Beneath the Forsaken City (18 page)

Liam noted Riordan’s presence
before his friend joined him on one of Carraigmór’s granite balconies. It was his usual choice when he needed to think over a difficult matter, and he and Riordan had had many conversations here over the years. Usually, though, the Ceannaire gave the advice to Riordan, not the other way around.

“I told him.”

Riordan stepped to the railing beside Liam. “How did he take it?”

“He’s angry. Disappointed. Expected something more dramatic, perhaps.” Liam rubbed his eyes. “I suspect he’d like to go off somewhere to sulk, but he has too much self-respect to be seen doing so.”

“I imagine he does. He’s an impressive young man. You have done well by him.”

“Have I?” Liam wasn’t so sure. All these years of treading the road he thought Comdiu had set before him, secure in his justifications for his actions, were crashing down around him. “I lied
to him. Or, rather, I allowed him to believe a lie, which is much the same thing.”

Riordan was quiet for a moment. “I did the same with Conor.”

“Aye, on my direction. It seems I’ve made many such questionable decisions.”

“What is this really about? I’ve never known you to be so melancholy.”

Liam pushed away from the rail and turned his back to the Fíréin city. “The druid is amassing an army. You know this; you saw and heard firsthand how he is conscripting men and boys.”

“We will be under siege.”

“Aye. And many will die, on both sides. Niall knows that even his trained men cannot stand up to the skill of the Fíréin. He just seeks to throw bodies in our way, the younger the better. If we kill them, the sorcery in their blood is a threat to us. If we take pity on them and let them live, they will find a way to strike at us from the inside. And while we are distracted, he can seek his true objective.” Liam crossed his arms over his chest. “The city will fall, and all we have built, all we have protected, will be gone.”

“And the victory?”

Liam had to give Riordan credit. To most men, news that their brothers would die and their city would fall would automatically mean defeat. “Comdiu has not shown me that. So much still depends on Eoghan. And Conor.”

“What does Conor have to do with this?”

“More than you know. More than I can tell you. His time in Seare is not finished. But I will soon become unnecessary.”

Once, Riordan would have tried to reassure him, but they both knew the time for that was past. No matter the outcome, the brotherhood’s part in Seare’s history was coming to an end.

“My lady, everything has been prepared for you.
”

Aine looked up from her spot at the workbench and gave Guaire a grateful nod. “Thank you, sir. If you’ll let the men know I’ll be out shortly, I’d appreciate it.”

Guaire gave her a little bow. “As you wish, my lady.”

Aine watched the steward leave her work room, a smile on her face. Her suspicion that the steward’s enthusiasm came from a desire to thwart Lady Macha had continued to grow as Lady Ailís’s chamber was emptied of its furnishings and new items more suited to Aine’s purpose arrived.

She turned a small circle, her smile widening. Gone were the bed and the wardrobe, in their place a long wooden table along one wall and a tall bank of shelves. The wood bore the bright tan-yellow color of newly split timber, a sign they had been made especially for her, not repurposed from elsewhere in the keep. Bottles and jars lined a few of the shelves, though most were still empty. Buckets of lard, tallow, and beeswax
 
—bases for ointments and salves
 
—waited beneath the bench, and a grated brazier stood in the far corner. The only things
she lacked were the herbs that would become her healing remedies.

Aine slid a heavy-bladed knife, equally suited for defense or harvesting, onto her leather belt and then shoved thin fabric sacks and waxed parchments into a satchel. If she remembered the Aronan countryside as well as she thought she did, she would come back with enough herbs to keep herself busy for weeks.

After pulling on a pair of fine leather riding gloves, she slung the satchel over her shoulder and made her way down the corridor to the back door. Her spirits lifted at the prospect of escaping Forrais for a day. Since coming to Aron, a gloom had settled over her spirit like the gray autumn clouds that spread over the Highlands. Ensconced in the keep, it was too easy to shed bitter tears over Conor and feel sorry for herself. A ride
 
—preferably a long one
 
—would do her good.

Diocail himself stood in the courtyard with three men, while a stable boy held a trio of nearly identical chestnut horses and a smaller gray mare. The captain of the guard swept a low bow when she approached.

“Lady Aine, Master Guaire told me you were in need of an escort today.”

She blinked. “One man, sir. I hardly expected you to spare three from the watch.”

“Volunteers, my lady.” That rare smile tilted the corners of his lips. “May I introduce Oisean, Lachaidh, and Roidh?”

Aine nodded to each in turn, noting all were armed with swords and bows and wearing light leather armor. “You look ready for battle. I’d only planned on a day’s ride to gather herbs.”

“Even so, it pays to be prepared.” The glance Lachaidh flicked toward Diocail made her think it was on the captain’s orders. “Never fear, the three of us can look after you reasonably well.”

“Four.”

Aine turned to find Lord Uallas leading a hulking gray gelding from the stable. He offered her a friendly smile and a little bow. When he straightened, the horse nudged him in the shoulder and threw him off balance.

“Easy, Ailpein,” he muttered. “First the lady needs to agree.”

Aine cast a look at Diocail, who shrugged. “I never turn down an extra sword.”

She shifted her attention back to Uallas. Thus far she had only seen him in court attire: silks and embroidered linens, unarmed but for the dagger at his belt. Perhaps she’d even thought him a little soft. In his plain tunic, trews, and leather vest with a long sword on his back, he looked anything but soft. In fact, he reminded her a bit of her brother Calhoun.

Or Conor.

Pain spiked through her and left the niggling trace of guilt in its wake. But that was silly. Surely she had nothing to feel guilty about.

“My lady?” Uallas’s careful question made her realize she’d been staring at him. Heat rushed to her cheeks.

“Forgive me, my lord. I was just thinking how much you remind me of my brother.”

A self-deprecating smile tilted his lips. “I’m not sure that was the comparison I’d hoped for.”

Aine swallowed, and her cheeks burned hotter. “In any case, Lord Uallas, we’d welcome the company.”

“Ailpein thanks you, as do I.” He grinned at her, and she found herself returning the smile.

The guardsmen took their mounts, and the stable boy led the mare to her side. “This is Banrion, my lady. She’s gentle. You should have no fear of her.”

Aine hid her smile and gave the boy a somber nod. “Thank
you. I’m sure we will do just fine.” Assuming she could coax a canter out of this four-footed dove.

Uallas was at her side in an instant. “Allow me, my lady.”

For a second, she held her breath, thinking he meant to lift her atop her mount, but he only knelt and laced his fingers together. She grasped the horse’s mane and accepted the leg up and then settled herself atop the horse’s blanketed back.

Uallas hovered near the mare’s head. “Take care, my lady. I wouldn’t want you to swoon the minute she starts into a brisk walk.”

The lord’s eyes twinkled and Aine repressed her laugh. He returned to his own mount and vaulted atop it with the ease of a natural horseman. She flushed when she realized her attention was verging on admiring and jerked her eyes away. She had done nothing worthy of guilt. So why did merely noting another man’s existence feel like a betrayal?

She loved Conor, and she would continue to love him until the day she died. They were meant to be together. How else could she explain the connection she’d felt to him the first time they saw each other in Lisdara’s hall, that feeling of destiny? She had been so sure when they left Seare and sealed their union officially aboard the
Resolute
that it would be forever.

What if she’d been wrong?

What if she would spend the rest of her life alone, loving the memory of a man she had been allowed to know for far too short a time?

Lachaidh took the lead from the courtyard through the front gates. Except for a flicker of surprise from Cé, who was again on duty, no one seemed to mark their passing. The guardsmen closed ranks around her, Uallas in the rear, as they made their way down the switchback toward the village below. Once there, they turned northeast and Lachaidh held his horse back to speak with her.

“Where to, my lady?”

“There’s a meadow a few minutes north of here that has some plants I need. Let’s start there and we’ll proceed to the river.”

“As you wish.”

Aine smiled her thanks. Once they cleared the village, she lifted her face to the sky and inhaled the scent of earth and vegetation. Despite the gray clouds overhead, the fresh air was a balm to her wounded heart. Guaire was right. Having a purpose didn’t lessen the pain she felt over Conor, but it gave her the means to live through it. She sifted through her mental list of locations and herbs. If she didn’t tarry too long, she would be able to gather all the items on her list and still return in time for supper in the hall. The fact that Macha had not yet commented on her activities said that she either didn’t know or didn’t care. Whichever it was, Aine preferred to keep it that way.

After about twenty minutes, the rocky hills emptied into a wide, shallow meadow filled with grasses and late-summer flowers. She called a halt and dismounted, then rummaged through the satchel for one of her fabric sacks and her small hand-spade.

Roidh and Lachaidh remained on horseback, but Oisean dismounted and nocked an arrow to his bowstring in readiness.

“Are you expecting an attack?” Aine asked.

Oisean shrugged. “Diocail’s orders.”

“You cannot blame them, my lady,” Uallas murmured at her shoulder. “To lose Lord Alsandair’s heir because of carelessness . . .”

“Is that what I am?” Aine took a few long strides into the meadow. Uallas followed.

“Among other things.” He matched her pace, checking his sword over his shoulder with a movement that seemed more reflex than conscious action. For some reason, it made her edgy.

She knelt beside a bushy tormentil plant, its trailing stems
heavy with yellow flowers, and drew out her spade. Carefully, she dug beneath the plant to remove it from the earth, root and all, and tucked it into the sack.

“Right here?”

She twisted to see Uallas mimicking her motion, his knife poised above the earth like a spade. “You’re picking flowers for me?”

“Why? Is gathering herbs not a manly pursuit?”

Aine shrugged. “Most men would think not.”

“I’m not most men. Besides, I don’t plan to braid them together and wear them as a crown.” Uallas grinned at her, but rather than easing her discomfort, it only twisted the knot in her chest tighter. He should not be so likable. She thrust the sack at him before tramping off to another patch of flowers several feet away.

They worked in silence for several minutes. Aine gathered the plants in her overskirt until Uallas held out the sack for her. She emptied her bounty and raised her eyes to his face.

“You miss him.”

She didn’t need to ask what he meant. She took a step back. “I do.”

“As do I. My wife, I mean.” He cleared his throat. “I don’t mean to make you uncomfortable, Lady Aine.”

“You don’t.”

“I won’t insult you by saying I’m just trying to be your friend.” That quiet smile surfaced again, and this time Aine thought she caught some sadness behind it. “I don’t even presume to know you. But I do know what you must be feeling. I know what it’s like to lose someone you love.”

Love. Not
loved
. She shot a surprised look at him, noted the tension in his jaw. So his marriage had been a love match too, and he was as far from being over his wife as Aine was from being over Conor. Somehow that made her feel better.

And made her ill at the same time. If she acknowledged that bit of commonality with him, it would be like saying she had given up on her husband. That she was abandoning him.

She touched the wheel charm at her neckline, rubbing her fingers over the smooth ivory. At last she managed to force out, “My husband is still alive, Lord Uallas. I must continue to believe that.”

“For your sake, I truly hope you’re right.”

She gave him a jerky nod and turned back to her work, praying as she harvested.
Please, Comdiu. Bring Conor back to me. And whatever this is with Uallas, let it cease.
She couldn’t bear the way he looked at her. She couldn’t bear that some part of her enjoyed the attention.

She took the sack from Uallas and stuffed her last handful of flowers into it without looking at him. They trudged back to where the other guards waited, and once more he helped her onto her horse.

“There’s a marshy spot near Black Creek that will have meadowsweet and oxterful,” she said to Lachaidh. “Do you know it?”

“I do, my lady. There’s a pond nearby. My brother and I used to fish there as children.”

“You grew up near here?”

“Less than a league away, my lady.” The guard dipped his head, seeming almost shy. It was an incongruous expression on such a seasoned face. “Had I known, I would have brought a line.”

“And Diocail would have summarily dismissed you.” Uallas’s tone was light, but his expression was serious. Lachaidh gave a quick nod of acknowledgment and adjusted his reins.

Aine looked between the two of them in confusion. Uallas just gave another smile and mounted up. But when they turned east toward Black Creek, the lord guided his horse alongside hers, so close that their legs nearly brushed.

“You may cease now, my lady,” he murmured. “Their allegiance is assured.”

“Cease what?”

An impish smile crossed Uallas’s face. “Your witchcraft.”

“Witchcraft!” The exclamation drew startled looks from the guards. “I don’t know what you mean! I’m merely a healer. Gathering herbs
 
—”

“You know very well of what I speak. I cannot blame you, given your lady aunt’s dislike of you, but much more and these poor men will be useless for anything but being your lapdogs. And that is counterproductive to your aims, I think.”

Aine stiffened atop her mare and threw him a stern look. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, Lord Uallas. Speak plainly if you must, but quit your accusations.”

“You really don’t know, do you?” His gaze took her in much too thoroughly for her comfort. “No. You don’t. If you did, it would not work nearly so well.”

Aine’s heart pounded. She was missing something very important here, but Lord Uallas seemed determined to speak in riddles. “What
 
—?”

“Not here. When we stop, I will explain.” He nudged his horse into a trot and rode forward to converse with Lachaidh.

Aine’s mind whirled as she tried to figure out Uallas’s meaning. He thought she was somehow trying to manipulate the guards to switch their allegiance from Macha to her? Why would she do that? How? She hadn’t even asked for these particular guards. She’d expected only one companion when she’d asked Guaire for an escort.

Before she could ponder it further, Lachaidh raised his hand and pointed at the patch of trees clustered along a small, rushing creek. “My lady, we’ve arrived.”