Lady of Conquest (45 page)

He nodded reluctant agreement. She did not see his sly grin as they mounted the roan and continued to the sea.

Mer-Nod leaned against the wall and watched his king weave among the tables in the great hall. He, like all of the others who knew Conn well, was afraid. There was a brightness to Conn’s eyes, a lethal flaw in his swagger that chilled Mer-Nod’s heart to ice. Even as he watched, Conn stumbled against one of the tables with a hearty laugh.

Chaotic revelry ruled the hall. Conn had ordered that all of the ale that had been hoarded for the wedding be distributed on this night. He was not the only one who was stumbling. Mer-Nod watched as a young soldier danced around with a capon on his head before falling face first into a tray of pastries. A laughing young girl pulled him out, licking the icing from his cheeks with a greedy tongue.

Veils and gloves sailed through the air as the women joined in a reel that led them around the tables, bodies swaying before the rapt eyes of the men. Conn captured a pale brunette in his arms as she passed and planted a long, wet, openmouthed kiss on her lips to the cheers of the soldiers around him. The pounding beat of a drum drowned out the flutes and lyres.

Mer-Nod watched as Conn pulled the woman toward the stairs, his mouth never leaving hers. Only Mer-Nod saw his eyes open in a moment of utter sobriety and rest on the empty platform high above them. He shoved the woman away, ignoring her protest, and stalked into the study, closing the door behind him. Mer-Nod waited a few long moments before following, shooting a warning glance at the woman, who had similar thoughts.

He pushed open the door; the dampness of the fireless room settled deep into his bones. The moon glowed dully off the deserted chessmen. Conn stood at the open window, his hand resting on the frame as if to support his weight.

“I am dying, Mer-Nod,” he said without turning around.

“I know.”

“I’ve faced many deaths before but never one so final.” Conn shook his head as if to clear it of a distasteful thought. “I should have kept her here at Tara.”

“If you’d have kept her here, you would have killed her,” Mer-Nod said with conviction, feeling far older than his years.

“Then I should have kept her at the crannog and gone to her whenever I pleased.” A slur grew in Conn’s speech. “I could have had her until I grew sick of her.”

“That would have destroyed you both. You had to set her free.”

Conn laughed bitterly. “Those were not the right words to say, Mer-Nod. Nimbus would have known the right words.” He stumbled as he faced Mer-Nod. “There are words he said. I cannot remember them but they mattered.”

Mer-Nod reached out a hand to steady him.

Catching his hand, Conn looked into his eyes and asked with the bewildered candor of a child, “Why did her blood have to be so tainted, Mer-Nod?”

Unable to find words for the first time in his life, the poet shook his head and murmured, “You should go to your chambers. You haven’t slept since you returned.”

“Sleep does not await me there. Oh, no, Mer-Nod,” he gestured grandly to the window, “the wild and windy moors call me. Can you not hear them?”

Mer-Nod had barely formed a protest when Conn strode out the door into the chaos of the hall. He reappeared outside the window, stumbling with determination toward the stable.

Ignoring the stable boy, Conn led Silent Thunder into the courtyard. He threw himself on the horse’s back with such force that the momentum nearly carried him off the other side. Gripping the horse’s mane, he laughed in drunken abandon and kicked the stallion into a gallop. He thundered out of the courtyard and across the moors at breakneck speed. The moon was a thin sliver in the sky, its glow casting more shadows than light over the uneven terrain. A crazed exhilaration captured him as the cold night wind whipped the hair from his stinging eyes.

He sent the massive horse flying over dark shapes his blurred gaze could not see. They rode along the forest, the stallion swerving wildly to avoid the low-hanging branches that reached for Conn. A shadow rose up in front of him. He squinted at the oak branch as it swept him cleanly off the horse.

He raised his head off the cold ground to find Silent Thunder grazing nearby, unscathed. His head ached although he wouldn’t know it until morning. Wiggling each limb methodically, he decided he was uninjured or too drunk to care. He could see few stars from this angle. He lay there for a long time. He could not think of any reason to get up. He was content to watch the clouds scuttle across the pale moon. Right before he drifted into the arms of sleep, he heard Nimbus’s laughing words, “Just remember, Conn . . .”

“Remember what, Nimbus?” he murmured, unable to keep his eyes open long enough to hear the answer.

He slept there until the soldiers Mer-Nod sent found him and carried him back to Tara.

Morning came. The early hours scuttled across Conn’s nerves, twisting and pinching his weary heart. The pain in his head paled in comparison to the agony that doubled him over when, without opening his eyes, he touched the empty pillow beside him. Gone were the disheveled curls, the soft curves, the puffy eyelids that added a morning sensuousness to the angular face. Gone were the laughing grumbles as he lowered himself on her and began his day in rapture. Everything was gone but the ache in his groin and the intolerable pain that pounded him.

Cursing, he jumped out of the bed and paced across the room. Running a hand through his unruly curls, he thought of summoning a woman to his chambers. He could at least soothe one discomfort. He strode to the narrow chest that held his belt and stared down at it, its barrenness reminding him of the black void that had opened in his life. Moira hadn’t dared to enter the dusty chambers while he was there, but she had come while he was at the crannog and tactfully removed the ivory comb and brush. Only their faint outline in the dust remained.

Cursing furiously, he slammed his hand across the chest, sending a flurry of dust into the air. It hung there, sparkling in the morning sunlight as a vase shoved to the back of the chest tilted before crashing to the floor. Stale water washed over his bare feet. The flowers lay lifeless among the shards of pottery like victims of a gruesome battle. He knelt and took one in his hand, only to have it crumble to ash before his eyes. Dead roses. Nimbus. His wedding day.

The roses had appeared in the jester’s hand like a gift from the gods. And he had said, “. . . everything is not always what it appears to be.”

It was at that moment that the door flew open and Conn looked up with incredulous eyes to find Sean Ó Finn standing in the doorway, clothed only in his loincloth.

The sea air washed over Gelina in wave after wave, pounding her like the breakers battering the shore below. They had reached the coast in time to see the sun sink into the sea in a fiery flush of orange and violet. Gelina pulled her tunic tight around her and glanced back at Rodney, who was struggling to build a fire on top of the promontory. He gathered dry brush and sticks into a neat pile, only to have a chill gust of wind scatter them. She watched as a branch sailed past her ear and flew off the towering cliff to crash on the jagged rocks below. Scattering the remnants of the debris with a violent kick, he climbed up on the flat rock and sat next to her, chin in hands. She drew in a deep breath. The salty, bittersweet air chilled her lungs.

“We could take shelter, but I fear we would miss the ship,” Rodney said, ignoring the fact that she hadn’t spoken to him for hours.

“How did you know where to find the ship?” she asked without turning her head to look at him.

“I heard Conn give the order to the runner. He was to go north and send a ship down the coast.”

“You were like a vulture hovering around the fortress.” She suppressed a shiver and hugged her knees.

“I did it all . . .”

“. . . for me,” she finished. “I know what you believe. You believe your princess was bewitched by the evil king.” She laughed wearily. “I was such a fool.”

“He made you a fool.”

“It didn’t take any help from him,” she said, brushing a stray curl out of her eyes. “To think I could marry the king of Erin! How ridiculous.”

He laid a comforting arm across her shoulder but quickly withdrew it, noting her frosty gaze and the height of their perch. The sea lulled them into silence with its empathetic rhythm.

Rodney got to his feet, turning away from the sea. “Look behind you, Lina. Are you sure you want to leave it?”

The land of Erin unrolled below them in the half-light of the moon. Hills sprouted from the landscape, looming like great guardians over the plains.

Gelina didn’t turn her head. “I never want to look behind me. I want to shake the dust of this place off my feet forever.”

“It could be different now. Eoghan has his own land now. He would offer us protection.”

“And what are we to offer him, Rodney? Civil war? For me there is no protection from Conn. I will not escape the chopping block a fourth time. Even you should be able to see that. We wait here for the ship.”

Rodney opened his mouth to speak but, noting the determined set of her chin, closed it again. He went to the roan and pulled forth a long object wrapped in cloth. He handed it to Gelina and watched as she loosened the soft muslin. She studied the scabbard musingly before hooking it to her belt, returning Vengeance to its rightful place.

Rodney stretched out on the rock and closed his eyes. Gelina stared out to sea, the emerald depths of her eyes storm swept. Pulling her cap off, she let the wind whip through her hair, clearing her musty brain with its chill ferocity. She did not dare let go of the anger. Without it, there was no guarantee that she would ever rise from this rock, ever put one foot in front of the other again. Without it, she would surely perish.

Deliberately torturing herself, she remembered the bitter blue of eyes over a sword. There had been no hint of a question in those eyes, only condemnation. She fingered her tender wrists, the ache of her touch summoning icy tendrils of hate to wrap around her heart. She stared out to sea and prayed to nameless gods that the ship would come soon.

When Rodney opened his eyes the next morning, she sat in the same position. Rubbing his eyes, he gazed back at the plains to find them shrouded in a low-hanging mist. The sun shone on their promontory, lending a glowing ambience to the cool morning air.

“You should have woken me. I could have watched part of the night. Didn’t you sleep?” he asked.

“I thought I would let you sleep. It takes much rest to plot treachery.”

He sat up and began to whistle a cheery tune, fearful of her ire if he retorted. Deciding it would be safer away from the edge of the cliff, he sauntered over to the horse, untied the knapsack, and pulled forth a flask.

“What’s this foul stuff?” he asked, wrinkling his nose. He tipped the flask until its yellow-white contents dribbled to the ground in a steady stream.

“Goat’s milk. Moira would have packed it. She knows I detest it.”

Gelina climbed to her feet and bent at the waist, trying to drive some of the stiffness from her muscles. Rodney offered her some cheese, but she stepped away from his outstretched hand.

“I cannot bear this,” he exploded. “I love you and you’re treating me like a leper. I would like to know what he did to turn you against me this way.”

“He did nothing. You did it all, Rodney.”

He grabbed her arm and jerked her around to face him. “I love you.”

“Like you loved our mother?” she asked, eyebrow arched.

The confusion that twisted his face was genuine. “Yes, of course. I loved our mother the same way.”

Snatching her arm away from his burning touch, she sneered, “Then why did you let her kill herself? Why didn’t you cry out before she embedded Father’s sword in her gut?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. Conn’s men killed our mother. You were there.” He rubbed his forehead, seeking to smooth away the lines that appeared there.

“No, Rodney. Our father was murdered. Mother thought we were dead. She roamed the hall for a long time. There was time for one of us to call out and save her.”

“But she had lost her honor. Why should she want to live?” he asked, his black eyes puzzled and without guile.

Gelina shivered. “You left me on the crannog deliberately, didn’t you? To give me time to think about what I’d done.”

Rodney reached up to capture one of her loose curls between the tips of his fingers in a mocking caress. “And when Conn came, I’m sure you saw the wisdom of that. He had to punish you one last time for me. You betrayed me, Princess. You betrayed our hopes, our dreams of vengeance. I’m willing to forgive you, though. I’ll take you back. Wouldn’t you like that?”

Gelina jerked away from him with a guttural growl. She turned to the sea to remove herself from his vacant, questioning gaze. Two seagulls danced above their heads, then soared over the ocean. She traced their flight down the coast as they glided around the masts that appeared there.

“Rodney! ‘Tis the ship! It comes!”

When no reply greeted her frenzied words, she turned to find him staring back over the plains, his mouth a thin line of shock, his pale skin drawn tightly over the bones of his face. She followed his gaze, squinting to dim the reflection of the sunlight off the fog.