He licked at the seam of her lips, and she opened slightly, before his tongue probed her mouth. The sensation was erotic, and she murmured, ‘What are you doing?’
He didn’t answer, but entered her mouth with his tongue, stroking her. From deep within, she grew wet, restless in a yearning she didn’t understand.
The kiss was growing hotter, and she took his face between her hands, kissing him harder. He was stealing not only her breath, but her common sense as well. Never in her life had she ever imagined a kiss would be like this.
He nipped at her lower lip. Then he pulled her hair over the sides of her face, shielding the scars, before he stepped away. Almost as if he didn’t want to look upon her again.
She didn’t know why he’d done it, but it upset her in a way she’d never expected. During the kiss, it was as if he didn’t care at all what she looked like. And now...now she worried that he’d suddenly realised just how terrible it was to kiss such a disfigured woman.
She forced herself to walk away from him, blinking back the hurt feelings. It was what she deserved, letting herself get caught up in imaginings that weren’t real. He was a fuidir, while she was a king’s daughter.
‘We should go,’ he told her.
And with those words, she understood that the kiss was a lesson to be learned. He didn’t want to be her friend or her ally. If she tried to bring down the walls between them, he would only freeze her out.
Chapter Six
They reached the MacEgan holdings at Laochre a few hours past nightfall. Killian led the horse for the last mile, because after riding so close to Taryn, his body ached for her.
He pushed away the needs he didn’t want to acknowledge. The kiss had been intended to silence her, to warn her not to befriend him. Instead, it had shaken his senses, making him want to lay her down and touch her for hours. Never in his life had any woman responded to him like that, and it had affected him deeply.
It had stirred her senses as well, and he recognised, too well, the danger. If he didn’t shut down the unexpected desire, it would only heighten during the days spent alone with her. He knew better than to court disaster.
And so he’d drawn her hair over her scars, utterly slicing apart her feelings. He knew the scars bothered her, though he thought nothing of them. But it was a means of protecting her. Better that she should hate him than desire him.
The open land stretched out before them, illuminated by silvery moonlight. Torches lined the stone walls in the distance, flares that reminded outsiders of the numerous soldiers who guarded Laochre Castle. It was one of the greatest strongholds near the southern coast, and Lochlannach settlers had their own presence within a few miles. To MacEgan allies, Laochre represented a sanctuary amid the upheaval of the past few years. To enemies, it was a fortress that could never be captured.
When they were within half a mile of the gates, an adolescent boy ran forward to welcome them. He was dressed little better than a slave, but Killian recognised Ewan MacEgan immediately. He was the youngest brother of the King, and he rarely followed any rules, save those that suited him. The moment Ewan neared them, Taryn pulled her hair forward, lowering her face from view.
‘Killian MacDubh,’ Ewan greeted him, a smile breaking over his face. ‘I haven’t seen you since last summer. Can you still swing two swords at the same time? I’ve been wanting to learn that.’
He gave a nod to the young man. ‘I can. And one day you will do the same.’ He was about to explain why they had come, but Ewan was already chattering.
‘You’ve brought a lady with you. Is she your wife, then?’ His voice cracked slightly, but he didn’t seem at all embarrassed by it.
‘No,’ Taryn interrupted. ‘He is my escort, nothing more.’
Indeed. It seemed that she had recognised his silent warning and now understood it. Killian hadn’t wanted to upset her, but better that than to kindle unwanted feelings.
Before Taryn could say another word, the boy bowed. ‘Welcome to Laochre, my lady.’ The young man’s face lit up with interest, and he added, ‘I am King Patrick’s brother. Ewan MacEgan is my name.’
Taryn’s face softened into a smile. ‘I thank you for your hospitality. I am Taryn Connelly of Ossoria.’
‘The King’s daughter,’ Killian clarified. He didn’t want Ewan believing that she was an ordinary lady.
‘I have come to visit with your kinsmen,’ Taryn explained. ‘I am on my way to Tara, and I am seeking warriors to accompany me.’
At that, an eager grin spread over Ewan’s face, as if he was more than willing to go with her. ‘My brothers and I would be glad to be of service.’ His voice cracked again, and he began boasting of how many fighters the MacEgans had and how they were renowned throughout Éireann. Killian risked a glance at Taryn and saw the bewildered look on her face. The boy had barely stopped to breathe as he’d continued talking.
‘Has Lady Carice arrived yet?’ he interrupted the boy. If she had, Ewan would already be aware of it.
The young man shook his head. ‘Trahern went to fetch her earlier today. I don’t know when he’ll bring her back.’
‘When did he leave?’ Killian asked.
‘A few hours ago. I suppose he’ll be back by morning.’ He sent another devilish smile towards Taryn, and from the sudden interest in Ewan’s face, Killian could tell that the young man was quite taken with her. The Lady nodded to him in acknowledgement, and Ewan proceeded to talk once again without ceasing, as they walked towards the castle gates.
The cat poked his grey head from the basket, and Killian rubbed the animal’s ears. Harold looked as if he wanted to jump down from the horse, and he lifted the cat from the basket, tucking him under one arm.
When they reached the castle, he saw soldiers surrounding the battlements of Laochre. It was a heavily defended fortress, particularly since they had been attacked and invaded by Normans in the past. Patrick had married a Norman bride to keep the peace, and there had been few battles since that time.
As Killian led the horse beneath the portcullis, he saw Taryn glance upward at the murder hole that Ewan was gleefully pointing out. She exchanged a silent glance of amusement with him, as if the boy’s adolescent behaviour reminded her of a younger brother.
Inside the gates, another wall surrounded the inner bailey. The grounds were immaculate, and Killian helped Taryn dismount so one of the stable boys could take the horse.
Considering how afraid of horses she’d been, Taryn had voiced no complaint for the remainder of the journey. When it was clear that Francis was not going to throw her again, she had seemed to relax. It had allowed Killian to keep the pace swift, and he was glad they had arrived before it was too dark to travel any further.
But when he’d ridden behind her, it had been impossible for him to find any sort of peace. With her body held close, he was all too aware of her curves and her scent. His imagination had tormented him with stolen visions of touching this woman. He never should have kissed her. It had been meant as a warning, as a means of frightening her into keeping her distance. But instead, the physical frustration had become his own.
It was only during the last mile that Killian had dismounted, leaving her to ride alone. She had tensed, but when she saw how close they were, she’d put aside her fears.
They walked inside another gate leading towards the main castle. He shadowed Taryn as Ewan escorted her inside. Though he had spent a summer training among the MacEgan warriors and he knew the men well, Killian felt apprehensive about standing in their Great Chamber as a visitor.
At the far end of the room, he saw Queen Isabel speaking with her husband, Patrick. The King was leaning towards his wife, and their shared look held an intimacy as if they were alone with no one looking on.
Oblivious to their moment, Ewan hurried towards them and began introducing Taryn. ‘This is
Lady Taryn of Ossoria, and she’s come to stay with us.’
Taryn lowered her head, still keeping her face as hidden as she could. ‘I am pleased to meet you both. And I would be grateful for your hospitality for a night or two, if I may.’
Killian bowed to the King and dropped to one knee. ‘The Lady intends to journey to Tara and is seeking men to accompany her. I was also hoping you might have word about my sister, Carice.’
The King beckoned for him to rise. ‘Your sister has not arrived yet.’ His gaze shifted over to Taryn and he greeted her, saying, ‘Both of you may remain at Laochre as long as you have the need.’ He gave orders to a servant to bring them both food and drink.
Queen Isabel approached Taryn with a soft smile. ‘I am glad to meet you, Taryn.’ She introduced herself and took Taryn’s hand, linking it in her arm. ‘Come, and we will talk awhile.’
She nodded, keeping her face hidden and drawing up the hood of her cloak as if she were chilled. It was the only way she could hide her scars from the view of everyone else.
Patrick stood until the women had left, and his expression held wariness. When he turned back to Killian, he asked, ‘Is she aware that her father is being held for treason?’
‘Aye. She means to plead for his life.’ He said nothing about Taryn’s hope to free the man from imprisonment, sensing that the King would disagree with her decision. But the dark expression upon Patrick’s face suggested he knew more about Devlin’s capture—and that it involved treachery.
The King of Laochre paused a moment, then added, ‘He allied with the Normans in an attempt to overthrow the High King. They will execute him at Imbolc.’
‘Lady Taryn wants me to save him,’ he admitted to the King. Undoubtedly, her loyalty was a daughter’s unconditional love—but given the stories, it was probable that Devlin had indeed attempted an uprising. If Killian became involved in a rescue attempt, his own life would be at risk.
‘No one can save Devlin now,’ Patrick countered. He sat down upon a carved wooden throne once more, gesturing for Killian to join him. ‘Her only hope is to plead for a swift, merciful death.’
‘And what will happen to Ossoria?’
The King shook his head. ‘Likely Rory Ó Connor will seize command of the territory and give it to one of his allies to govern.’
‘Would you be one of them?’ he asked, uncertain of where Patrick’s sympathies lay.
In answer, the King lifted his silver cup, a smile playing upon his lips. ‘I am loyal to my tribe and to my people. I have no wish to take another kingdom for my own. But one of my brothers might agree to rule over the province on Rory’s behalf.’
Killian didn’t miss the subtle hint that, aye, Patrick might indeed be willing to use his brothers to gain command of Ossoria. Though it shouldn’t bother him at all, he wondered if that meant one of them would want to wed Taryn. A sudden tightness took hold of his mood at the thought. He had no right to be jealous—none at all. Taryn was meant to marry a nobleman, and she had no choice in that arrangement. And the sooner he separated himself from her, the better.
‘Would you be willing to send men to escort the Lady to Tara?’ It would be far safer for Taryn to travel with their warriors, instead of just the two of them alone. Regardless of the King’s intentions, Killian wanted additional soldiers to protect her on this journey.
‘I could,’ King Patrick answered. ‘The High King demanded fighters from all across Éireann to help protect us from the foreigners. I have not yet sent my own soldiers to Tara, and my men could guard the Lady.’ He stood again and motioned for Killian to follow him. They walked along the trestle tables, towards the back of the Great Chamber. ‘But how is it you came to escort the Lady Taryn here alone? You have no ties to Ossoria.’
‘It was a bargain made between us,’ he answered. ‘She agreed to help my sister, and in return, I was to escort her to Tara. But our plans were interrupted.’ He explained to the King what had happened with Maeve’s soldiers and their subsequent change of destination.
‘So you brought her to seek help from us.’ King Patrick led him outside. Though it was not customary for a king to walk alongside a man of his low status, Killian knew that the man was seeking his own answers.
‘I cannot promise help for King Devlin,’ Patrick admitted. ‘But if Taryn wishes to see her father before his death, I could arrange that.’
It was likely the best she could hope for. But a blade of guilt slid within Killian, that he could not help her. Even if she did plead for his life, there was little chance that Devlin would be spared.
Torches flickered in the inner bailey, illuminating the stone wall surrounding the fortress. The King led him towards one of the outbuildings and offered, ‘You may sleep among my men. I will alert you when your sister arrives.’
With that, the King left him alone. Killian stood before the door leading to a small tower. Several men stood at the top, watching over the wall. He knew from his previous visit that the men took turns guarding the castle through the night. If there was more information about the High King or King Devlin, then these men might have the answers he needed.
As he climbed up the stairs leading to the tower, he knew that it wasn’t wise to escort Taryn to the High King, despite his earlier agreement. This wasn’t his concern any more, especially since she had been unable to uphold her end of the bargain. But he didn’t like the thought of letting her go alone with MacEgan soldiers. The men wouldn’t harm her—but he couldn’t let go of the worry that she would endanger herself with King Rory. The High King would not care that she was innocent—instead, he might use her to torment her father further.
She shouldn’t go at all. And perhaps it was best if Maeve’s men prevented her from reaching Tara. All he had to do was let them take her.
And yet, she was clearly afraid of her mother. Somehow Maeve was involved with the scars, and if he let her go back to the Queen, Taryn might suffer even more.
It’s not your battle to fight, he reminded himself. His concern lay with Carice, not a woman he had known only a little while. He could not leave Laochre until he had seen his sister with his own eyes. He needed to know that she was safe, above all else.
And then what? He had no silver or coins at all. The MacEgans might give him a place here, but he would still be a fuidir, albeit a free man.
It wasn’t the life he’d dreamed of. He wanted his own land, a place where he was servant to no man. Taryn had offered him silver and vast wealth, in return for his assistance. She had sworn to grant him anything he wanted—all he had to do was save the life of a traitor.
Or he could walk away and remain a fuidir.
Common sense told him that this was a grave risk. His own life might be forfeit, if he made the attempt. But if he did not intervene, King Devlin would die within the sennight. No man was foolish enough to defy Rory Ó Connor.
That is, no one except his bastard son.
His mind began turning over the situation. He did believe he could help Devlin escape, if that was what Taryn wanted. But he would have to remain invisible to the High King so no one would know how it had happened.
If he was caught in the attempt, there was a chance that he would die. But would the High King execute his own bastard son? Killian didn’t know. Rory had rejected him once before, so it was a great risk.
But with that risk came opportunity.
For once in his life, the power was in his hands. He could choose whether or not to help Taryn. If he did agree to this dangerous quest, he would demand what he wanted—land to call his own. And even more than land, he wanted his freedom to rule over it.
The thought was outrageous, for he possessed no legal rights. His mother had not been a part of the Faoilin tribe and neither had he. She had never spoken of her own parents or the tribe she was born to, refusing to tell him anything about her family. Even
the name MacDubh was an invented one.
He was a man without freedom, without any rights, without even a name to call his own.
Killian walked across the length of the wall, staring out into the darkness. Needles of ice stung his skin, and he rested his hands against the stone. Even in a place like Laochre, he felt the sense of isolation, of not belonging. All the silver in the world could not fill up the emptiness.
Taryn Connelly would do anything to save her father. But could she give him what he truly wanted—a place of his own? The Queen would certainly refuse to grant anything, since she wanted her husband to die. The only person who truly held the right to give him land was the man whose life he had to save: King Devlin himself.
However, it didn’t seem that anyone trusted Devlin. The man might make idle promises and keep none of them. Until he met the prisoner for himself, Killian could not judge whether or not Devlin could keep his word. Taryn seemed to think he was innocent of his crimes, but then, she was his daughter.
She was a pawn in this game, a woman who loved her father and would do anything to save him. The question was, how far would she go?
* * *
‘His name is Liam,’ the Queen said, passing over her son. ‘He’s just over a year old.’ Taryn bent her head towards the baby, and the rush of longing filled her deeply. The child waved his fist, his tiny hands touching her face, as if he could see nothing wrong with the scars. She pressed a kiss to the child’s forehead, marvelling at how perfect he was.
‘He’s beautiful,’ she told the Queen. ‘And look at his smile.’ She cooed over the baby, who squirmed in her arms, trying to get back to his mother.
Queen Isabel lifted her son to her shoulder, patting him. ‘He’s a sweet babe.’ She smiled serenely, then asked, ‘Has your father arranged a betrothal for you?’
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