Deception's Pawn (Princesses of Myth) (12 page)

My friend was not amused. “You will apologize to Lady Maeve here and now or I swear I’ll show you the color of your guts.”

The rider raised both hands. “I was only joking.
Lady
Maeve?” He peered at me. I held my head high so that he could see the thickness and brilliance of my gold torque. It confirmed my high birth and noble status more eloquently than words.

So did the gleaming collar around his own neck.

He dropped from his horse’s back and came within a hand span of me. “I’m very sorry for any insult or offense I’ve given you, Lady Maeve.” The corners of his eyes crinkled with hidden mirth.

Before I could accept or reject his apology, Kian made himself into a wedge between us. “Well said. Now go on your way. I’m sure
someone
wants you elsewhere. We haven’t any more time to waste in your company.”

“And you called
me
rude?” the stranger murmured for my ears only.

I took a long step back, away from him. “Lord Kian and I do have an important task at hand; one that you interrupted. I wish you a safe journey and farewell.” I showed him my back as I went to retrieve Ea’s lure.

I heard his retreating footsteps behind me, followed by the sound of his horse trotting away. “
Yes
, I called you rude,” I muttered as I searched for the baited string. “You proved it, didn’t you? Not even polite enough to tell me your name.”

“What did you say, Maeve?” Kian asked. He stood scanning the sky for Ea, the lure already in his hand.

“Nothing.”

I failed to call Ea back to me. She was used to returning on command to Kian’s hand, not mine, and the hubbub the stranger caused upset her. She was in no mood to try anything new. I conceded temporary defeat and let Kian bring her down and hood her.

We no longer bothered splitting up before returning to Dún Beithe. It was an inconvenience and did nothing to stifle gossip. I’d learned that when malicious folk wanted to wag their tongues about something, they’d do so despite all the opposing evidence. As long as Kian understood that we were nothing more than friends, I’d put up with the irritating buzz of rumors.

As we entered the gateway, I saw a big commotion outside the door of the great house. Lord Artegal and Lady Lassaire stood in the midst of their most nobly born warriors and attendants while servants hovered nearby with food and drink. My fellow fosterlings waited among the other women. They wore demure expressions, but any time someone tried to edge in front of them, they deftly moved to hold their places. Then the crowd shifted and I got a good view of the reason for all this fuss.

“No,” I said, shaking my head. “Tell me it’s not him I’m seeing, Kian. Please.”

But Kian couldn’t lie about what we both saw: the wild, insolent young man—no, the rude
boy
who’d nearly trampled me on the road—was being welcomed to Dún Beithe with the citadel’s most elaborate show of hospitality.

“Kian!” Lady Lassaire caught sight of her son and waved happily. “Come here and greet our guest.”

My friend gritted his teeth into the stiff semblance of a smile. “See to the kestrel,” he told me in an undertone as he took my hand and managed to slide Ea from his arm to mine, along with the leather guard.

I gave Ea only a moment to adjust to the abrupt shift, then hurried away to restore her to her perch before anyone decided I should welcome that unbearable boy too.

It was a moment too long.

“Maeve! Maeve, dear, is that you?” Lady Lassaire’s voice trilled with pleasure. “Where have you been roving? And—oh my, what happened to you? Your dress and your hair look like … like—” She paused and darted a sideways look at her son.

Oh, wonderful, now she’s blushing
, I thought bitterly as I approached the lady of Dún Beithe.
There’s no doubt about what she thinks Kian and I have been up to, and I can’t say one word to deny it. It’d only reinforce her silly fantasy.
I sighed deeply.
At least she’s smiling.

“I’m sorry for my appearance, Lady Lassaire,” I said, stroking Ea’s feathers. “I’ve always been curious about this beautiful bird, and today Lord Kian was kind enough to let me watch him fly her. She’s a graceful creature, but I’m not.” I indicated my rumpled appearance. “I fell on the way home.”

A few snickers and some muttered jests came from the crowd, but one glare from Lord Artegal silenced them. “Are you hurt, Lady Maeve?” he asked solicitously. When I shook my head, he turned a frowning face to his son. “Why is she holding that bird of yours? It’s too dangerous for a girl!”

The stranger’s hearty laugh broke over us. “For some girls, perhaps, but for Lady Maeve?” he declared. “That birdie knows
better than to take a nip out of her fair skin. She could snap its tiny neck with two fingers!”

“Is that how they treat animals where you come from?” I shot back. “Make
their
necks pay for
your
failure to guide them wisely? I’m surprised your horse is still alive!”

My words scandalized Lady Lassaire. “Maeve, that’s no way to speak to our honored guest! You must apologize. And Kian,
do
take that bird away from her.”

My friend obeyed his mother, this time using his cloak to shield his arm.

“Careful, Lord Kian,” the stranger said smoothly. “You wouldn’t want to get a scratch.”

Kian sent spears flying from his eyes. With his gaze locked on the stranger, he deliberately let Ea grip his bare flesh, though her talons drew blood. Head high and proud, he left us.

“Well, Maeve?” Lady Lassaire said impatiently. “What do you have to say to Lord Conchobar?”

She was expecting an apology. What she got was a wide-eyed, gape-mouthed stare. “Conchobar?” I echoed. “Conchobar of the Ulaidh, Fachtna Fáthach’s son?”

“
Lord
Conchobar and
king
of the Ulaidh, thank you.” He grinned. “That’s me. So you’re
that
Lady Maeve? Old Lord Eochu’s littlest girl?”

“Yes, I
am
the High King’s daughter.” How haughty I sounded! But I couldn’t allow that puppy of a king to belittle me or my family.

Lady Lassaire cleared her throat. “Maeve, we are still waiting for your apology.”

Conchobar had his arm around her waist and planted a kiss on her cheek with such a loud smack that it made her jump
and squeal like a startled child. “May the gods bless you, my lovely woman, but why should the girl apologize? I couldn’t be insulted by anything she’d ever have to say. Is that beef I smell cooking? And—let me guess—venison too? I’m famished.”

“We don’t let our guests go hungry here,” Lord Artegal said jovially. He looked relieved. “Come in and see how well we fill your belly, my lord.” He and his wife linked arms with the young chieftain and escorted him into the great house between them.

Though Conchobar had come to us without warning, Dún Beithe’s cook set out a feast worthy of the noblest guest. While the roast meat was served up, more food was seething in the huge cauldron on the central hearth. Mead filled every cup, and by Lord Artegal’s orders there was wine as well, brought from the eastern coast and the lands beyond the sea. Conchobar’s arrogance set my teeth on edge, but at least his presence also gave them something tasty to sink into. I could enjoy the meal even if I didn’t care for the company.

After so much food, all I wanted to do was drop into my bed and sleep, but my friends had other ideas. All they could talk about was Conchobar.

“Isn’t he
handsome
?” Dairine gushed. “What wonderful eyes, and such
strong
arms.” She sat on the edge of her bed and hugged herself in rapture.

“I like his hair,” Gormlaith said in her timid way. “It shines and it feels like silk.”

“Liar! When would he let
you
touch it?” Ula snapped.

“By accident. Lady Lassaire told me to fill his cup and when he leaned forward it brushed over my—”

“Ugh, enough! I don’t want to hear about it.” Ula sounded
as though Gormlaith had described some unspeakably disgusting crime.

“Oh my, who’s jealous?” Dairine couldn’t resist the opportunity to taunt. “If you’re going to envy anyone, shouldn’t it be Maeve? She
talked
to him.”

“I’ll trade you
that
privilege for a worm-eaten apple core,” I grumbled. “If I’m lucky, I won’t have to trade words with him for the rest of his stay. Why did he have to come here anyway? Who goes riding around the country after Samhain? He’s king of the Ulaidh! He belongs back home looking after his people.”

“Maybe he came here looking for a wife,” Gormlaith ventured.

“He could do worse,” Dairine said with a distant, thoughtful smile.

“I’m sure he could,” Ula said, looking straight at Dairine.

Her meaning was clear and Dairine wasn’t slow-witted. The next thing I knew, they were embroiled in a quarrel that didn’t confine itself to words. Gormlaith squeaked with dismay and dithered until I told her, “You take Dairine, I’ll take Ula, and let’s end this before Lady Lightning strikes or we’ll all be confined to this room for the rest of Lord Conchobar’s visit.” No matter how little I cared for that bothersome boy, I was thankful for the magic peacemaking power of his name. By the time one of Lady Lassaire’s drowsy attendants came to investigate the uproar in the fosterlings’ chamber, we were all in our beds, pretending to be sound asleep.

The next day Dairine wore her hair unbraided, black waves concealing the scratches on her face. Ula didn’t bother with such ploys, carrying herself even taller than usual, daring anyone to remark on her bruises. Mousy Gormlaith slunk through
the morning, acting as if everything was her fault. When Lady Moriath came to fetch me for my embroidery lesson, I almost rushed into her arms, grateful to escape the storm cloud still looming over those three.

By this time I’d stopped making drawings in the dirt of the storehouse floor and was well on my way to completing a needlework image of Ea. Lady Moriath checked my efforts and grew happier each time she saw how much progress I had made. I’d begun these lessons as a ruse to spend more time with my kestrel, but I was surprised to find I was enjoying the task itself.

I studied the embellished cloth as Lady Moriath and I made our way to the storehouse.
Have I really made something so beautiful?
I marveled.

“I don’t know why you insist on working in that dim place,” Lady Moriath said as we walked.

“The weather’s not warm or sunny, so we can’t have this lesson outside,” I said reasonably. “If I have to stitch indoors, it might as well be where I can have another look at the bird that inspired my design. I’m going to sew this into a belt pouch for Lord Kian and I want the last details to be perfect.”

“Is that so?” Her eyebrows rose and dimples stole years from her wrinkled face. “My, my, the rumors about you two were right after all. Now I feel bad for having told Lady Lassaire she was mistaken. Won’t
she
be pleased!”

“What? Oh no, this isn’t a sweetheart’s gift, Lady Moriath,” I protested. “It’s just to thank him for all the ways he’s befriended me.” To ensure there’d be no confusion, I added: “Like a
brother.
Nothing more.”

“Of course, my dear.” She spoke in an innocent-sounding
way that as good as said
You are a very bad liar, child, but I think it’s sweet.
“Now do take care to keep your cloth out of sight when we enter the storehouse, just in case Lord Kian’s there tending the bird. You wouldn’t want to spoil the surprise.”

He was there. So was Conchobar. I could have sworn that I heard the gods laughing.

C
HAPTER
E
IGHT

An Unexpected Messenger

“W
HAT ARE
YOU
doing here?” I blurted out the words without thinking.

Conchobar and Kian turned at the same time, startled by my outburst. Kian waved weakly at Ea. Conchobar recovered his infuriating grin much too quickly and pointed at Kian.

“After you and the other delicate flowers of Dún Beithe went to bed, my friend here and I fell to talking,” Conchobar drawled.

“You’re friends now,” I stated drily. “That’s news.” False news, if Kian’s guarded expression was any indication of the actual state of things.

Lady Moriath didn’t know what to make of how bristly I was when speaking to the young lord of the Ulaidh. “Really, Lady Maeve, why shouldn’t they be friends? There are no grudges between Dún Beithe and Emain Macha.” She looked at Conchobar. “That
is
what you call your chief stronghold, isn’t it? I tend to forget so much these days.”

“Your memory’s good, milady, and if you ever have reason to travel there, I promise you’ll experience the most generous hospitality in all Èriu.” He offered Kian a conciliatory smile. “Though after all I’ve enjoyed here during this visit, I’ll have to work hard to be more openhanded to my guests than Lord Artegal.”

“That’s very gracious of you to say, since you’ve only been here one day,” Kian said.

“How many more will you stay?” I asked, then scrambled to soften my blunt words by adding: “It would be such a shame if we had to say goodbye to you too soon.”