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Day Four
Caitriona
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The great hall, in what had been Ottar’s palace, had been given over to King Diarmait and his household troops. Helga had fled with her young son—to where Cait didn’t know. The Isle of Man was her best guess. In victory, Brodar had been magnanimous and had chosen to let her go. With Ottar dead, she had no power, and he viewed her loss of the throne as suitable payment for her crimes. Besides, nobody wanted to see the former Queen of Dublin hanged for ordering the death of a slave.
“How well do you know this Brodar, Conall?” King Diarmait ranged back in his chair, replete with good wine and good food from Ottar’s extensive stores. He’d asked that the hall be cleared of everyone but Cait and Conall. Brodar and Godfrid weren’t present anyway, since they were celebrating the victory with their men at their camp outside the city walls, awaiting tomorrow’s ceremony, which would include a grand procession into the city and Brodar’s crowning on the top of the thingmote.
“Not as well as I know his brother, Godfrid.”
“Whom you trust,” Diarmait gestured with his goblet, “despite all evidence to the contrary.”
Conall grinned. “Yes.”
Diarmait canted his head. “No equivocation or caveat? Nothing to add?”
“No.”
The king smoothed his beard with his thumb and forefinger as he studied Conall. Even though they weren’t far off in age, Diarmait had always been the heir, the son of the previous king, while Conall had been his nephew, a sister’s son, destined for a lower level of greatness. It had been a truth between them, but not a barrier. There might have been more tension had Conall been the elder. Any free man had a right to challenge for the throne, and Conall would have been a credible rival for it.
Then Diarmait transferred his gaze to Cait. “What about you?”
Cait swallowed. “What about me?” She was in attendance because Conall had brought her, and they were all family, but she hadn’t expected her opinion to be asked, any more than it had been in Ottar’s hall.
Diarmait sighed. “For all that I was skeptical of your foray into the heart of Dublin, I am not displeased with the result.”
Cait laughed. “Ottar achieved a hero’s death, and Brodar is on the throne, beholden to you for his position. All at very little cost to yourself.”
Diarmait beamed at Cait but then returned his gaze to Conall. “It was a fine day when my father gave permission for your mother to remarry, for she produced a daughter who is both intelligent and beautiful.”
Cait snorted, though only under her breath. Diarmait was behaving as if she was a prized heifer at market. The thought had her eyes narrowing. “Uncle Diarmait—”
The king clapped his hands together. “Don’t be difficult, my dear. As went your mother, so will you go. We must make peace out of this moment.”
Conall’s eyes skated to Cait and then back to the king. “My lord, Cait is a widow, with the right to choose her next husband.”
Diarmait’s cheerful mood vanished in an instant, and he leaned forward in his seat, stabbing a finger first at Conall and then at Cait. “I shouldn’t have to remind you that I am not speaking as your uncle but as your liege lord. Donnell O’Connor almost succeeded today! I cannot have Connaught thinking it can threaten Leinster. They have looked covetously at Dublin for years, and they will not have it!” He surged to his feet and began to pace.
His outburst caused Cait to shrink away from him. Diarmait had doted on her for the whole of her life, treating her with a benign affection and amusement. This was the first time his legendary temper had ever been directed at her, and she was unprepared for it.
She wet her lips. “I don’t want to go against your wishes, Uncle, but please don’t make me marry Prince Donnell.”
Diarmait swung around, a look of astonishment on his face. “Is that what you think I want?” He began to laugh, so much so that he collapsed back into his seat. After a moment he seemed to recover, wiping the tears at the corners of his eyes. “I know I entertained the idea of giving you to Connaught, but after the events of today, it is impossible, even were Donnell to become High King.” He shook his head, his shoulders still vibrating with laughter.
“Then who?” Conall glanced at Cait.
Her uncle shot her another grin, and with a gasp, genuine hope began rising in Cait’s chest. “You don’t mean—”
“Of course that’s whom I mean. What do you say to an alliance with Prince Godfrid?”
Conall grinned openly, and he put an arm around her shoulders. “Well?”
Cait laughed, with relief and joy. “We say yes!”
