‘Who knows?’ answered Conn.
‘Let us find out,’ said Fiallach.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
fiallach looked into the face of his rival and saw no fear, only surprise. ‘You want to fight me? Now?’ asked Connavar.
‘Unless you are too frightened,’ Fiallach replied. Ever since the last day of the Games Fiallach had dreamed of pounding the arrogant youngster to the ground. Everything had gone wrong since then. Tae had turned against him, and now the settlement he was expected to protect had been sacked by raiders. He had never forgotten that one moment, when the cold voice had warned him: ‘If that blow lands I’ll kill you.’ It had chilled him to the bone. He should have turned and beaten Connavar to his knees. Instead he had frozen, and been forced to watch his tormentor walk off with Tae.
He had felt her loss in that moment, like a cruel premonition. He remembered a shiver crossing his skin, and the beginning of sorrow weighing on his soul. His love for Tae had been the one constant in his turbulent life. At first he had adored her as a child, his feelings paternal and platonic. He taught her to ride, to shoot a bow, even to handle a longsword. Strong? Of course she was strong. Fiallach had helped to make her that way. And as she came to womanhood his love for her grew even stronger. When she continued to seek out his company, to ride and to hunt, he had believed her feelings for him had grown along with his own for her.
But ever since the Games she had been different, contrary and argumentative. He had heard from his men that Tae was asking questions about Connavar, the Boy who Fought the Bear, the Man who killed the King. Connavar the Warrior.
Connavar … Connavar … Connavar …
What had he ever done that Fiallach himself could not have achieved? The answer was nothing at all.
Yet it did not matter. Connavar was distant. She would, in time, have lost her interest in him. But no, the Long Laird saw fit to send the warrior to Seven Willows, and Fiallach had seen the light in Tae’s eyes. In truth he had also seen the spectre of his own defeat highlighted there. At thirty-one he was almost old enough to be Tae’s father, and he had then begun to realize that she saw him as a paternal figure. A powerful protector, but a man to lean on, never lie beside. The knowledge was almost too painful to bear. It clung to him like an angry dog, sharp teeth in his heart.
Now it was Connavar who had ridden into the woods to rescue Tae from the raiders. And Fiallach was finished. He had never loved another woman. Had he not been drawn off on that lion hunt it would have been he, Fiallach, standing before Tae, sword in hand, to protect her from evil. She might then have seen him in a better light.
But no, even the gods had turned against him, haunting his footsteps with ill luck.
He had returned to Seven Willows, having killed Phaeton, and walked into the ruins of the Long Hall, and there, silhouetted by the dying fire, he saw Tae asleep in the arms of Connavar. Truth to tell they looked perfect together, and Fiallach’s heart had finally broken. He had stood silently for almost an hour, watching them, seeing at the last how tenderly Connavar laid her down, making of his cloak a pillow.
There was no way now that he could kill Connavar. Tae was lost to him regardless.
Yet inside him raged a burning desire to hammer his fists into the face of his rival, to knock him to the ground and stand over his unconscious body; to prove to himself that he was superior to the man who stole his love.
His hands were trembling with the need to strike. ‘Unless you are too frightened,’ he heard himself say.
Connavar smiled. And hit him. The force and speed of the blow surprised Fiallach, but he absorbed its power and moved in, sending a thunderous left into Connavar’s cheek. The smaller man did not give way, and the fight commenced.