ever heard of knocking at a lady’s chamber?”

He stretched out his arms in a plea, also prepared to use them to ward off the brush. “Now, Gelina, I was only jesting.”

She lowered her arm, waiting until he lowered his. As he relaxed, she tossed the brush underhand, hitting him soundly in the solar plexus.

“Oof!” He doubled over and stretched out on the floor.

Gelina rushed over, fearful her surprise blow had killed him. Kneeling, she shook him by the shoulder.

“Aye, from this angle I’d say ye’re definitely developing bosoms.” His grin caught her off guard, and he grabbed her hand before it could reach the hairbrush. She succumbed to his pleas and helped him to his feet.

“Is Conn still abed?” she asked, knowing Nimbus made morning rounds of the castle to find out just who was sleeping in which chamber with whom.

“He’s been up since dawn. Surely ye don’t forget he leaves on the morrow.” Nimbus watched her from the corner of his eye.

She shrugged as if Conn’s departure were the furthest thing from her mind. The shrill sound of a rising female voice shattered the quiet of the corridor as they approached Conn’s chambers. With the mutual consent of conspirators, they exchanged glances, unable to resist the temptation. Gelina pressed her hand over her mouth to suppress the giggle that threatened to expose them. Nimbus grimaced as Sheela’s enraged voice grated across his nerves.

“I find it hard to believe you choose to spend your precious time with that foundling instead of me.”

Gelina cocked her head, unable to hear the words in Conn’s deep murmur.

Sheela’s voice rose again. “My late husband would have never treated me this way.” Sheela’s voice sank to a nasal whine. Nimbus placed his hands around his throat and made tiny retching noises.

Gelina doubled over, hearing only silence in the room. Evidently Conn had found a different way to silence Sheela, for no sound was heard behind the cracked door for several minutes.

“But she is such an odd creature. More like a lad than a girl. What do you see in the child?” Sheela said, swinging the door open without warning.

The child she referred to drew herself up to her full height and towered over Sheela’s pout of dismay by a good six inches.

“Oh.” Unable to think of a clever word, Sheela stomped her foot and stormed down the hall, ignoring Nimbus’s protruding tongue and bugged eyes.

Conn entered the hall himself, trying to look severe as he surveyed the guilty partners from under arched eyebrows. Gelina flashed him a blinding smile and took his hand in hers. Nimbus followed suit with the other hand. Conn resisted their pull; then his face cracked in a reluctant smile, and he squeezed Gelina’s hand.

“Come, foundling, let us picnic.”

Nimbus pouted. “You always pay more attention to the foundling than me,” he said in perfect imitation of Sheela’s shrill falsetto. He ducked, barely avoiding Conn’s swat to his ear.

Mer-Nod stood in the courtyard, struggling to look dignified beneath the burden of the burlap haversack hung over his shoulder. Nimbus danced behind him, making grotesque faces until Mer-Nod dropped the bag on him with a sly smile.

Conn took advantage of Nimbus’s loud curses to tell Gelina, “I had to invite a bodyguard. I couldn’t take any chances on my last day here.”

Gelina sighed. “You mean one of the Fianna, don’t you?”

“Yes, but I think you’ll approve.”

As if on cue, Sean Ó Finn strode around the corner. He smiled awkwardly at Gelina, remembering their last meeting. She turned to Conn and nodded, her eyes giving him the answer he sought.

With a last kick to Mer-Nod’s shins, Nimbus skipped in front of them and led the procession through the gates. They wandered over the grassy hills, a cool breeze drying the sweat on their brows. Gelina flew from hill to hill, pausing to pluck luxuriant bouquets of violets and bluebells. Conn’s gaze followed her lithe figure, his ears tuned to her throaty laugh. He felt the small shadow of Nimbus sidle up beside him and slowed his long strides until they fell behind the others.

“I have to go away, Nimbus,” he said, without looking down.

“I know.”

“A man like myself—a man of the Fianna—is too restless to bury himself in the comforts of home and hearth and children.”

“Of course, ye must go. I’ve seen that gleam in yer eye, Conn.” Nimbus followed Conn’s gaze to Gelina’s upturned face as she draped a garland of bluebells around Sean’s neck. “That hunger for something fresh and young and untried.”

Conn stared down at him, startled.

“Like Britain, of course,” Nimbus finished.

Conn’s jaw tightened. He returned his gaze to Gelina.

“You’ll take care of her for me, won’t you, Nimbus?”

“Always.”

“She’s just a child in so many ways.”

Nimbus pulled a flute from his pocket. “Who are ye trying to convince? Me or yerself?”

Before Conn could reach for his collar, Nimbus had danced ahead, playing a merry tune. Sean found a grassy knoll free of the prickly gorse, and Mer-Nod sat, resting his back against a tree.

Nimbus continued to play, and Gelina danced beneath the spreading branches of the elm. Her bare feet kicked in the air. With the linen whirling around her tanned legs, she danced like a wood sprite, as elusive as the dew that dried on the grass. Conn grabbed her hands and danced with her as Sean clapped along. They whirled faster and faster. Conn could not tear his eyes away from the sunlight glinting through her auburn curls.

Sean wrestled the flute from Nimbus, and a tune he had practiced on many lonely nights camped on a distant hill rose into the air, plaintive and sweet. Nimbus took three fat apples from the sack of food and tossed them into the air, one by one. Gelina stopped dancing and held up one hand. Tossing them high in her direction, he laughed as she caught one. The other two sailed into her grasp. They hummed in the air as she juggled them until they were a blur above her palms. She sent them in the direction of Conn, Nimbus, and Mer-Nod, who caught them in amazement. A rare, honest smile with no trace of sarcasm crossed the poet’s face.

The noon sun found them eating beef and cheese spread on thick hunks of freshly baked bread. Golden chalices of mead rested beside them. Conn gently poured half of Gelina’s into his own, ignoring her frown.

He leaned over, his breath warm in her ear, and whispered, “I dare not let my charge stumble tipsy into the hall. Moira would have my head.”

She whispered back, giggling as the mead spread warmly through her veins, “Moira did pack the mead, did she not?”

He reached into the sack and pulled forth a flask. “She also packed the goat’s milk.” Gelina frowned. “Do I have to drink it?”

“Certainly.” But even as he spoke, he loosened the cork of the flask and watched the yellow milk dribble to the ground in a steady stream.

Nimbus was asleep and snoring loudly. Mer-Nod and Sean were deep in conversation over an ancient piece of poetry.

Gelina touched Conn’s beard absently, the drone of a nearby honeybee deepening her sleepy reverie. “Conn?”

“What?”

“I don’t think I’ve ever been so happy.” She rolled over on her stomach in the soft grass and plucked a long blade, running it along her chin.

He understood. Not even in that fallen castle so far away had she been this happy.

He took his hand in hers and sighed, “What shall I do without you these long months, warrior?”

She pulled her hand away and smiled. “You must bring me a gift.”

He growled, “Just like a woman. And what does your heart crave, milady?”

“I would like a dress.”

Conn’s eyes widened in real amazement. “Surely a handsome pair of breeches would be more to your liking.”

“No. I want a red, gold, and green dress.”

“Leave it to you to choose the most garish colors in the spectrum,” Conn laughed. “Has Nimbus got you signed up for the traveling fair?”

The dwarf’s sleepy voice came from behind the tree. “She’s good enough for the fair.”

“. . . or the Fianna,” Sean said softly. Conn sent him a warning glance.

“The sun is waning, Gelina. We must return to Tara,” he said softly, pulling her to her feet.

They stood together, their hands entwined, a heart-beat away from moving together or apart. Nimbus had to look away as an unfamiliar sting touched his eyes.

As he turned away, a silhouette of a man appeared over the hill, the sun behind him hiding his features. He loomed over the group like a specter. Only Conn did not seem surprised at his appearance. Mer-Nod turned to Conn with questioning eyes.

Barron Ó Caflin called to the man below, “Conn, the ships await us. The men are aboard.”

Gelina studied her dusty feet, a joyless, knowing smile crossing her face.

Conn turned to the silent group. “I wanted to avoid the ceremony tomorrow. I am leaving now. Mer-Nod will act as regent.”

The chief poet nodded. The matter had been discussed many times since the journey had been birthed in Conn’s mind. Gelina continued to study her feet.

“Sean will remain here as Gelina’s bodyguard since Mer-Nod will have his hands full with managing Erin.” A frown crossed Sean’s face, but he struggled to hide his disappointment as Conn flashed him a grateful smile.

“Your mount is waiting over the hill,” Barron called. He ached to interrupt the scene below. He could not hear the words spoken but he could sense the mood.

Nimbus settled himself against the tree, arms crossed. Gelina did not meet anyone’s gaze. Mer-Nod drew himself taller, feeling the cloak of responsibility settle soundly on his narrow shoulders. Conn looked somber, and Sean Ó Finn, Barron’s childhood friend, looked only resigned. He was not aware that Barron had made the suggestion that he remain at the castle.

Conn clapped his hand on Nimbus’s shoulder. “You, my friend, must rally the spirits of the people. Make sure they keep believing I will return. If they stop believing, it will only be a matter of time before Eoghan conquers Tara.”

Nimbus nodded, aware of his importance as few men were.

In silent agreement Nimbus, Mer-Nod, and Sean Ó Finn began to walk toward the fortress, which was barely visible through the hazy afternoon sky. Barron disappeared over the hill. Gelina and Conn stood alone. She raised her head and stared toward the mountains, away from the shadow of Tara. Her eyes were dry. A breeze lifted the hair from the back of her neck.

“You will come back, won’t you?” she said. Her eyes still rested on the distant hills.

“I have to bring you that dress, don’t I?”

“Red, gold, and green.” It was a statement of fact, not a question. He nodded. With a tired motion she brushed a lock of hair from her eyes. “You should take your leave.”

Reaching out his hand, he turned her face to meet his gaze. Her eyes were strangely cold, the light within them extinguished. Something flickered in their emerald depths. For a fleeting instant he saw the woman she would become, saw the past reflected in the glistening green. Her parents died before his eyes . . . her brother fell to his knees, sending her crashing to the stone . . . and now he left her.

In a moment of sudden clarity he drew in a sharp breath, feeling her pain like a dagger twisting in his vitals. She watched him guardedly as he knelt on one knee, pressing the back of her hand to his lips. He said nothing, and she reached out her hand and stroked his hair, unsure of the unaccustomed gesture. He rose without a word and walked toward the hill without looking back. Watching him disappear over the horizon, she lifted her hand in a halfhearted wave he never saw. Then she turned and sprinted toward the fortress until her breath came in ragged gasps and her side ached.