Spirit of the Mist (4 page)

She could hardly believe what she was hearing. Was he serious? Or just mocking her? Or maybe it was a little of both.
 

All she could do was draw herself up as tall as possible and look him straight in the eye. “I am on my way to see the king! Of course I would wish to look my best. It has nothing to do with you.”
 

She turned around before he could say any more and started off across the dun. “Will you be so kind as to escort me to the house of this king?” he called after her. “I am told that he waits to see me.”
 

“You may follow if you wish, Brendan,” Muriel called over her shoulder. She heard his footsteps in the grass as he caught up. She could not quite see him, but she could hear him following a few paces back.
 

He was laughing.
 

Her temper rising with every step, Muriel strode across the sun-warmed greenery of the grounds of Dun Farraige with Brendan following behind like a servant.
 

She could think only of how glad she was that she had not allowed any sympathy for his plight to affect her feelings toward him. He might be physically attractive, but he had proved to have a common, mocking manner with women. He was just another ill-mannered, handsome young male who assumed that every woman he met would instantly fall in love with him.
 

It was almost a relief to find that he was no different from any other man. She told herself that she would not have wanted to be involved with him anyway—and when word came back to them, as she was sure it would, that he was not a prince at all but just a smooth-talking captive trying to get better treatment for himself by lying about his rank, she would be free to go on with her life without giving him another thought.
 

He was certainly no prince. And certainly not what she wanted in a husband.
 

They walked through the scattering of the dun’s round white houses until they reached the long, rectangular building of the King’s Hall sitting at the center of the fortress. Muriel raised her chin a little, then turned to Brendan as she stopped before the wide central door of the hall.
 

“Please go in. He’s waiting for you.” She stepped back to let him pass.
 

He hesitated, then smiled and made her a little bow. “Thank you,” he said. Then he walked into the unfamiliar hall as though it were his very own.
 

Chapter Three
 

Muriel followed him inside, into the vast, high-ceilinged room. Sunlight filtered down through the thatched roof and streamed in through the hole above the huge, round firepit at its center. But her attention was drawn to the far end of the building, where the king and a group of his warriors and druids stood waiting. Brendan walked toward them as casually as though he were out for a stroll along the beach.
 

She found herself staring at his tall form as he strode across the rushes. His plain gray cloak billowed out from his broad shoulders, ending midway down his long legs and appearing a dashing contrast against the sleek, black leather of his new pants and boots.
 

Even in his plain, borrowed clothes he stood tall before King Murrough. He seemed to think he was just as regal and noble as the king, who wore brightly dyed blue and red and purple wools and who fairly glittered with heavy gold.
 

“Good morning to you, King Murrough,” said Brendan in his clear and pleasant voice. Muriel moved to stand a little distance away. She was careful to look only at the king, not at the tall, gray-clad figure beside her.
 

“Brendan,” said the king. “You are welcome here at Dun Farraige. I hope that the hospitality you have received has been satisfactory.”
 

“It has been more than I could ask for, and more than I deserve. I am grateful to you, and to your people, and especially to this lady who stands near me now—this Lady Muriel.”
 

He turned to her and smiled, and in that moment she saw only his blue and brown eyes and the smooth, fair skin of his face. She made herself look away and did not answer; instead, she simply inclined her head in recognition. She feared that her voice might quaver if she spoke…if those shining eyes gazed at her again…if that dazzling smile was fixed on her one more time.
 

Brendan turned back to the king. Muriel drew a deep breath and willed herself to remain calm and unruffled. He was just a man like any other. It was simply his eyes that were different. That was all.
 

“You are welcome to what we have,” the king said. “If you are now comfortable, we invite you to tell us your story.” He sat down on a bench, and the nine warriors and five druids around him shifted as they looked expectantly at their guest.
 

“I will be happy to do so.” Brendan’s smile included everyone in the room. “My name is Brendan. I am from Dun Bochna, the home of King Galvin, my father. It is a long way from here, far across the bay.”
 

“It is,” agreed the king. “It is five days’ ride from here—if one has five good days. I have been there twice. And on neither of those visits do I recall seeing you.”
 

Brendan regarded him. “No doubt I was out riding with the other men patrolling our borders, or checking on the herd boys out with the cattle in the hills, or simply hunting deer or boar. When the summer comes, I am not often to be found within the walls of the dun.”
 

“That is possible,” conceded the king. “But do you also set out alone in a little curragh when the summer comes?”
 

Brendan almost laughed. “I do not. That is another story.”
 

“So it is.” Murrough’s eyes narrowed. “You were found alone in just such a craft without weapon, sail, or oar. You were dressed in rags, your hair cut short in the manner of a slave.”
 

“Criminals are cast out on the sea just as you describe,” accused the druid nearest the king in a murmur.
 

Brendan drew himself up even taller. “I am no criminal.”
 

“You had neither food nor water, as the law requires,” the druid added. “Were your supplies lost during the storm? Or do you mean to tell us that someone deliberately set you adrift in this way?”
 

“Someone did exactly that. It was King Odhran.”
 

There was a murmuring among the druids and the warriors. King Murrough glanced up at them, causing their silence, and then turned back to Brendan. “I was told that you had spoken of Odhran,” he said. “We know him far too well. He has tried to establish a hold on the rugged lands at the eastern end of the bay.”
 

“He has done more than try,” Brendan proclaimed. “He has defeated the old king there and taken over his fortress. Odhran now holds Dun Camas.”
 

“We heard that there was a battle—perhaps nine, ten nights ago,” admitted King Murrough. “The farmers there believed that both King Fallon and Queen Grania were killed in the takeover. We could find no one who saw it, however.”
 

“That is because they were not killed. They were taken captive for a time—and then the king was blinded with the same pin that King Odhran uses to fasten his cloak. Odhran rules there now.”
 

Again the men of Dun Farraige talked in low voices among themselves. Their king’s face grew even more serious. He looked hard at Brendan. “They may as well have killed Fallon outright,” he said. “No man can be a king with such a disfigurement.”
 

“That is why they had it done: to shame him,” said Brendan. “Fallon tried to walk off the cliffs, but his queen begged him not to. I know this because they, and one of their men, were allowed to walk out through the gates as Odhran laughed.
 

“After many days, they managed to find their way to Dun Bochna. The former king now lives quietly in the shadows there with his queen. He remains alive only for her sake—and I can tell you that on the day she dies, he too will be gone before the sun sets.”
 

King Murrough gazed into the distance, nodding slowly and thoughtfully. “Something will have to be done about Odhran very soon.” He looked back at Brendan. “Yet you have not told us how you came to be set adrift.”
 

Brendan smiled. “I am the second son of King Galvin, and I wished to be named tanist. I wanted nothing more in life than to be the next king, after my father moves on to the next life—and so, not long after King Odhran took over, I led sixteen men in a cattle raid against him.”
 

The king raised his eyebrows, a slow smile spreading across his face. He nodded at Brendan. “A bold move,” he said. “Did you get the cattle?”
 

Brendan grinned. “We got half of his herd. And all my men got away safely.”
 

“All except you.”
 

“All except me. I stayed behind to draw off the pursuit when it finally came. My men got away—but I did not.”
 

“Another bold move. But you cannot be a king if you are held captive, or if you are dead.”
 

“That is true, King Murrough,” agreed Brendan coolly. He paced a couple of steps, then cocked his head and grinned. “But as you can see, I am neither.”
 

Muriel let out her breath. She wondered how this man’s bravado would strike the king and his men. Never had she seen anyone with such confidence, so sure of himself.
 

The king seemed to be enjoying his guest’s story. “So you were the only captive,” he noted. “I am sure that King Odhran could not have been too pleased to know that you led the raid that took half his cattle.”
 

For the first time, Brendan’s smile faded completely. He stood very still and faced the king. “You are right. He was not. He meant to kill me.”
 

“Kill you?” Now Murrough was frowning. “If you are the tanist, as you say, why would they not just hold you for the generous ransom your own king—your own father—would surely pay to have you back?”
 

“Because…when the attackers came, I fought with them so that my own men could ride away. I killed one of King Odhran’s men…and he turned out to be Oscar, the king’s own son and the tanist of his tribe.”
 

The king raised his head. “Oscar is dead? At your hands?”
 

“I did not wish to kill him. But he was determined to kill me. I had no choice, if I wished to live.”
 

“Oscar was as mad as his father. He was vicious. Cruel. No regard for the law.” Murrough nodded. “You have done us all a favor.”
 

Before Brendan could respond, the king fixed him with a cool stare. “So tell us, then—if you killed the mad son of an equally mad king, how is it that you live to stand before us here today?”
 

Brendan smiled again, but this time there was no humor in it. He glanced away and seemed to look inward, clearly reliving a terrible moment.
 

“Odhran meant to kill me with his own hands. He drew his sword and ran at me…and I would be dead were it not for his druids.”
 

Muriel was struck by a sudden dreadful image of Brendan falling to the grass, shock and pain in his strange blue and brown eyes, his fair skin suddenly white as death and splashed with bright red, his golden brown hair lying still against green grass.
 

She took a sudden breath and looked away. The image faded and she was greatly relieved to see that he still stood before her, draped in his soft gray borrowed clothes, calmly talking to the king.
 

“They said that one dead tanist was enough. That two would be a disaster,” Brendan went on. “Though I believe they simply did not want Dun Bochna to attack them while they were still trying to establish themselves at their new home.”
 

“The druids were much wiser than their king,” acknowledged King Murrough.
 

“They persuaded Odhran to exile me, instead; and once he got that idea in his head, he came to prefer it. He went on at some length about how much longer it would take me to die, and how much more painful it would be if I were cast out onto the ocean with no food and no water.
 

“When the druids protested this, he asked if they would prefer he killed me on the spot with his sword. They had little choice but to relent, and so they did.
 

“That evening, Odhran and a few of his warriors stripped me of everything I had, gave me rags to wear, cut my hair like a slave’s, threw me into a boat, and shoved me out with the tide. All of them laughed as I drifted away, and they were quite certain that they had seen the last of me.”
 

He turned to Muriel. “But thanks to this lady, they have not.”
 

The king regarded him for a moment and then whispered to his druids. At last he turned back to Brendan. “So. All this would explain why you had the appearance of a slave when we found you.”
 

A look of relief crossed his face. “It would. It does.”