Mara narrowed her eyes. “Why do you say that?”
Breandán’s face fell as he pulled the bloodied linen from her grasp and took hold of her hands. “Your father and Nevan have an unsettled feud between them, yet they both allow you to stay on this isle without question. Do you not find that odd?”
“I do,” Mara agreed, watching his thumbs pass over the tops of her knuckles. “I have asked Nevan about it many times, but he wishes not to discuss it. He says it was a long time ago and only time can rectify it.” A thought suddenly came to her. “How did you know about their quarrels?”
“When I first came here and spoke of my purpose, the islanders immediately drew their swords upon me as soon as I mentioned Callan’s name. Nevan then admitted to their shared hostility but shrugged it off and insisted his men do the same. If I had to guess, Nevan seemed…almost pleased by the news of your father’s failing health.”
“Pleased?” Mara asked. “Or perhaps relieved their feud would soon be over?”
“Is there a difference?”
“Nay. Nor does it matter.”
Breandán squeezed her hands tenderly. “Are you sure this is what you want?”
She closed her eyes, hiding the burn of her long withheld tears. “’Tis.”
“Then I will certainly convey your wishes when Tait awakens.”
Mara’s eyes opened and she couldn’t help but look worried again. “What if Tait—”
“Shh, a thaisce,” Breandán soothed, his wide palm now stroking her slender arm. “Tait should not be your concern. He has done his worst and the most he can do now is berate me for what I have done.”
“And what if he deems you unfit to escort me to my father?”
Breandán’s eyes finally danced with delight. “Are you saying you would want me to accompany you?”
“Of course I am,” Mara professed. “If I had to choose anyone to take me to my father, ‘twould be you.”
“Then it shall be done,” he asserted with a slight nod. “Not even a whole mead hall full of men could keep me from you.”
Chapter Twenty-one
“Untie me!” Tait bellowed from the floor of the mead hall, his wrists bound to his ankles.
But no one budged. No one had the gall, especially after Nevan had given strict orders to leave him tied.
Breandán gazed around the room at the many men gathered there. Some he recognized, while others he couldn’t put a name to a face. One thing was for certain—the tension in the room was thick. Even more so than when he was confronted by Ottarr and the other islanders upon his landing.
But even with the overall hostility, there were some men who seemed pleased he had taken down the bear, so to speak. Irishmen, he imagined. The others, who wore their displeasure like a crown, were presumably Northmen.
Among those most grievous, were Gunnar and Ottarr.
Breandán sat on one of the benches in the spacious room with Marcas on his left. While some were seated near them, murmuring behind their drinking steins, he still felt isolated amongst the group. It was hard to feel comfortable as every eye seemed to fall in their direction.
Breandán tried to ignore their judgmental looks as he brushed the rain droplets from the soft surface of his dove-gray hare cloak. The distant storm, which threatened to reach them all morning, had finally erupted over the isle when he was summoned from Mara’s longhouse, soaking him to the core. Despite the cover of the mead hall’s sturdy roof and thick wooden walls, he anticipated a storm would soon break out within as well.
“Shall we begin?” Nevan asked from his central throne, glancing around the room. “We have much to discuss and little time to come to a mutual decision.”
“Mutual?” Tait growled. “How can anything be mutual when I am held bound against my will! I am a chieftain on this isle and I refuse to be treated in this manner!”
Nevan glanced dispassionately at Tait. “And as your king, I refuse to let you treat our guests in such a manner. We were respectful enough to await your return before coming to a ruling on our own, so I suggest you hold your tongue lest I be forced to remove you from this assembly and make the decree myself. Agreed?”
Tait exhaled through flared nostrils and glared at Breandán for the degrading lecture he was given in front of his fellow men.
“Breandán,” Nevan stated strongly, his voice carrying throughout the room. “Would you please deliver the message you were asked to bring forth by Mara’s father, Callan Mac Conchubhair.”
Breandán saw the sharp jerk of Tait’s head in Nevan’s direction, whose eyes were narrow and bewildered. He wasn’t sure what would make Tait react so strongly, but he hadn’t understood anyone’s conduct on the isle when it came to the inference of the Connacht king.
Reluctantly, he stood and transferred the message, his eyes tracing around the room as he spoke. “Callan is on his deathbed and he has but one dying wish.” He glanced at Tait now, wondering how he would respond with the next part. “He asks to see his daughter.”
Tait’s eyes widened and then returned to their previous position under a furrowed brow as he looked at Nevan. “Am I to believe, since my mouth is not gagged, I have permission to address this so-called assembly?”
Nevan nodded. “As long as you can do so under a civil tongue.”
Tait grimaced as he eyed Breandán. “If you are merely Callan’s messenger, then why are you still here? You could have conveyed your king’s wishes to Nevan and been on your merry way.”
Breandán heard the sarcasm in Tait’s voice, hinting on the idea he could have avoided their little confrontation had he left before Tait returned. He wanted to smile, but thought better of it. “With the dangers Mara would face in traveling across Connacht, I am also her escort.”
“And what dangers would those be?”
“Donnchadh Mac Flainn. He is the High King of Ireland and has once fought with the Uí Briefne and failed. Since he has succeeded Nial Glundubh, he has made many threats upon us, and with Callan in such ill condition, he knows the Connacht men are at their most vulnerable. ‘Tis very likely he will strike, especially if he knows the king’s daughter is venturing through Connacht lands.”
Tait scoffed. “And Callan sends…” he glanced past Breandán, his brow cocked as he looked at Marcas, “two men to see to his daughter’s safety.”
Breandán found humor in the Northmen’s assessment. “Well, I would assume since you care deeply for Mara you would not agree to such a thing without the insistence of your own men supplementing our efforts. Safety in numbers, aye?”
“You are correct in one assumption—that I would be adamant about my own men protecting Mara. But you have gone amiss with the other…thinking I would allow you to come with us.”
“You will need me,” Breandán said plainly.
Tait chuckled sardonically. “Is that so?”
“The usual path you travel to Connacht will be the one Donnchadh expects you to take. If you want to keep Mara safe, you will need me to show you the alternative routes. Some are a bit treacherous, but better than walking into an ambush.”
“Your concerns have been noted, but we will do fine without you.”
“That is not good enough,” Breandán declared. “Mara deserves your utmost protection and I plan not on slighting her safety to accommodate your pride.”
“I have to agree with Breandán on this,” Nevan rejoined openly.
“Have you lost your mind, Nevan?” Tait retorted harshly. “Do you not know who this man is?”
“Indeed I do,” Nevan asserted as he stood from his chair. “He is the very man who, seven summers ago, was hell-bent on saving Mara from the perils of Domaldr’s ruthless ambitions and I do believe his intentions remain to this day. He was also the man who had saved Dægan from the fires of death commenced by his own brother and henceforth aided Dægan in breaching Callan’s walls thereafter. While I know Breandán had brought Domaldr to our shores, you know as well as I, he would have found his way here, with or without Breandán’s
aid. Furthermore, I believe Breandán’s actions had given all of us a forewarning of Domaldr’s intent—yet we simply underestimated it. And I will not make the same mistake again with Donnchadh.”
“Nevan, I beg you to reconsider!” Tait remarked heatedly.
The king looked down toward the Northman at his feet. “The decision has been made. Breandán will lead the best of both my men and yours through Connacht. This includes Ottarr and Gunnar. And you, Tait, will stay on the isle with me.”
If not for the ropes confining Tait’s limbs, Breandán swore he would have choked the life from the king. His eyes turned dark and heinous as he clenched his jaw.
“Give me one good reason why I am not permitted to go along on this journey and protect the widow of my former chieftain?”
“I shall give you two,” Nevan retorted, crossing his arms. “Thordia is due to have your child any day. She will need you more than Mara will. And secondly, Breandán will have his hands full watching for Donnchadh. He needn’t watch his back as well.”
Tait’s face fumed a deep shade of red, but Nevan hardly gave it notice.
“All right men, settle in for the night. Eat your fill. Enjoy your wives. Tomorrow morning, first light, you leave for Connacht under Breandán’s command. Ottarr and Gunnar, when the storm subsides, prepare the ships.”
Everyone slowly rose from their benches and straggled out the door, mumbling to each other about the trip ahead. Gunnar, however, came to his chieftain’s aid, his dagger in his hand for cutting Tait’s ropes.
“Leave him,” Nevan asserted. “He and I still have to talk.”
Gunnar gave his chieftain a pitied look, but waited for Tait’s permission. When Tait gave it, Gunnar sheathed his dagger and plodded his way past Breandán, purposely running his shoulder into the Irishman’s arm.
****
Nevan waited until everyone had left the mead hall before squatting down in front of Tait and taking his own dagger from his belt. He righted the blade at the ropes and paused, eyeing Tait cautiously. “Surely you know what this means.”
Tait glared at Nevan. “I do. It means you have willingly turned your back on me by siding with a traitor!”
The king rolled his eyes and sighed, removing his knife from the uncut binds and standing to pace the empty room. “God’s teeth, could you open your eyes for one moment and see beyond yourself, Tait?” He clenched the dagger in his hand and spoke as calmly as he could muster. “For years I have waited for this. Waited for that—bastard Callan—to either spill his guts of the truth or die.” He turned on his heels toward Tait. “Do you know how difficult it has been for me to stand by as Mara’s true father and watch her suffer, watch her grieve for Dægan without comfort. She has endured what no woman should have to bear—losing her husband and being forsaken by the one man she deemed her only blood family. Sure, I have been there for her, we all have tried to be there for her. But being bound to this vile secret of a despicable man’s doing has nearly brought me to my knees in frustration. Countless times I have wanted to tell Mara the truth only to be halted by my own honor. By my own vow to a man whom I owe nothing!” Nevan felt his hands tremble with anger as he stared at the well-wetted blade of his knife. “Callan took from me the only woman I have ever loved and then had the audacity to claim and raise my daughter as his own. The day has finally come when I will get what is rightfully mine,” he stated, his eyes hot and burning. “And you will not impede me of my redemption.”
Tait held the king’s stare. “Is that what you think I would do? You really think me that selfish?”
“If we are speaking of the man who tried to take Breandán’s life in Mara’s own home, then aye. I think you that selfish.”
“You know Breandán not well enough to judge me. If Dægan were here, he would have done the same.”
“If that is what you need to convince yourself, then so be it. But I know better. Dægan was a man who contemplated the consequences of his actions well before jumping into someone’s face. And you are nothing like him.”
Nevan knew his words incited Tait’s temper again but, at this point, he hardly cared. He only hoped to strike a chord with the Northman and get him to see he was wrong for what he did.
He watched Tait breath heavily through his teeth, waiting for the Northman to counter. It took a while before he finally found a courteous tongue.
“Why do you favor this Breandán so much? Have I been gone so long for you to have forgotten my loyalty toward you? Toward your people—toward your daughter? I would give my life to protect Mara and anyone else on this isle. You know this. What can Breandán possibly bring to her that I have not already given?”
Nevan closed his eyes and let his head fall back. “You are so blind, my friend.” He let Tait ponder his words. But Tait’s silence proved he had no idea what he was talking about, or at the least, too stubborn to admit it.
“From the moment Mara caught sight of Breandán on this isle, she has been…content. Happy. He has brought her joy of which no other man has been capable.”
“Enough!” Tait barked, shaking his head.
“You know well Mara has hardly found reason to smile since Dægan left her.”
“I said that is enough, Nevan!”
“And Breandán loves her. I can see it in his eyes. The way he looks at her, the way he embraced her when she ran to him.”
Tait scooted himself around on the floor as if to shield his sensitive ears from such blasphemy. When that was not enough, he began humming loudly blocking out the steady discourse Nevan continued to offer.
“…and Mara may not realize it yet, but she needs him. Lochlann needs him.”
Tait twisted his head around, glowering over his shoulder. “How dare you bring Dægan’s son into this!”
“’Tis true, Tait. Lochlann needs a man in his life who can be there for him. Teach him things only a father can—”
“I can teach him,” Tait articulated fiercely. “I can teach him everything Dægan would have.”
“When?” Nevan asked, shifting his weight to one leg. “The boy is six years old and you have yet to find the time to teach him anything. I am no fool, Tait. Mara has begged it of you many times and still, the boy goes without your attention—at no fault of your own, mind you. You have your own son to raise. But Breandán has already taught Lochlann how to shoot a bow. And I think, given time, he can break down the boy's walls and reach him in places where everyone else has failed. Including myself.”
“Untie me, now,” Tait uttered, his voice shaking.
Nevan looked down at the dagger in his hands, considering the idea of setting Tait free. “You certainly are that selfish man. And it pains me to see you sink to such a level. Perhaps the only way for you to see above your haughty self is for you to crawl upon your knees as Dægan once did.”
He walked toward Tait, lending the impression he was going to cut him loose, but, instead, drove his dagger into the wood beam high above the Northman’s reach and strolled casually down the length of the mead hall until he reached the door.
From behind him, he heard Tait curse and cause as much ruckus as he could from his limited confines. Nevan opened the large wooden door and stepped into the pouring rain without a desire to look back.
Chapter Twenty-two
Tait knew he had only been sitting alone—hog-tied—in the mead hall for no more than a few minutes, but it seemed like hours as he stewed in anger, his only means of escaping tauntingly four feet above his head.
He stared at Nevan’s dagger as if willing it to fall to the floor. He swore when he was freed from his ropes, he’d walk right up to Nevan and punch his teeth in. The thought only irritated him more as he knew he’d never do it. He and the king were too close of friends to do that sort of thing, but he sure as hell wanted to.
He pulled harder at the twine around his wrists, trying to narrow his fists enough to squeeze out of them, but to no avail. The skin around his hands had now reddened to the point of bleeding, and
his back ached from being forced into a hunched position.
He changed his mind. He’d deck the man who tied these wretched knots.
Finally, the door of the longhouse opened and in stepped Gunnar, the one man he longed to see.
“My lord,” Gunnar breathed in shock as he ran to the aid of his chieftain, unsheathing his dagger from his belt.
Tait didn’t say a word as Gunnar laid the blade of his knife at the small length of rope between his wrists and ankles, cutting it in one swift jerk.
Tait’s arms flew toward his chest, still bound together, but he was relieved to have them at least liberated. Impatiently, he jutted his fastened hands forward for Gunnar to cut them next.
Gunnar glanced at Tait warily before slicing him free. “Why did Nevan leave you this way?”
Tait rubbed his sore wrists, not wanting to discuss his indecorous treatment at the moment. He was too humiliated for conversation. Instead, he snatched the dagger from Gunnar’s hand, cut his own ankles free, and outstretched his long, cramped legs in front of him.
Gunnar tried another approach. “You need not worry over the goods in our ships. We were able to unload everything before the rain came.”
Tait remained unemotional. “How long was I out?”
“Long enough to empty four ships.”
Tait grimaced, his distaste for what Breandán had done to him gurgling up his throat like sour bile. “Did my son…does he know?”
Gunnar nodded reluctantly.
Tait took a long deep breath, trying to accept the fact that Alfarinn had seen his own father lose horrifically to another man. It was utterly demeaning and it only fed his great desire to redeem himself.
“Are you truly not going with us to Connacht on the morrow?”
Tait pressed his palm into his eye. He loathed Nevan for overriding everything he had said in council as if he were no longer capable of leading his people. Sure, Mara was Nevan’s true daughter, and he had a right to offer his concerns when it came to her welfare. But she was also his late friend’s wife and, in his loyal head, that made her as much his responsibility as Nevan’s.
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