The Hound at the Gate (12 page)

Gideon shrugged. “He knows where to find me.” His eyes flicked once toward Finn. “I'm more concerned that his hatred has spilled over to include Finn. And he is poisoning young Ennis against us as well.”

“At least we're even,” Finn joked weakly. “Two against two.”

“Dude, can't you count?” Lochlan grinned. “
Four
against two.” He squawked a protest when his master threw a meaty arm around his neck with a look of pride, then knuckled the top of his head.

“Well spoken, lad.” Mac Roth laughed when Lochlan squirmed free and stood rubbing his scalp.

Finn laughed, the fear easing inside. For a moment, he wished Rafe and Savannah were with them. For some reason, the thought of Savannah made him think of Tara. Which made him think of Savannah again. Which made him feel like his head was going to spin off his neck.

After loading the potatoes into a large bowl, they headed to the feast. The last bit of sun crowned the tops of the aspens with gold. Ahead and behind them, other Knights and their apprentices, as well as a few families, were also making their way through the campsite to the barn.

Letting their masters go ahead, Finn elbowed Lochlan. “So, how do you know Tara Butler?”

“I met her yesterday. She was practicing archery by the barn when Mac Roth and I went to stand before the
Rath
.” Lochlan made a face. “Afterwards, when Mac Roth and Kel O'Shea were talking, I gave her a compliment and she about tore my head off.”

“What'd you say?”

“All I said was that she was better than most guys. She got all mad and started saying all this crap about how being compared to guys was not a compliment. Then she called me a chauvinist.”

“She did the same thing with me. We got in an argument, but
I
was the one who had to apologize.”

“Well, she seems madder at me than at you.” Lochlan made a face.

“Don't worry.” Finn punched him on the shoulder. “I won't let her hurt you.”

The roar of voices drowned out Lochlan's response as they neared the building. Reaching it, they stepped through its open doors. Finn shuffled to one side to let the others go ahead, then dragged himself after them. The thought of facing Tully and his cousin again made his stomach churn like the river in the gorge.

Battery-powered lanterns hung from nails driven into the massive timber posts. Their light added a warm glow to the darkening building. At the far end, the smaller back door was propped open for ventilation.

Along one side of the barn, the kitchen Finn had noticed earlier now included more sawhorses covered with long planks. On the makeshift tables, various platters steamed away in an all-you-can-eat buffet of favorite dishes, so many that the planks sagged in the middle. People milled about with heaping plates balanced in their hands or sat eating on leftover hay bales scattered around the barn or piled around the posts. Mac Roth left them to drop off his dish.

In the loft overhead, a group of musicians were warming up. Finn could hear a pipe, a fiddle, a tin whistle, and his favorite instrument, a
bodhran
—a round, flat drum held in one hand.

Trying to act like he wasn't looking around, Finn looked around. Relief flooded him when he saw no sign of either Ennis or Jack Tully.
Good. Maybe they fell into the river. Or better yet, some Amandán got them, and
then
they fell into the river
. Feeling lighter, he looked about the room. Across the way, Tara Butler was sitting on the ground cross-legged
next to her master. She balanced a full plate in her lap. When she noticed Finn's attention, she gave a brief nod, then looked away.

Standoff
, Finn thought. He frowned when a voice from nowhere called Gideon's name. At a nudge from Lochlan, he looked up.

A woman was leaning over the railing, a fiddle and bow in her hands. Her brown hair was graced with a few streaks of silver. She waggled her bow at them. “A fine evening to ye, Gideon Lir.”

“And to you, Elaine MacDuff,” he called up.

“Are ye going to grace us with a song or two this evening?”

“'Twould be my pleasure, madam. After the meal, then.”

“What? Food before music?” She smiled, then waved him away.

Slipping into line, they began filling their plates. Finn gleefully piled spoonful after spoonful of additional mashed potatoes onto his shepherd's pie. Behind him, Lochlan loaded his plate with so many links of sausages he had to stack them like firewood.

“Are you quite certain you wouldn't like an extra plate, Lochlan O'Neill?” Gideon asked, peering over the apprentice's shoulder.

“Good idea.” Lochlan started to reach for another plate, then froze. “Wait. You're being sarcastic, weren't you?”

“Why, no, not at all.”

Lochlan raised his eyebrows at Finn. “Was he?”

“Totally.”

After finishing loading up with favorites, they headed to a nearby empty hay bale. As the Knights claimed the bale, Gideon by right of master over apprentice and Mac Roth simply by right of size, the apprentices sat down at their feet on the dirt floor. For the next ten minutes, Finn bent over his plate, concentrating on shoveling in as much food as he could as fast as he could. “Ye gods, boyo.” Gideon nudged the boy's knee with his boot. “Come up for air.”

Finn raised his head, cheeks bulging. “Eye wanna geh ‘ore buffore iz all gun.”

Mac Roth turned to Gideon. “Is that
Welsh
the lad is speaking, Lir?”

“Oh, it cannot be Welsh.”

“Why do you say that?”

“It has too many vowels.”

Finn choked on laughter and spud.

At that moment, Toryn Mull rose and took a position in the center of the barn. Cloakless, but with his sword by his side, he waited until the crowd quieted. Only the soft clink of fork and spoon on plate as people continued to eat broke the silence. Then he signaled to Dennis O'Donnell.

The Hound rose from his seat. One hand held the horn Finn had noticed earlier. He walked over to the open main doors and lifted the horn to his lips. Facing the darkness, he blew four times. A pause. Then four more.

Mac Roth leaned forward. “The Hunter's Horn,” he whispered to the boys. “It is winded at the beginning of each Festival. ‘Beware,' it cries. ‘For the Tuatha De Danaan will soon be a-hunting.'” He straightened back up when Mull began to speak.

“For thousands of years, the Tuatha De Danaan have come together at the autumn equinox to celebrate our heritage, to hunt, and to honor the Goddess. And even though we be far from home, we are still the people of Danu and the heirs of the green land.
Éireann go braugh
.”

“
Éireann go braugh!
” the crowd shouted back.

I wonder if I'll ever get a chance to go
, Finn thought. He remembered once asking Gideon if he missed Ireland.
Aye, lad, I do at times. I miss the sea and wind and wild hills of the Burren. But I have grown to love this western land. For it has a magic of its own
.

“But we be a bardic race, too!” Interrupting Finn's thoughts, Elaine MacDuff called down to the crowd. “So enough with yer solemn words, Toryn Mull. We've music to play and songs to sing!”

A shout went up. Bowing to the fiddle player, the chieftain stepped aside with a smile. Eager hands pushed straw bales to the perimeter of the building, forming a horseshoe circle with an open space between a pair of posts hung with a lantern apiece. People quickly
crowded together, shifting to new seats, chatting in anticipation. A few of them still held their half-eaten suppers.

“Gideon Lir!” Elaine MacDuff pointed her bow at the Knight. “Bring the rafters down!”

An even louder shout shook the building. After taking a quick sip of water to clear his throat, Gideon rose and stepped over the impromptu stage. Overhead, Elaine MacDuff leaned further down, one hand cupping an ear to catch his quiet request.

“Do ye know it, then?” he asked her.

“Why, 'tis certain. But where did
ye
learn of it? It's a bit modern.”

Finn blushed when Gideon pointed at him.
No way! Is he really going to sing
that
here?

A moment later, the band swung into a tune that had the crowd clapping in rhythm by the second chord. With a gasp of surprise, Lochlan whipped his head around.

“Is that what I think it is?”

Finn nodded, a grin spreading across his face. Around him, feet were thumping the floor, raising a cloud of dust. Then, his master began:

Fire in the head…I'm a flame in motion

Fire in the head…I'm a sword that's sharp

Fire in the head…I'm a drop in the ocean

A shield in battle and a string in a harp
.

Fire in the head…I'm an eagle soaring

Fire in the head…I'm a spoken word

Fire in the head…I'm a torrent pouring

A grain of wheat and a cauldron stirred
.

As his master sang the modern version of the Song from Finn's favorite group, others began to pick up the words and sing along. He noticed two of the older Knights looking askance at the interpretation of the ancient phrases. After a moment, they shrugged and joined in.

When Gideon finished, the crowd roared its approval. He gave a nod of thanks, then looked up and acknowledged the band. As he tried to return to his place, hands grabbed him and shoved him back.

“Oh no you don't, Lir. You're not getting off with just one song.”

“‘The Minstrel Boy,'” another demanded.

Relenting, Gideon shrugged. He glanced over and caught Finn's eye. “Will you join me?”

Tempted to slink down and hide behind Lochlan, Finn nodded. After gulping some water, he wiped his mouth clean on his shirt, then rose and picked his way through the crowd to the Knight's side. His feet seem to grow larger and clumsier with each step.

Okay, it's just like when we sang at the pub this summer. No reason to feel nervous
, Finn reminded himself, willing his knees to stop their shaking
right now
. At the sound of encouraging applause, he began to relax until he spied Tara staring at him, open-mouthed. The thought of singing in front of her made the stew in his stomach promptly congeal into a lump.

“Gideon,” he whispered under the cover of the noisy crowd. “I can't do this.”

“Why?”

“Because…because…I can't. I'll forget the words or hit the wrong note.”
Or my voice will crack and I'll squeak like a hamster exercise wheel
.

“Coward.”

“You got that right.”

Gideon chuckled. “You'll do fine.” He clapped a hand on Finn's shoulder, then kept it there.

Encouraged by his master's hand, Finn took a deep breath. When the first notes of Gideon's favorite song drifted down from the band, he began to sing along with the Knight:

“The minstrel boy to the war is gone
,

In the ranks of death ye will find him;

His father's sword he hath girded on

And his wild harp slung behind him;

‘Land of Song!' said the warrior bard
,

‘Tho' all the world betrays thee
,

One sword, at least, thy rights shall guard
,

One faithful harp shall praise thee!”

As the rest of the crowd took up the second section of the old favorite, Finn relaxed in the safety of numbers. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Kel O'Shea and Tara's heads nodding in unison as they sang along. Then, out of nowhere, Tara smiled at him. Still singing, Finn smiled back.

Why, boyo, do you not know? The ladies love a man who sings
.

He was almost disappointed when the song ended. Almost. After nodding politely to the crowd, he and his master returned to where Lochlan stood waiting for them. The band announced a break.

“I don't know how you can stand up in front of everyone and do that,” Lochlan said.

“I was pretty nervous,” Finn admitted. He looked around. “Where's Mac Roth?”

Lochlan poked a thumb over at the buffet table. “Getting fourths. Or fifths. I lost count…” He froze, staring past Finn. Finn whirled around.

Martin O'Neill, still wearing his gold cloak, was sauntering through the crowd toward them, the light from the various lanterns turning his sandy hair almost white. He smiled, nodding from side to side until he reached them. Then his smile vanished.

“Gideon,” he said by way of greeting. He ignored the boys.

“Martin.”

“I just heard from Toryn Mull that Jack Tully and you had a disagreement this afternoon.”

“You heard wrong, then,” Gideon said with a bland expression. “Jack Tully and I had a fistfight.”

Finn bit the inside of his lip to keep from laughing. O'Neill's face darkened. He cut his eyes once at Finn and Lochlan, then back to the Knight.

“Just remember, Lir,” he said in a cold voice. “The Council can order you—”

“The Council cannot order me to do anything unless I violate a law. Which I have not.”

For a moment, the two Knights stared at one another. O'Neill broke first. “See that you don't, then. You wouldn't want to miss another ten years, now would you?” He spun around, his cloak almost slapping his son in the face. “Lochlan, come with me. I want to talk with you in private.”

Lips pressed into a thin line, Lochlan shook his head. “No. I already know what you're going to say, Dad. ‘Why haven't you earned your torc yet? Don't you know how much money I spent on private lessons? How much longer are you going to be an embarrassment to the family?'” Huffing out a breath, he threw back his shoulders. “So let's just skip the whole scene, okay?”

O'Neill flushed. He leaned forward and hissed something at Lochlan too low for Finn to catch. Then, without another word, he walked away.