When Riordan got to Aine’s role in the reopening of the city, the first real smile touched Conor’s lips. He squeezed her hand under the table. “Somehow I knew you’d be at the center of it.”
He looked around the table. “What are our numbers now?”
“Two and a half thousand Fíréin remain. The rest chose to return to the kingdoms to protect their families. A few hundred warriors have joined us as well as another thousand men, women, and children. Were it not for the burnt fields, we’d have no difficulty feeding everyone, but our resources are stretched thin. We’ll need this year to be our best harvest ever in order not to starve.”
Conor’s hopes plummeted at the new reality of Ard Dhaimhin. So many had come to the city, looking for sanctuary. Would they avoid the war and violence outside only to die of starvation here? For that matter, how long could the Fíréin hope to keep another battle from their doorstep?
“Ard Dhaimhin is vulnerable,” Conor said quietly. “We must reinstate the wards.
“The harp is gone,” Eoghan said. “Smashed, burned. I saw it with my own eyes.” He fished a tuning pin from his pouch and slid it across the table.
Conor handled the ivory pin thoughtfully. He felt nothing—no power, no indication that this was from Meallachán’s exceptional harp but for its fine craftsmanship. He pushed it back to Eoghan. “I may not need it. But I’ll have to experiment with Master Liam’s harp before I know for sure. Brother Gillian might have some ideas.”
The table remained quiet, and once more his stomach pitched. “When?”
“Not long after the siege,” Riordan said. “As far as we can tell, he went peacefully.”
Conor wiped a weary hand over his face. He had been relying on Gillian’s knowledge to figure the wards out. Now that he was gone, it would make his task that much more difficult.
Eoghan pulled the conversation back on track. “Tell us why you don’t need the harp.”
Conor detailed his last two months to rapt attention, giving only the most abbreviated version. He didn’t go into how he had nearly died in a goat pen, how he had debated giving up Ard Dhaimhin’s secrets to save Aine. He certainly didn’t mention Briallu. Aine’s hand tightened on his beneath the table with every new detail.
“What did you learn that might be useful to us here?” Daigh asked.
“I suspect the sidhe’s influence is more widespread than we thought. They’re present in Gwydden. Certain things Haldor said made me wonder if they haven’t been encroaching on the Lakelands as well.”
“Lord Balus warned me as much,” Aine said softly. “Seare is only the beginning. If they are not stopped here, now, there is no hope for the rest of the world.”
Conor slumped back in his chair. She was right. She’d told him of Balus’s words to her, about the evil that would sweep across mankind. This was simply the first battleground. Finally he said, “The wards will only discourage the sidhe from influencing the city, assuming I can rebuild them. We need to find a permanent solution. If they’re allowed to continue their dominion, there will be no Seare left to liberate.”
“I’ve seen that firsthand,” Aine murmured, exchanging a significant glance with Eoghan.
Conor frowned. Since when did his wife and his friend share thoughts?
“Comdiu sent me to retrieve Aine from Ballaghbán,” Eoghan explained. “The sidhe’s influence is particularly strong there. It affected her badly.”
A tinge of pink touched Aine’s cheeks, and Conor’s frown deepened. What on earth was that about? Riordan must have caught the shift in mood because he said, “We should let you rest. You and Aine will want to talk, and you’ve been traveling for a long while.”
Conor should have been relieved—after all, some time alone with his wife was all he’d wanted in the first place—but he couldn’t help but feel that something was being kept from him. He mumbled a polite farewell to the group and offered Aine his arm to escort her from the hall.
After several seconds, he murmured, “What aren’t you telling me?”
She looked genuinely surprised. “About my arrival? About Aron? I’ll tell you everything. I just don’t think either of us is ready to discuss it all tonight.”
“That’s not what I meant. I saw the way Eoghan looked at you.”
Aine stiffened. So he hadn’t been wrong.
“My best friend. Did he . . . ? Has he—?”
“Heavens no, Conor! He loves you. He would never . . . I shouldn’t even tell you this. I wouldn’t know if it weren’t for my gift.”
Aine’s steps sped up, and Conor increased his own to keep pace with her. “If my friend has made some sort of advance toward my wife, I’d like to know.”
“He can’t help it,” she said, a sigh in her voice. “It irritates him. It’s uncomfortable for me. But you have to understand, for the men who were raised here in the brotherhood, it’s a big change to have women around. I suspect we’ll be seeing a lot of weddings this winter.”
She was right, of course. But the idea that his best friend might have feelings for his wife—how could Conor ever look at him the same way again, even if Eoghan never acted on those feelings?
They arrived at their chamber, and Aine pushed through the door without waiting for him. “I shouldn’t have told you. It would have been better for you not to know.”
A horrifying thought occurred to him. He shut the door behind them while he worked up the courage to ask. “You don’t . . . return those feelings, do you?”
She spun, eyes flashing. “How could you ask that? I’m your wife. I love you.”
“Still, things change.” His voice came out choked. What if it were true? She hadn’t wanted to be alone with him. She’d instead encouraged him to do his duty to Ard Dhaimhin—
“Conor.”
His eyes snapped to hers mid-thought. She knew what he was thinking.
“Don’t be an idiot.” She stepped close to him and looked into his face. “I love you and you alone.” She rose on tiptoes and brushed his lips with a kiss that held as much promise as her words.
He ran his hands down her shoulders and bent for another kiss, wishing he hadn’t had the doubt planted in his mind. He should still be careful with her, woo her, win her. It wasn’t as if they’d had a proper courtship. Perhaps Aine just needed to be reminded of the connection they had always shared. He could be patient.
“You don’t need to win me, Conor,” she murmured. “I am already yours.”
Then she was pulling his head down and kissing him hungrily. Her hands roamed his back, then moved to the hem of his tunic and tugged it off over his head.
“Aine,” he whispered, but she silenced him with a long, eloquent kiss.
“I know,” she murmured. “Me too.”
Apparently words were no longer necessary.
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
Alertness seeped into Aine like the spill of early morning light. She stretched and rolled to her side, her hand splaying out beside her and touching warm skin.
Her heart immediately accelerated, carrying off the last bits of sleep. She struggled to keep her eyes closed. After all the mornings she had woken up alone, wishing for her husband beside her, part of her was sure this was a dream, that when she opened her eyes, she would find only empty space.
“I know you’re awake.” Conor’s voice, low and teasing, rumbled in her ear.
A smile crept over her face. “No, I’m not.”
His fingertips brushed her bare waist, and she squirmed away, her smile widening until she couldn’t resist it any longer. She opened her eyes and found herself looking into his beautiful gray-blue ones. He lay on his side, head propped on his hand, watching her with an expression that made her already-rapid heartbeat stutter. “Good morning, love.”
“Good morning to you, husband.” She loved the way the word sounded on her tongue. “Have you just been lying here watching me sleep?”
“Of course not,” he said, but his smile gave lie to the words. Aine shut
the door to his mind the best she could, but images still seeped around the barrier. They made her want to blush.
“What are you thinking?”
He smiled. “You first. It’s only fair. You can already read my thoughts.”
“You’ll think I’m ridiculous.”
“Try me.” He took her hand and twined their fingers together between them on the mattress.
Her smile faded. “When I was in Aron, I’d sometimes dream about waking up and having you there beside me. I’m half-afraid I’m going to wake up and find myself alone.”
“I’m sorry, Aine.” He brought their joined hands to his lips and kissed her fingers, one by one. “I promise you, it’s not a dream. And I don’t intend on going anywhere.”
The love that radiated through his words and shone in his eyes turned her insides to warm honey. Then she sighed. “You might as well tell me. You’re trying to focus, but little shreds of your thoughts keep slipping out. What about the wards?”
Conor laughed and rolled away from her. “This gift of yours is going to take some getting used to.” He reached for his tunic and trousers on the floor, giving her a view of his muscled back. She smiled. Good thing he couldn’t read her mind. They had too much to do today to get distracted this early.
“The wards?” she prompted, as much for her benefit as his.
He stopped and turned, trousers donned, tunic in hand. “I’m going to try to rebuild them.”
“Now? What about the harp?”
“I don’t need Meallachán’s harp. I learned that while in Gwydden.” His lips dragged upward into a slow grin. “I meant to tell you; I was just . . . distracted.”
She bit her lip against the impulse to smile. “You can rebuild the wards with anything?”
“I think so. It has more to do with being able to control the magic. I suspect there could be others with the power to affect the wards if they have another way to direct it. For all we know, if music isn’t required, it might not have been Meallachán and the harp that broke the wards at all—just someone who has an understanding of the old magic.”
“That doesn’t make sense.”
“Doesn’t it? Since when does it make sense that I should be able to play a ward into existence? It’s like Meallachán explained to me at Lisdara: music is one of the last pure gifts of heaven left. For me it was the first indication that there was anything different about me. Whatever my intrinsic gift is, it comes out in music.”
“And mine comes out in healing?”
“No. I think your gift is empathy, and healing is only a small part of it. That’s why you draw people to you, why people seem to love you at first sight, why you have the ability to read minds now.”
“You have no idea,” she murmured. She hadn’t even had the chance to tell him all that had happened at Forrais. He looked at her questioningly, but she shook her head.
If Conor’s gift wasn’t music, if it simply emerged through music, what was it?
“You think you can do it?”
He nodded.
“Then I’m going with you.” She slid off the side of the bed, taking the coverlet with her as she retrieved her own dress from the floor. She felt his eyes on her as she slipped on the chemise and heard the ideas rattling through his head, suddenly distracted from his thoughts of wards and magic. A giddy laugh bubbled up inside her. “I know you’re looking.”
“I’m not going to be able to slip anything past you, am I? Let’s go find something to eat before we summon the Conclave.”
“I need to comb my hair first.”
He wandered to a low table, where Aine had set out her personal items: the decorative brass mirror, a coil of ribbon, a carved wooden comb. He picked up the comb and gestured for her to sit.
“You’re going to fix my hair?”
“I reckon I can manage a simple braid.”
Aine smiled as she climbed back onto the bed and turned her back toward him. He tugged the tangled strands, taking care not to hurt her as he combed them smooth. She shivered as his fingers brushed her neck and shoulders while he worked. She didn’t need to look at his thoughts to know he was doing it on purpose. Finally he decided to stop torturing her and braided her hair into a thick plait, tying the bottom with a piece of the ribbon on the table.
“There. I’ll never be mistaken for a lady’s maid, but it’s neat enough.”
She twisted around and let her gaze travel over him, drinking him in. Her husband, equal parts warrior and musician. He bore a few more scars than she remembered, but his manner was as gentle as ever, holding the delicate comb in calloused hands. Her heart knocked with painful intensity.
He’d changed. He’d always been serious and intense, but now he possessed a new air of gravity, a somberness. Was it that he’d seen too much that couldn’t be undone, or was it just a sign of maturity? After all they had been through, they couldn’t help but change and grow.
“What is it?” she asked.
He toyed with the end of her braid. “I can’t help feeling like this was in some way my fault.”
“How? You weren’t even here.”
“That’s my point.” He took her hand, absently brushing his fingers over the back of it. “I would do anything for you, Aine. From the moment I saw you, I’ve known . . . there is nothing I wouldn’t sacrifice for you.”
A small kernel of dread grew in her chest. “And I, you. We were meant to be together. Don’t tell me you’re doubting that again.”
“No, no.” He smiled and laced his fingers with hers. “But I thought it was my duty to protect you at all costs. I should have understood that you are chosen by Comdiu. He will protect you, with or without me. He tried to teach me that lesson while I was at Ard Dhaimhin, when I thought you had drowned, but I didn’t learn it.”
“I don’t understand what you’re saying.”
“I’ve had a lot of time to think about it. The plans of men succeed only where Comdiu allows it. That’s something Master Liam used to say. I think the storm was for me. Had I just put you on the ship like I was supposed to, the storm never would have come; you would have been safe in Aron. I wouldn’t have had to be in captivity to learn the lesson Comdiu wanted to teach me.” His voice roughened. “I could have fixed the wards and no one would have had to die.”
“Look at me.” When he didn’t respond, Aine repeated herself, her voice harder. “This is too much responsibility to take on yourself. If you had not rescued me at Glenmallaig, I would be dead.”
“Comdiu would have rescued you.”
“He did. He sent you to me. Conor, you cannot second-guess your choices. Perhaps we didn’t do the things we should have. I thought some of the same things you did, that I was being punished for my lack of obedience. But Comdiu made me see the truth. He does not condemn those He has called. He corrects us, aye. In my case, it took a Companion chastising me for my disobedience. But He is not finished with me.”
Conor nodded, but his gaze never moved from their joined hands. It took all her will not to delve into his mind and see what still troubled him. Her chest constricted with fear. “That’s not all, is it?”
One side of his mouth lifted, more a grimace than a smile. “I fear I’m more stubborn than I should be. On my way back to Ard Dhaimhin, I was certain I would do all that was required of me, no matter the cost. I would not fail Comdiu again.” He lifted his eyes to hers. “But the moment I saw you, I couldn’t think how I could have done anything differently.”
The tightness in her chest clamped down another degree, both painful and giddy. Had she ever dreamed she would be loved by anyone with such intensity? Who was she to inspire such devotion?
Then a chill slid over her skin. The moment I saw you, I couldn’t think of how I could have done anything differently.
Why had it not occurred to her before now? Her gift drew people to her. Aye, it had saved her life more than once, but it had cost Diocail his. What if that connection Conor felt, that knowledge he would do anything for
her, was merely a compulsion?
What if their love were a lie?
She couldn’t breathe. The tightness paralyzed her, made her pulse throb in her throat. She had to tell him. Uallas had said that once he realized it, it hadn’t affected him again. The fact he’d been able to hold a dagger to her throat seemed to bear that out.
She opened her mouth to make the confession, but she couldn’t say the words. What would happen if Conor learned he’d been duped? Would he leave? Would he not finish what he was meant to accomplish in Ard Dhaimhin?
Then came an even greater surge of fear: what if this had been Comdiu’s plan all along? After all, her ability had to be a gift from Him. The Companion had said she had all the tools she needed to accomplish Comdiu’s work.
But that flew in the face of everything she understood about their God. If He did not force their obedience, would He really give her the means to command Conor’s devotion, great plan or not?
She pressed her fingers to her temples, where a headache had begun to throb. She needed time alone to pray, time to let Conor clear his thoughts. If he were not near her, he was free to do what Comdiu asked, away from compulsion. So much evil lurked beyond the boundaries of Ard Dhaimhin. His first priority must be the wards, not her. She shivered.
He frowned at her gooseflesh and rubbed her arms. “Are you all right, Aine?”
“I’m fine. Just a little hungry. Let’s find something to eat, and then you can find Liam’s harp.”
Conor nodded and kissed her lightly, even though his brow remained furrowed. He could not fail to notice the sudden change in her. She pushed away the sick feeling and put on a smile instead.
If she really did have that powerful of an influence over people—especially Conor—then she would do all she could to make sure she was not interfering with what Comdiu had told him to do.
Conor felt the moment Aine withdrew from him. He’d made a mistake. He shouldn’t have told her the thoughts that had plagued him throughout his trek to Ard Dhaimhin. Why had he thought it was a good idea? He’d practically said the deaths in Ard Dhaimhin were her fault. I loved you so much I let hundreds of people die. Why would he want her to carry that burden?
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