Conor scrubbed the grime from his face and hands and did his best to make himself look presentable. Abban had not yet returned, but since he wasn’t anxious to face the scrutiny of the camp, he sat down in one of the chairs and began to check over his weapons.
The tent canvas rustled, and Conor looked up, expecting the commander. It was Aine.
He set aside his sword and rose. Behind her, the twilight had succumbed to night, and the light from the pavilion’s oil lamps turned her hair to burnished gold. She had changed her dress, and the simple wool clung to curves he didn’t remember her having.
Aine took a step toward him, then halted. Her eyes locked with his, but he could read nothing of her thoughts in their depths.
His stomach back-flipped. Could he have been wrong about her reaction? After all, she was no longer the shy girl he’d met at Lisdara, but a confident woman who commanded the respect of an entire camp. How could he blame them when his own heart hammered so hard in his chest he could barely breathe?
Then the barest hint of a smile lifted her lips. She crossed the pavilion in a few swift steps, and he enfolded her in his arms. The sense of rightness he’d felt at Lisdara settled over him, as if he’d reclaimed a piece of himself he’d forgotten was missing.
“I wasn’t sure you would come back,” she whispered into his tunic.
He stroked her hair. “I heard you call for me. It just took me a while to make my way here.”
Aine pulled away and stared up at him, her cheeks wet with tears, her gray eyes wide. He smoothed a lock of hair away from her face, and she inhaled sharply at his touch. The transparent longing in her expression made his knees weak.
She caught his hand and ran her fingers over the calluses on his palm and his fingertips, the marks of the sword and the harp. “You’ve been playing.”
“Every day.” He closed his fingers around hers, his eyes never leaving her face. “That’s why I’m here. I found the answers I sought at Ard Dhaimhin.”
Ruarc slipped into the tent, unsurprised to see them standing so close. “Ó Sedna and Mac Eirhinin are on their way back.”
“Thank you.” Aine tried to pull away, but Conor held her fast. Ruarc cleared his throat, and Conor released her an instant before the two noblemen entered the tent.
Abban barely gave them a glance as he crossed to the table. “Good. You’re both here. We have much to discuss. I’ve invited Lord Keondric to join us.”
Conor found himself seated beside Abban, facing Aine and Mac Eirhinin, just as the servants arrived with pots of venison stew and trays of crusty rye bread. His eyes kept returning to her while the servants placed the food before them. When he managed to tear his gaze away, Mac Eirhinin was watching him, his expression hard. A hint of unease rippled through Conor.
They ate in silence. When the servants returned to remove the bowls and refill their ale, Conor cleared his throat and addressed the table. “What can you tell me of our situation here? I’ve received only the broad strokes.”
“The situation is we’ve lost a third of our men in the south,” Abban said. “We’ve holed up behind the last strong wards we can find, much good that will do us. Calhoun has another five hundred men on the Timhaigh border, just in case. Meanwhile, we can’t engage our enemy for fear the sorcery will infect us.”
“Fergus is using blood magic to control his men,” Aine explained. “It’s like a parasite. When the victim dies, it looks for another host.”
“The infected can’t cross the wards?” Conor asked.
“No, but Fergus has someone who can unmake them,” Abban said. “He’s using the wards to control our movements, place us where he wants us. Eventually those will fail, and there’s nothing we can do about it.”
Conor saw the reality of the situation in the expressions of those around the table. “That’s not entirely true. We can find the ward-breaker.”
“It would take time,” Abban said. “Time to discover who this person is, time to reach him.”
“I know who it is. It’s the bard Meallachán.”
Aine gasped. “Meallachán? Why would he help our enemy?”
“I don’t know. Perhaps he’s being forced. Maybe he’s infected. Besides, we don’t need him. We just need his harp.”
“You learned how the wards are made?” Aine asked, breathless. “You could rebuild them?”
“If that were possible,” Mac Eirhinin mused, “the ensorcelled warriors would be trapped between the wards, unable to move.”
They exchanged glances, afraid to give in to sudden hope.
“We’ll need to tell Calhoun,” Abban said. “I don’t trust the message to be sent by rider. Aine, you will go to Lisdara and speak with him. We can have a party ready in two days.”
“I’m not leaving the camp! Who will see to the men?”
“Gainor needs a physician,” Mac Eirhinin said. “Your replacement can see to them. You’ll be safer at Lisdara, behind walls and wards.”
Aine leapt to her feet and looked at each of them in turn. “Do you understand what you are saying? It sounds easy enough—just find Meallachán and his harp and bring them back here. If you can find him, and if you can reach him, he’ll be guarded.” She appealed to Conor. “It’s a suicide mission. Do you know how little chance there is for success?”
“If not me, then who?” Conor asked quietly. “I’m Timhaigh. I can blend in. I’ve been well-trained by the Fíréin. And I’m the only one who can use the harp. It’s the sensible move.”
Aine blinked back tears, but she said nothing.
Conor sought to lighten the mood. “Who knows? I already came back from the dead once.”
Her eyes flashed. “How dare you make light of it! You have no . . .” She closed her eyes and reined in her anger. “I need to see to Gainor. Excuse me.”
Conor glanced at Abban. “Should she—”
“Ruarc or Lorcan will be outside. They’re never far. In the meantime, get some rest. Ask one of the captains for an extra blanket. Unfortunately, we have plenty now.”
“Thank you.” Conor rose and nodded to each. “My lords.”
After the stifling tension of the tent, the air felt gloriously cool, the faint smell of summer rain just discernible beneath wood smoke and cooking food. He drew in a deep breath and attempted to quiet his mind, but Aine’s stricken, accusing stare refused to leave him.
There was no other way. He had been prepared for this very mission, his life saved, his path guided, so he could accomplish this task. And yet now that he was back, now that he knew Aine had not forgotten him, how could he bear to leave her again?
He searched the camp for Aine’s tent, trying to convince himself he actually sought Ruarc to discuss plans for her departure. Within minutes, he had exhausted all the possibilities. He was about to give up and seek a place to bed down for the night when he caught sight of two silhouettes at the edge of camp beyond the supply tents: one tall and imposing, the other slender and cloaked.
Ruarc turned as he approached. He relaxed visibly when he recognized Conor and moved off a few paces to give them their privacy.
“It’s not fair,” Aine said hoarsely. Tears streaked her cheeks again. He reached for her, and she moved into his embrace without hesitation. “I don’t want to lose you again. I’ve prayed for this moment for three years. To think it might have only been so you could leave and do this . . . it’s cruel.”
“You must commit me to Comdiu again. I’m alive only by His will.” He rested his chin atop her head, surprised by how naturally they fit together, how little shyness he possessed around her. “I felt you die in Dún Eavan. When I thought you were gone, it broke me. I believed Comdiu must be unspeakably cruel to take you away. When I learned you still lived, I realized how little I understood of Comdiu’s plans and how quick I was to dismiss Him. If this is why He brought us here, I have to trust things will unfold according to His will.”
Aine tilted her head back to look at him. “While I was in the lake, Lord Balus spoke to me. He told me there were dark days ahead for Seare and I must be faithful. I’ve tried, but this . . . I don’t want to believe I was spared just to be a part of this.”
The anguish in her voice tore at Conor’s heart. He searched for words to reassure her, but they all felt inadequate. Instead, he slid one hand behind her neck and kissed her gently. Aine melted into the embrace, her hands moving up his back as she gave herself to the kiss, and the warmth he’d felt flared into something more. He disentangled himself with effort and stepped back.
“I should have told you how I felt before I left,” he said.
She smiled. “I knew. I heard it in your song.”
“I have loved you from the moment I took your hand in the hall. Do you remember?”
“Of course I remember. I dreamed of you before I ever came to Lisdara. Somehow I knew I would love you.”
Her words made him giddy. She loved him. The fears that had haunted him for three years vanished. “And now? Have you since come to your senses?”
She shook her head, mischief surfacing in her expression. “I’m afraid those are long gone.”
“Good.” He sobered and took her hands again. “Because if I come back, I want to marry you. If you’ll have me.”
Tears sprang to her eyes again, but she was smiling. “Of course I will. Nothing would make me happier.”
He laughed, and she threw her arms around his neck. Then he kissed her again until they were both breathless and trembling. Ruarc cleared his throat, and Aine jerked away to a safe distance. Conor threw a sheepish glance at the guard, expecting to see warning in his expression, but Ruarc struggled against a smile.
Conor grinned. “She’s just agreed to marry me.”
“So I gathered.” Ruarc said. “I suggest we all return to camp—separately—before you draw unwanted attention to yourselves.”
Aine threw an embarrassed look at her guard, but she stretched up on tiptoe to steal one last kiss from Conor. “Good night.”
“Good night, my love.” Conor squeezed her hand and smiled as she disappeared back into camp with Ruarc.
She still loved him. She wanted to marry him.
If he came back alive.
At the thought, the joy he had felt moments before turned cold. What were the chances he’d actually live to follow through on that promise? Had he just condemned Aine to even more heartache?
Lord, have I just done a terrible thing?
The first fat drops of rain stung his face as they spattered down around him. If it was an answer, he didn’t know what it meant.