The Sword and the Song (26 page)

“Rather the opposite,” Aine said. “But I thought you would want to see this.”

Aine nodded to the brother on guard outside the chamber, and he opened the door for them. She waved for Morrigan to precede her.

The woman stopped, a hand flying to her mouth. “It’s him.”

“Aye. It’s him.”

“Did you kill him?”

“Your master did, to keep him from talking. But not before I pulled everything out of his mind. I know. I know what he did to you. And it wasn’t just you.”

Morrigan sank down to a crouch, stunned. “He’s really dead.”

“Aye. He can’t hurt anyone else now.”

She sat there, her face buried in her hands for several minutes, her shoulders shaking with silent sobs. Then she jerked her head up, her eyes panicked. “Did you bring him into the city blindfolded? Unconscious?”

Aine glanced at Conor, who waited in the doorway. He shook his head.

“No. Why?”

“Did you talk about me?”

Slowly, Aine nodded.

A hysterical-sounding laugh slipped out of Morrigan’s mouth. “That was your last mistake. Everything Somhairle saw or knew, Lord Keondric now does as well. The city. Your defenses. My presence. You let him in.”

She straightened from her crouch and visibly pulled the shreds of her emotions together, that hard, calculated expression sliding onto her face again. Then she leaned in close. “You gave me a gift, Lady Aine, so I’ll give you one in return. Take the shield rune and flee, while you still can.”

For the next several days,
Conor shirked his duties around Ard Dhaimhin unapologetically, skipping his morning practices and devotions, refusing to attend even Conclave meetings unless he was specifically summoned. Aine might pretend her experiences with Somhairle and Morrigan hadn’t affected her, but he saw the sick look that crept over her face in unguarded moments. Nothing less than an emergency was going to pull him from her side.

And he found every reason he could think of not to tell Aine about his plans.

She sensed it, though, even if she didn’t pull it outright from his brain. When he asked if she needed to go to the village to work, she merely shook her head and said that the healers could handle it without her. She knew. She had to. And she had to know, too, that his leaving again meant he would miss the birth of his child.

If he came back at all.

He wouldn’t think about that, though. There was no reason to believe this mission was any more dangerous than any of the
others from which he had returned. They had the advantage of speed and surprise. Ard Dhaimhin had gained more resources in the past several months, including a stable of fast horses, which they could use to hopefully stay ahead of Niall and his large parties of slow-moving foot soldiers.

But one night, when they lay in their bed with their limbs tangled together beneath the heavy blankets, Aine finally asked, “When do you leave?”

He didn’t try to deny it. “Four days.”

“For how long?”

“I don’t know. A couple of months, I would think. You’ve heard the talk around Carraigmór?”

“I know you’re going to try to destroy the runes before Niall reaches them, aye. Eoghan told me.”

“You and Eoghan are close now.”

She didn’t even flinch. “He’s been supportive while you were gone. He is a good friend to us, Conor.”

“A better friend to you, I think.” The words spilled out before he could consider how they sounded.

Aine pulled back from him. “I thought we settled this already.”

“I thought we did too. But it seems clear to me that whatever he feels toward you was not brought on by your gift.” He knew he should stop before he dug himself in too deeply to escape, but the part of his mind that prevented those words from leaving his lips seemed to be asleep. “And when I find out that you two have conspired to keep information from me, what am I supposed to think?”

She pushed herself off the bed and lit the torch from the small candle that still burned at the bedside. “You are supposed to trust me. You are supposed to trust
him
. Never have we given you reason to suspect us. Never have we done anything to earn
this . . . insecurity. I don’t know how many times I can tell you that I love you and only you before you will believe it!”

“Then why did I have to hear about the assassination attempt from Eoghan, weeks after it happened?”

She stopped. “Conor, I don’t think you understand how not yourself you’ve been since Ard Bealach. We didn’t want to add to your worries.”

“‘We’ again.”

Aine let out a cry of pure frustration. “Enough! Either you’re going to believe me or you’re not. I can’t keep trying to convince you. Do you think it hasn’t killed me to know there was someone else in Gwydden? Do you think it’s easy to give you the benefit of the doubt when I have that image in my mind? No. But I don’t question your love, Conor. I trusted that you would tell me when you were ready.”

All the blood drained from Conor’s face, leaving him light-headed. “You saw that?”

“Aye, I saw that. I was connected to your mind.” She turned to him again, and he saw the traces of tears on her cheeks. “I saw everything.”

He closed his eyes while he considered his words. He should have known this would come back to haunt him. His wife was a mind reader. How could he ever have thought he could keep this a secret? “Then you saw all there was. One kiss. Ill-advised, aye, but born out of the pain of thinking you were marrying another man. And I came to my senses.” Because his gift had shown her for what she was. Had it not been for that . . .

“Who was she?”

“A sidhe.”

Aine’s startled expression showed that was the last thing she had expected. “The one who wove the glamour.”

“Aye. Pretended to be the daughter Prince Talfryn never had. And I was taken in like the rest of them. Had I not kissed her, we might never have learned the truth.” Conor held up his hand. “I’m not justifying my actions. I’m just saying what happened.”

Aine wrapped her arms around herself, her expression forlorn. “But you don’t deny that you wanted her. I can understand temptation. But the way you kissed her . . .”

A harsh laugh slipped out of Conor’s mouth. “Is that what bothers you? That wasn’t love, Aine, or desire. I wanted to hurt her for ruining my memory of you, for showing me things I didn’t want to see.” The slight look of horror in her eyes just pushed him on. “Like it or not, that’s the man you married: someone who could torture a prisoner for information, someone who could hurt a woman. You might want to believe I’m still the person you knew at Lisdara, but I’m not.”

“I don’t believe that.” She inched closer to him.

“You should. I have blood on my hands. I don’t think you realize how much.”

“And the fact you do tells me you’re not nearly as cruel as you think you are.” Now she was standing before him, between his knees, her hand on his shoulders. “If you tell me that nothing else happened with Briallu, nothing happened.”

She combed her hands through his hair and bent to kiss him. “I still believe in you, even if you don’t believe in yourself.”

She couldn’t have said anything to make him smaller, more unworthy. His arms went around her waist, his head pillowed on the roundness where his child grew. All that she had seen and endured, and she still believed in the goodness of the world. Still saw the best in everyone.

“I don’t deserve you,” he whispered.

In answer, she shifted to sit on his lap. Then her mouth
found his in earnest, and even though he knew for certain that her lips were otherwise occupied, he was sure he heard the echo of her voice in his mind.

Just come back to me.

For the first time since he’d returned to Ard Dhaimhin,
Conor met Eoghan and Riordan in the practice yard at dawn the day before his departure, eliciting raised eyebrows but no questions. He took a wooden practice sword and faced Riordan first.

“Sure you’re up to this?” his father asked, settling into a balanced, comfortable stance.

“Best we find out now. I leave tomorrow.”

And find out he did. Riordan put him through his paces, not giving any quarter. Distracted, Conor lost his sword twice, having to pull out some fancy moves to retrieve it before his father finished him. In the end, he had to admit that it hadn’t been pretty, but he’d managed not to get killed.

“Not bad.” Riordan looked as fresh as he had when they’d begun, even though Conor was sweating and panting like a novice.

“If by ‘not bad’ you mean forgetting every single thing I taught him over the course of two years.” Eoghan shot Conor a look that practically dared him to prove otherwise.

But Conor simply shrugged. “If you expect beautiful technique, I should just yield now.”

“Huh. I hardly expected a philosophical answer from you. What happened to your competitive spirit?”

“I don’t care about competition. Right now I mostly just care about getting home alive again.”

A glint of satisfaction surfaced in Eoghan’s face. “Good. Let’s do that.”

Conor noticed the shift in Eoghan’s usual style immediately, but he didn’t have any time to think about why before the man rushed with a flurry of thrusts and crossways strikes. Gone was the elegant fluidity that marked the Fíréin’s sword work; in its place a direct, effective, almost brutally efficient method that had only one aim: to kill or maim. Instead of letting the pressure force him into foolishness, Conor found himself leaning more on his Fíréin training: proper technique, a fluid rhythm of defense and counterattack. And when Eoghan stepped back, Conor realized that never once had his friend’s blade touched him, nor had his sword left his hand.

“Aye. That’s the way you do it,” Eoghan said with a nod. “Nothing to prove. It’s merely a matter of keeping his sword from you and looking for your opening. When you relax, you win.”

Conor waited until Eoghan’s back was turned before he dropped his guard and turned away. He rolled his shoulders but found that without the tension he’d held while fighting Riordan, he actually felt less tired than before. “Where did you learn that style, by the way?”

“I’ve spent a lot of time in the yards, fighting the kingdom’s men. Seemed like it might be helpful to know their style.”

“Words I never thought I would hear.” Conor worked the kink out of his neck and handed off his sword to his father.
“Considering how much you two have done to brutalize my self-worth, I’ll leave you to it.”

Eoghan and Riordan just grinned at him and took their places facing each other. The clack of wooden swords followed him up the path to the village.

He stopped at the cookhouse on his way to Carraigmór to pick up porridge for him and Aine, noting that the cook put an extra scoop of oats and a handful of dried fruit into one. Conor just smiled to himself. She might think it was her gift that caused people to love her, but it was more likely the fact that she gave of herself without asking anything in return. The people of Ard Dhaimhin reciprocated.

Conor nodded to the night guard still on watch while he pushed the door open. “Breakfast.”

Aine pushed herself up on her elbow, bleary-eyed. “Let me guess. Porridge?”

He grinned, glad to see that her mood had improved. “Aye. What else? At least you’ve got the men in the cookhouse wrapped around your finger.”

Aine took the bowl from him and smiled. “Must be Corrin at the porridge pot this morning. He always tells me that I need to eat more fruit to ensure that the child gets my sweet disposition.”

“As compared to my salty one?”

She shrugged, though a mischievous smile played over her lips. “You’d have to ask him about that.”

“Is there a man in the city who isn’t half in love with you?”

“Aye.”

“Who would that be?”

A wicked little smile. “You, of course. You are
all
the way in love with me.”

“Well, you have that part right.” Aine accepted his kiss and
then sobered. “This is your last day at Ard Dhaimhin. What are you doing?”

“I’m going to go see Morrigan before I leave. Check on the supplies. All the things I’ve neglected.”

“Then I should make a list of items for you to retrieve from the healers’ cottage before you go.” When he gave her a searching look, she said, “Because we agreed that I would stay up at Carraigmór for safety.”

“Right. I’m glad.” Even if it did concern him that she was being so agreeable to the restrictions. Conor took their bowls and leaned down to kiss her good-bye. “Rest. Think of yourself and the baby first. Promise?”

“I promise.”

Oh, aye, there was definitely something up.

He returned his bowls to the small kitchen inside Carraigmór, where they would be washed and returned to the cookhouse down below, then found his way to Morrigan’s door.

“I heard you were back,” she said, standing aside for him to enter. “Come to visit the prisoner?”

“Prisoner? Hardly. Honored but not-completely-trusted guest would be more apt.” He smiled at the face Morrigan made. It was almost like old times, growing up at Balurnan. She had been serious, but he could always get a rise out of her with his teasing.

“Right. Honored guest who isn’t allowed to go anywhere. It seems I have developed amazing powers that allow me to kill people without setting foot outside my chamber.”

“Have you?”

That face again. “Of course not. If that were possible, I wouldn’t still be trapped in here, would I?”

“No, I suppose not.” Conor wandered around the room, but there was nothing to look at as a distraction. She was wearing her men’s clothing again, he noticed, with her borrowed dress
hanging on a hook. Did that mean she had abandoned the pretense of her cooperative, ladylike attitude?

“Why are you here, Conor?”

“I came to say good-bye.” He turned and watched her reaction to the words. “I’m leaving again tomorrow.”

“I thought you might.” She took a seat at the little table on one side of her chamber. “How is Aine taking it?”

“Aine understands the necessity. The sooner I go, the sooner I can be back. Hopefully in time for the birth of our baby.”

“Right.”

He narrowed his eyes. “What? Say what you’re thinking, sister.”

“Ah, so I’m your sister again? Fine. She’s better off without you.”

It was the last thing he’d expected her to say. “What?”

“Surely you’ve seen it, Conor. She doesn’t look well. She’s not sleeping because of you, and it’s harming the baby. Did she tell you about the herbs?”

He frowned. “What herbs?”

“To stop her labor pains. The ones she asked me to get for her.” Morrigan studied him. “She really didn’t tell you. I wonder why that is.”

Conor stared at her with mounting horror. Aine was having labor pains already, and she had kept it from him?

But of course she had kept many things from him, not just that.

He shook off that doubt. “I’m leaving, so it hardly matters. Without me around to disturb her sleep, she’ll feel much better.”

“And if it’s not your physical presence that’s the problem?

“I don’t understand.”

A nasty little smile surfaced on Morrigan’s face. “Come, Conor. I don’t believe you’re that daft. You’ve been at Ard
Bealach. Your wife reads minds. What do you think that kind of stress might do to a pregnant woman?”

Conor’s stomach twisted with the sudden urge to vomit. Could what Morrigan hinted be true? Could Aine have been going through that terror and pain night after night with him? Why hadn’t she told him?

Because she couldn’t. Or she wouldn’t. Knowing Aine, she’d been so concerned about his getting lost in the memories or doing something terrible to himself to make them stop, she’d left herself open to it. Naturally, she would never tell him, because she would never want him to feel the kind of guilt he was feeling now.

“You know, Morrigan, I never took you for malicious.”

“Aine deserves some rest, some peace, away from the trouble you’ve brought her.” She met his eyes, and the hatred there nearly knocked him off his feet. “The malice comes with the fact that I’m glad you get to experience a tiny portion of the pain we’ve felt.”

His flash of anger dissolved immediately into a wave of sorrow. “I’m sorry, Morrigan, for what you’ve been through. And I know that you think you’re looking out for Aine. The difference between you and her is that she can recognize when people truly love her. I’m not sure you can anymore.”

He turned to the door but paused partway. “If you had just been honest with me from the start, I would have defended you to the ends of the earth. But you’ve lied to far too many people about far too many things for me to trust you, and trust is the one thing I’m not willing to risk anymore.”

Conor stepped outside and pulled the door shut. He had no idea if that had been the right thing to say or do. But it was the truth. He couldn’t trust her. He did have to thank her for one thing however: she’d shown him exactly what he had to do when he left.