Prologue

The wolfhound awakened Delaney before the raiders arrived, whining and urgent as he tugged her nightclothes, pulling her downstairs and out the door. She stumbled on a rock, barefoot as she was, and cried out, but the dog yanked her forward. Shivering in the cold night air, she followed. No moonlight lit the inner courtyard of her father’s keep. The huge dog let go of her gown and raised his head to sniff the faint breeze blowing in from the north. He growled low in his chest, his white canines visible even by nothing but starlight, and chased her into the low wooden structure her father used as stables.

The sweet scent of new-mown hay tickled her nose, and she fought the urge to sneeze. A horse stamped his foot and whickered, a question in the sound. The wolfhound gave her no time to stop to pet the horse’s nose as she would have under normal circumstances. The dog bullied her to the back of the stable where a stack of straw rose higher than her eight-year-old head.

A short time later, Delaney cowered under the hay. Her fist stuffed in her mouth to muffle the screams crouched in her chest just in case they clawed their way out. Swords clanged. Men shouted. Women screamed. Pandemonium ruled her world. As long as she remained silent and hidden, she might survive the slaughter. The screams of others echoed in her ears, and chaos reigned all around her. A whimper escaped around her hand. She didn’t breathe for a long moment as a scream echoed, a rising keen to rival the banshee. Her skin prickled as she forced her muscles to remain still. Every ounce of her being urged her to jump up and run away. The dog had burrowed into the hay with her. Even now he curled up in front of her, head down but ears perked, the grin splitting his muzzle full of malice should anyone discover them. His warm presence helped keep her calm despite the periodic shudders that racked her whole body.

A familiar voice yelled out in the courtyard. Her father. He shouted orders to rally the clann. She heard her mother scream her name then the names of her brother and sister, and finally, a weak wail followed. More shouts drowned out her father’s cry until his voice was silenced as well. She squeezed her eyes shut as tears threatened. Biting down on her fist, she kept her anguish silent.

Where was her brother? Her sister? Had they escaped the slaughter? For slaughter it surely must be. Her father wasn’t a warrior. He was a farmer, a breeder of horses, cows, and sheep. An occasional moan wafted on the wind then a wail, followed by a sound resembling a cleaver splitting a piece of meat. Death stalked through the keep. Eventually, complete silence descended, the effect more ominous than even the screams had been before.

Shhh, cailín, a voice as sweet as spun sugar whispered in her ear. “Stay very still and yee’ll be safe.” The voice crooned a lullaby so soft Delaney was positive no one but she could hear it. Not even the wolfhound stirred. She curled up at the dog’s back, huddling against him for warmth.

Voices echoed in the stables—two gruff, boastful men chortling over their conquest. She recognized neither. She felt the growl rumbling in the dog’s chest even though she couldn’t hear it. His muscles tensed. She prayed they remained undiscovered, knowing the dog would die trying to save her. His sacrifice would be in vain for she would likely die, too—or worse. She might be only eight but the raiders came every year to take what they could, leaving death and destruction behind them. The voices edged closer, muted now. Delaney pictured the men creeping along, checking in each stall before snagging the horse and trotting it out as spoils of war. The horses in her father’s stables were known far and wide, prized by friend and foe alike.

She was doomed to discovery. Fear permeated her very bones, making her feel like they could snap in two from the tension of waiting. A little part of her brain nudged, urging her to jump up and surrender, to throw herself on the mercy of the raiders.

Then a shouted name penetrated the fog of her fear. O’Neill.

She curled into a tighter ball, her head butting against the hound’s back. She’d heard terrible tales of the O’Neill raiders, of what they did to their victims. No quick death for her should she be discovered. The big dog she huddled against was her only weapon. He’d given her no time to grab the small scian she kept beneath her pillow. The little dirk wouldn’t be much defense but perhaps by putting up a fight, she’d annoy the O’Neills enough to kill her outright.

Time held its breath. The raiders took their own sweet time investigating the stables. At last they reached the haystack, their voices loud and raucous in her ears. The dog tensed, ready to spring despite the hand she laid across his shoulders to keep him still.

One of the O’Neills kicked at the hay. She strained to listen, her brain desperate to identify the sounds. His trews rustled as he bent over. His mantle unraveled from his shoulders and the end whispered across the hay. Each breath he took rattled like the wind in the rowan trees.

Just as she was sure they’d be discovered and the dog would leap from beneath their cloak of straw, someone yelled in the courtyard. The two men pounded out of the stables, their rapid exit kicking up puffs of dust that threatened to choke her. Her nose burned and a fierce tickle tormented her, teasing her unmercifully until she was positive she would sneeze and give away her hiding place.

“Shh, small one.”

She opened her eyes, straining to find the source of that voice.

He comes for you and all will be well.

Who? Her mouth formed the word, but she was still too terrified of discovery to ask the question out loud and too stunned to wonder where the voice originated.

No reply came but she swore she could feel the answer as real and warm as two arms wrapping around her in a hug. The sweet crooning sang in her ear, and in moments, she drifted into a peaceful daze.

****

The growls alerted him. Riordan tiptoed toward the pile of hay in the back of the stables. “Peace,” he murmured to whichever dog crouched beneath the straw. He heard rustling and pinpointed where the animal hid.

With great care, he dug through the hay. He didn’t fancy a dog bite. A furred head, massive with glinting teeth, reared up from the pile. Riordan recognized the beast. “Easy now, Bród.”

The big dog whined low in his throat. He held out his hand for the dog to sniff. With a grace belying his size, the brute pushed up to his full height and shook. Hay flew off his brindled coat like sleet driven before the north wind.

Riordan’s breath caught in his chest when he recognized the small figure curled up in the hay. The youngest of the O’Beirne children stirred and shivered in the cold left in the wake of the wolfhound’s abandonment. Riordan pulled off his mantle and wrapped the little girl in it. With great care, he lifted her into his arms.

“Ah, child, ’tis safe you are now. I have you.” Her head lolled against his shoulder as she snuggled into his warmth. His arms tightened instinctively even as his heart clutched. So far, she was the only survivor of the slaughter left in the wake of the raiders.

Outside the barn, Riordan’s cousin and clann chief, Ciaran MacDermot sat his horse like a legendary Finian warrior. In the courtyard, bodies lay in disarray, broken and bloody, as if thrown by a giant’s hand. Ciaran’s expression remained impassive, but his eyes mirrored the pain and disgust felt by every man riding with him. Riordan hugged his treasure closer, nodding in answer to Ciaran’s suddenly hopeful look.

Niall McDonagh, Ciaran’s captain, walked up, leading a horse by its reins. Refusing to surrender the girl, Riordan stepped up into the saddle with only minimal assistance from the other man. He urged his horse closer to Ciaran’s.

“Any sign of the others?” He murmured the words so as not to wake the sleeping child.

Ciaran shook his head. “None. Taidhg is tracking the raiders. They took all their wounded and dead with them so they will be slowed down.”

Niall stood between the two horses and nodded to his clann chief. “Taidhg will follow until he catches them, and then he’ll send word. There’s no better tracker in Roscommon.” He glanced at the child. “Is she all right, then?”

Riordan nodded. “She is. I found her buried in the hay pile at the back of the stable, guarded by Bród. Poor little cailín.”

As if he knew the men spoke of him, the big dog woofed and lunged up to put his front paws on Riordan’s knee. He nosed the girl and whined. The wolfhound stared up at Riordan, his liquid brown eyes showing his worry.

With the little girl resting across his thighs, Riordan risked letting go with one hand in order to pet the wolfhound. “You did well, Bród. You’re aptly named, boy, for you served the little cailín with pride.” He ruffled the dog’s ears and patted him on the shoulder. Seeming satisfied, the big dog dropped to all fours and waited patiently beside Riordan’s horse.

He looked down and realized the little girl stared up at him. Her eyes shimmered with tears but she didn’t speak, only watched him like a bright little bird, both curious and skittish. In the light of the torch Niall held, Riordan could tell her eyes were dark brown, framed by impossibly long lashes. He smiled at her, though his normally easy grin was stretched a bit to hide his angry reaction to the night’s events.

“Hello, cailín. So you’re awake after all. Do you remember me?”

She nodded, her pinched little face solemn. Arching her neck, she shifted so she could peek out of his mantle. Her eyes widened when she recognized Ciaran, and then they resembled the waters of Galway Bay as they filled with tears. One lone drop quivered at the corner of her eye, poised on a long lash before diving onto the soft cream of her cheek and rolling away, a silvery trail the only sign of its passage.

“Are they all gone?” Her voice whispered and, quaking with the certainty of his answer, sounded resigned. She shivered and closed her eyes awaiting his reply.

“We’re still looking for your brother and sister.” He could only hope he sounded more optimistic than he felt. The raiders had left no one alive. Other than the child in his arms. Her survival was a miracle.

A delicate hand appeared from beneath his mantle, and she cupped Riordan’s cheek. “You found me,” she whispered.

He had to swallow around the lump in his throat before he could speak. “I did, yes.”

“Thank you.” Those dark lashes drifted over her soft brown eyes, shuttering them, and she drifted back to sleep.

Riordans’ heart stuttered in his chest, filled with an emotion he had no name for. It couldn’t be love. An overwhelming wave of coldness strangled his heart at the thought of losing the tiny cailín sleeping in his arms.

He looked up to find Ciaran studying him.

“We’ll see her safely to Becca,” Ciaran promised.

Riordan’s stomach clenched and bile rose in his throat. He didn’t want anyone else looking after the child.

Mine! His brain roared the claim.

Yours, a voice as sweet as spun sugar affirmed.