Lady of Conquest (36 page)

The gleaming sword Conn brandished in the air left little question that he meant what he said. The meadow quietened.

Conn’s voice was as soft as Gelina had ever heard it. “Stand and fight, Eoghan Mogh. Fight . . . or die.”

Gelina felt a restraining hand on her shoulder and knew Sean had seen her step forward. Her frantic glance drew a flat shake of his head and the hand on her shoulder tightened.

She flinched as Eoghan swung at Conn with a clumsy two-handed motion. Conn ducked with a bitter laugh that sent a shiver down Gelina’s spine as she remembered a hot summer night when that laugh and that sword had been for her.

“You scurvy dog,” Conn cried. “Did your father never teach you to fight? Or do you know who your father was?”

Conn’s sword crashed into Eoghan’s. Eoghan’s lips were set in a tight line, his arms extended stiffly in front of him.

“You shall die like the coward you are, swine,” Conn hissed, his blade lashing across Eoghan’s arm. A thin line of crimson appeared on the ragged tunic. Cries for more blood rent the air.

Through the fog of her fear, Gelina heard Sean whisper, “If Eoghan surrenders beneath the weight of Conn’s insults, the battle will be done.” The scene swam in front of her as tears of relief and love sprang to her eyes.

Eoghan backed toward the forest, his eyes dark and fearless. Conn stalked him. “The Castilian bitch you married is a common whore, Eoghan.”

For a breathless moment Eoghan’s eyes rested on Gelina, and she knew with certainty that his next words would be his last. His lips parted, then closed again. Gelina felt Sean’s hands rub her shoulders in wordless support as her legs wavered beneath her.

With a wild cry Eoghan charged Conn, his sword aimed at Conn’s heart. Conn easily stepped aside, disarming Eoghan with a twist of his wrist. Eoghan fell among the damp leaves and rolled over to find the tip of Conn’s sword pressed to his throat.

Conn’s voice shook with emotion. “You are the son of a whore, Eoghan Mogh.”

“That I am,” Eoghan bellowed, his clear words stunning the triumphant cries into silence. “Truer words were never spoken. Our mother was a whore, and you, my dear brother, are a bastard.”

Conn drew back his shaking sword to ram it into Eoghan’s throat. “Even as you die, filthy, lying words spew from your lips.”

A determined bulk propelled itself from the shadows of the forest into their midst without bothering to curtsy.

There was only the sound of a gasp high among the branches of the oak as Moira’s voice rang out. “Cease, Conn. I cannot let ye slay yer own brother.”

Gelina buried her face in Sean’s tunic as Conn sank to his knees beside Eoghan, his sword falling unheeded to the leaves.

Conn’s lips moved, but no sound came forth. Eoghan Mogh stood and paced a few feet away, sparing a glance laced with contempt for Conn. The men parted to let Moira through until she stood in front of Conn. He raised dazed eyes to her, and Gelina strained to hear her soft words.

“Forgive me. Ye have to know the truth . . . before ‘tis too late.”

Sean stepped forward, clearing his throat. “Shall I send the men away, Conn?”

Conn shook his head. “They may stay. They deserve the truth. They are my brothers.” His eyes fell on Eoghan, who stood with arms crossed. The blue of his eyes met the cold blue of Eoghan’s glare, and he flinched. “The truth, Moira, please.”

Moira nodded, the burden of thirty-six years of silence slipping from her shoulders. “Yer mother was promised to Eoghan’s father when she was a little girl. They were wed, but Ulad Mogh had little time or concern for his young bride. Maureen was a gentle child, and his blustering, drunken ways terrified her. A year passed and she bore him a son they called Eoghan.”

Conn did not raise his eyes.

“I cannot lie to ye. Maureen would never have betrayed Ulad or her infant son. That child was the light of her joyless existence. But one summer day, when she was bathing in a stream alone, a warrior appeared from nowhere on a huge steed as black as the night. Her comely form and timid eyes were too much for him. He forced his love upon her.”

Conn turned desperate eyes to Gelina. She ached to reach out to him.

Moira continued, “The warrior was Feidlimid Rechtmar—the Lawgiver, king of the province of Meath. But the conqueror became the conquered. Having tasted of the joy he found in Maureen’s arms, he found he could not live without her and he wooed her to win her love and soothe the brutality of his first advances.” Moira’s lips curved at the memory. “She would return from their meetings with her eyes blazing like the sun. I was young and foolish myself and found the elaborate schemes we devised to bring them together a diverting game, never realizing the danger lurking beneath their love.

“When Ulad discovered her infidelity, he became a wild man to discover that the woman who lay so stiff and full of fear in his bed gave herself freely and with joy to another. He beat her, threatening to kill her and the unborn child she carried that was not his. Although a part of her heart remained behind, she fled with her lover, leaving her firstborn with his father. She did so with the knowledge that Eoghan was the one thing Ulad Mogh did love.”

Moira knelt before Conn, a plea for the beautiful, tormented Maureen in her dark eyes. “So she came to the fortress of Feidlimid and bore ye, Conn. Ye grew strong in the shadow of their love. Tara rang with yer laughter. Sometimes I would catch Maureen staring over the moors, and I knew she thought of Eoghan.”

Moira ignored Eoghan’s derisive snort. “When Ulad Mogh died a drunkard’s death, my sister, who had remained behind to look after Eoghan, sent the lad to Tara. At his own request, he was introduced as the son of a sister who had never existed.”

“We fought like wild beasts all summer,” Conn murmured.

Moira nodded. “Eoghan begged to return to my sister. He wanted no part in the life Maureen had found for herself in Feidlimid’s arms. It broke yer mother’s heart to say farewell to her firstborn son for the last time, but she sent him away. Your parents’ past eluded ye and followed them to the burial cairn they share in the distant hills.”

A breeze boding rain rustled the leaves. Eoghan’s bitter laughter rang out.

“What a touching tale, Moira! Why should I have wanted any part in the life of the woman who deserted me so she could raise her bastard child? Conn was so sweet. Conn was such a good child—so handsome and skilled. I was an intruder here. There was no room for legitimacy at Tara.”

Conn, who had listened to the end of her story with his face buried in his hands, looked up at Eoghan coldly.

Eoghan taunted him. “How many bastards have you sprinkled about the countryside, Conn? How many young girls have you forced to spread their legs in the name of the kingship, so you could slake your lust? ‘Tis in your blood, you know. You cannot help it.”

Eoghan’s bitter gaze scanned the crowd. As it rested on Gelina’s stricken face, a brief wave of remorse traveled through him.

“Take him away,” Conn commanded flatly.

Sean roughly wrapped the chains around Eoghan’s wrist and led him to a horse. Conn did not move as the soldiers filed away, mounting their horses one by one, their faces grim.

Moira touched his arm with a gentle hand. “I never meant to hurt ye, Conn. Just as Eoghan vowed on his father’s deathbed never to shame his family by revealing his mother’s betrayal, I vowed to your mother that if either of ye threatened the other, I would reveal what I knew. Forgive me.”

Conn could not speak. He touched her hand with his before getting to his feet and going to Silent Thunder, his shoulders bowed in defeat.

“Conn?” Gelina breathed as he mounted. He ignored her and spurred the horse into a gallop without a word.

Dark clouds billowed across the horizon; an oppressive fog rolled over the drumlims toward the meadow. Gelina rubbed her bare arms as gooseflesh rose unbidden to her skin. She stood alone staring at nothing until Nimbus swung down to land in front of her.

“Gelina?” he said softly, touching her knee.

She lowered her eyes to meet his concerned gaze. “I have to go after him.”

“I wish ye would wait.”

She took his hand and squeezed it. “I cannot.”

“Take care. He may be in no mood to receive ye,” Nimbus warned.

“It would not be the first time.”

She lifted her skirts and ran to where the last soldiers mounted their horses. She could see Conn disappearing in the distance, driving Silent Thunder into the cloying fog. A soldier stared in astonishment as she ran up to him and jerked the reins from his hands.

“I must have your mount,” she demanded breathlessly.

Knowing who she was, he clambered down from the horse’s back, mumbling a few protests but not daring to refuse. His mouth fell open as she leapt upon the horse, paying little heed to the position of her skirt, and kicked the mare into a gallop.

The fog enveloped them in a velvet curtain of gray. Gelina slowed the horse to a walk as she approached the forest where Conn had disappeared. The mare quivered at the unfamiliar weight on its back. She ran a soothing hand down its neck. The muffled crackle of the wet leaves beneath the horse’s hooves cut through the impending darkness. The foliage glistened with moisture from the fog swirling through the trees. Gelina wished for a torch as a nightbird cackled in her ear, startling her. She steadied her shaking hands with effort, murmuring to comfort both herself and the mare. They moved deeper into the silent forest.

She longed to call out to Conn but was hesitant to shatter the silence. She cursed herself for neglecting to strap on the jeweled dagger Conn had given her. Every muscle tensed as the mare picked its way through an underbrush that had yet to lose the thickness of summer. The horse stumbled as its hoof caught on a root.

Gelina grasped the mane, the reins slipping from her sweaty palms. The horse charged, and she slid from its back, landing on her bottom with a cry of despair. The mare disappeared into the fog. Climbing to her feet, she peered around, fighting the panic that rose in her throat. The fog and fallen leaves conspired, rendering it impossible to retrace her path.

Sitting down on a fallen stump, she struggled to catch her breath. Her eyes fell on the ashes at her feet. Leaning forward, she touched her fingers to them but could not decide if the faint warmth she felt radiated from her own fingertips or from some recently deserted fire.

Her nervousness grew. She scanned the trees, feeling a cold gaze that prickled the tiny hairs at the nape of her neck. Panic conquered her, and she rose and fled deeper into the protection of the forest. Her sandals flew off; branches slapped across her cheeks; her hair caught on an obstinate twig. She jerked it free, not daring to slow her flight. A relentless crackling pursued her through the woods.

As the crackling grew in intensity, she looked back in terror without slowing her driven flight. That flight ended as she came up against a solid barrier. Strong arms encircled her.

She turned in horror to find herself caught against Conn’s broad chest. He stared down at her, his eyes dark with concern. Throwing her arms shamelessly around his neck, she buried her face in his tunic. His hands rubbed her back, trying to still her violent trembling. The hushed drip of the leaves surrounded them. The silent underbrush revealed no secrets.

He led her to a clearing where he had begun to build a shelter of interwoven pine branches. A small fire blazed within, dispelling the gloom and chill. Settling her in front of the fire, he took off his tunic and laid it across her shoulders. He sat back and studied her, a question in his eyes.

“I followed you. I lost my horse. Well, actually it wasn’t even my horse,” she said lamely. She rubbed her forehead in dismay. He raised his eyebrows, leaving her to continue faintly, “I thought I was being followed. I was afraid.”

He picked up a stick and stirred the fire, his voice cold and distant. “Did it ever occur to you that I came here because I wanted to be alone?”

“I didn’t think you should be alone,” she stammered. “You’ve had a trying day.”

His laugh was bitter. “To find out my whole life has been a lie? You call that a trying day?”

She pulled his tunic tight around her. “Your parents loved each other and you. Your mother was a braver woman than mine. She did what she had to do.”

Gelina stared into the fire. The flames cast gold highlights across her tangled hair, leaving her eyes in shadow.

When he did not speak, she continued, “As for being Ard-Righ, you know as well as I that ruling in Erin has never been a matter of lineage but a matter of the sword. Even your father was not brave or wise enough to unite the kings of Erin.”

Conn rammed a stick into the fire with a scowl. “What do you know about my father’s history? You’re only a child.”

“That is odd. You didn’t seem to find me so childish last night. And I didn’t seem to be a child this morning when I awoke to find you—”

“Stop!” he commanded.

Gelina cursed in frustration, unshed tears standing in her eyes.

Conn chose his words with care. “After you ran away to Rodney, Nimbus told me you loved me. I did not believe him.”