Warrior of Ice

by Michelle Willingham

  Taryn’s smile faded, and she hesitated in her answer. ‘I was almost betrothed once,’ she admitted, thinking of Lucas Ó Rourke.

  ‘Almost?’ Isabel prompted.

  Her cheeks flushed at the memory, and Taryn played with the strands of her hair, wondering if she ought to reveal everything to the Queen. In the end, she decided Isabel would learn the truth anyway.

  ‘He refused when he saw me.’ Taryn pulled back her hair, revealing the scars upon both cheeks. She expected the Queen to flinch at the sight of her marred skin, but Isabel only met her gaze evenly—unlike Lucas.

  ‘He told my father he could never wed a deformed woman like me,’ she continued.

  A flare of anger darkened Isabel’s face. ‘And what did your father say?’

  She only shrugged. ‘What could he say? I cannot change my face.’ And although Devlin had ended the betrothal on her behalf, he had taken her out for a walk later that night, offering consolation.

  It had been twilight, and the snow had begun to descend, coating the black branches with a layer of frosted white. Their footsteps had crunched upon the layer of ice and leaves, and the stillness had brought a sense of peace, soothing away her anger and sadness. The light was fading, the sun piercing through the trees like an ethereal halo.

  ‘It’s so peaceful,’ she said to her father. Somehow he had sensed that she needed a moment like this, after Lucas had spurned her.

  He took her gloved hand, and they walked for a time without speaking. Then at last he stopped at the edge of the woods. ‘You need not let this trouble you. I have had many offers for your hand in marriage. Some men already know of your scars and are willing to overlook them.’

  Taryn turned to face him. ‘I don’t want a husband who merely tolerates me.’ The truth was, she wanted a marriage far stronger than the one shared by her parents. It was clear that Maeve loathed Devlin, but the Queen had nowhere else to go. And for some reason, Devlin had not set her aside as his wife. She could never understand why they continued to live as husband and wife.

  ‘I will not force you to wed one of them,’ Devlin acknowledged, ‘but you must wed another king. Or at the very least, a chieftain. If I have no son to claim Ossoria, then your sons will fight for that honour.’

  She didn’t ask what would happen if she did not bear a son. Instead, she tried to dream of a future where a man would not judge her by what he saw.

  * * *

  ‘I suppose my bride price wasn’t low enough for Lucas to overlook my scars,’ Taryn said quietly.

  ‘I believe I might have hit him for that,’ Isabel offered. ‘Certainly a man who would say such a thing would deserve it.’

  Taryn brightened a little. It felt good to have a woman sympathise with her. ‘He did deserve to be struck down, aye. But I told him I would not marry him.’ Since then, she’d hidden herself away, refusing to consider other suitors, despite her mother’s attempts to arrange a marriage. She didn’t want to admit to anyone how much Lucas had hurt her feelings. It was easier to pretend to be a strong woman, to behave as if she didn’t care.

  But she did. And she’d spent the past year learning how to become a good queen. It was easier to involve herself in the lives of others than to face her own bleak prospects.

  ‘It sounds as if you are well rid of him.’ Though her face held curiosity, Isabel did not ask how Taryn had been scarred. ‘My husband may be able to help, after you return from Tara,’ she offered. ‘Several of his brothers are unwed. Although they do not have lands of their own, if it is your wish to wed one of them and stay in Ossoria, it is a possibility.’

  Taryn suspected the Queen’s offer was born out of courtesy, nothing more. She knew, too well, that men judged what they saw, not the person she was. But she gave the expected response, ‘Perhaps.’

  She did want a husband and children of her own, one day. But it was hard to let go of the hurt feelings from Lucas’s rejection. She had never forgotten the distaste in his expression when he’d viewed her scars.

  ‘You don’t want to wed one of the MacEgan men, do you?’ the Queen predicted. ‘I can see it in your face.’

  Taryn shook her head. ‘Oh, it isn’t that. If they look anything like your husband, they will be handsome men.’

  ‘Of course they are,’ Isabel agreed. ‘And men like Trahern or Connor are beloved by all the women.’

  ‘Which is why they would never even look at a woman like me,’ Taryn reminded her. Though she supposed it sounded like self-pity, in her mind, it was the truth. She knew she could find a husband who wanted to rule at her side. But she wanted more than that, and pride kept her from lowering her standards.

  Isabel tucked her son into his pallet upon the floor, then turned to face her. ‘The MacEgan men see beyond a woman’s appearance, Taryn. Despite my Norman ancestry, my husband grew to love me for the woman I am. A man who sees your true self is one worth keeping.’ She offered her a warm smile. ‘Why don’t you stay with us a little longer and meet them?’

  ‘I cannot stay for long,’ she said, though the offer lifted her spirits. ‘I want to make sure Killian’s sister arrives safely. Then I must go on to Tara.’

  The Queen’s smile widened. ‘Killian is a handsome warrior, isn’t he? My ladies all have their eyes upon him.’ She tilted her head and asked, ‘But why is it that you travelled with him towards Tara and not your father’s men? Were you running away?’

  The woman’s intuition was sharper than Taryn had guessed. ‘My mother did not want me to plead for the King’s life,’ she admitted. ‘In truth, she forbade me to go. I came to seek your help, and Killian agreed to escort me here.’

  The Queen walked towards the window, as if she was deep in thought. Taryn waited for the woman to speak, but when Isabel remained silent, she voiced another question. ‘How do you know Killian?’ He had told her he was little more than a slave among the Faoilin tribe. Why, then, would he be so familiar with the MacEgans?

  ‘He spent several summers training with our men.’ The Queen added, ‘The women were heartbroken to see him go.’

  Strangely, there was a twinge of discontent at the thought of women offering themselves to Killian. He must have enjoyed their attentions, and truly, why should she care? Yet Taryn remembered, too well, what it was like to kiss him. It had startled her, stealing the very breath from her lungs.

  ‘I imagine he left because of his sister, Carice,’ Taryn guessed. ‘She’s been very ill.’

  Isabel turned grave. ‘Then I do hope Trahern will be able to bring her here, even if it is only for a short while. We have good healers whose knowledge of herbs and medicines is unsurpassed.’ The Queen hesitated a moment. ‘She will be safe, so long as the High King does not know that we helped her to flee.’

  Taryn nodded, but her mind was more preoccupied with thoughts of Killian. She didn’t know if he would agree to help her any more, after she had failed to keep her bargain about Carice. Her mother’s pursuit had made it far more difficult, and she did not doubt that Maeve would try to stop her from reaching the High King.

  A few minutes later, a servant arrived with a small repast of wine, bread, roasted boar, and cheese. Taryn sat with the Queen and ate while Isabel told her stories of her husband’s encounters with the Norman invaders. She learned that Isabel’s marriage to Patrick had been arranged to keep the peace between the Normans and the Irish. They had begun as enemies, but had ended up falling in love.

  ‘An arranged betrothal can make a good marriage,’ Isabel said. ‘If it is with the right man.’

  Taryn knew what the Queen was implying, but right now, her greater concern was saving her father. ‘I do hope to marry one day,’ she said. ‘But not yet.’ There was too much at stake right now. Until the pieces of her life were put back together, she could not imagine another betrothal.

  ‘I understand.’ Isabel grew
serious for a moment. ‘But if your father cannot be saved, your family will need alliances to help keep the peace in your own kingdom.’

  Taryn didn’t want to even consider that possibility. She had to believe that Devlin could come home again. ‘Perhaps,’ she hedged. Then she said, ‘I would like to speak with Killian again before I retire for the night.’ She wanted to know if it was his intention to leave her behind, once Carice was safe. Though it was likely, she rather hoped he would change his mind.

  ‘I will send for him, if you wish,’ the Queen offered. ‘He is staying among our soldiers.’

  ‘I would be grateful,’ Taryn said. Even so, she was wary of treating Killian like a servant, to come at her beck and call. Already he was tense, since Carice had not arrived. He was a man on edge, ready to do whatever was necessary to defend his sister. She prayed that the young woman would arrive here safely.

  Isabel spoke to one of the servants and then turned to Taryn. ‘I will leave you alone to speak with him, but if you have need of me, I won’t be far away.’ Her gaze was searching, as if she sensed that there was more between them.

  After the Queen left, Taryn paced across the solar. The fire burned brightly on the hearth, and she could hear the low murmur of conversation from the people around them. Laochre Castle was a bustling settlement, filled with Irish and Normans blended together.

  The stone rooms were not as cold as she’d expected, for tapestries lined the walls and the hearth brought a sense of comfort to the solar. But there was no peace within her now. She could not set aside her worries about Tara. It would take only two or three more days to reach the High King’s fortress, and she had no idea what she could say that would convince the Ard-Righ not to execute her father. A woman’s pleas meant nothing to the King of all Éireann.

  The door to the solar opened, and Killian stepped inside. From the moment he entered the room, he took command of the space. There was no deference in him, and the look in his eyes held an intensity that made her uneasy.

  ‘I was wanting to speak with you again,’ he said without any greeting at all. In one hand, he held out a woollen cloak with a hood. ‘Put this on and walk with me.’

  ‘We can speak here,’ she said. ‘There is no one to overhear our conversation.’

  ‘There are always eavesdroppers within a castle. Ewan MacEgan, for one,’ he said. Then he crossed towards her and placed the cloak over her shoulders, drawing the hood over her face.

  It felt as if he were trying to hide her appearance, and she felt a pang of frustration. You’re being overly sensitive, she told herself. It was midwinter and freezing outside.

  Killian led her down a narrow hallway and into a room that opened on to the battlements. Outside, the wind roared against the stones, the air filled with cold sleet. She shivered within her cloak, pulling it tightly over her body.

  ‘Is there any sign of Carice?’ she asked, when they were alone.

  He shook his head. ‘Not yet. But it’s too soon for her to be here. I trust in Trahern MacEgan—the man will bring her to Laochre as soon as he can.’ His grey eyes narrowed upon her, and she had a sinking feeling deep inside.

  ‘Our agreement has changed,’ he began. With the words, a chill whispered over her skin, and she knew, without him saying a word, that he was going to leave her here.

  ‘I thought you might say that.’ She had hoped he would continue escorting her to Tara, but the look in his eyes suggested that he did not want to any more. ‘I am sorry I could not help your sister. But I could do naught to stop my mother’s men from pursuing me.’ She was only one woman, and Maeve had no intention of letting her go.

  ‘No,’ he agreed. ‘And they will try to stop you from reaching Tara. It is likely that they will succeed.’

  She faced him, staring into his grey eyes. ‘You’ve given up, haven’t you? Once Carice is here, you would rather walk away from what I have to offer.’

  ‘Not necessarily,’ he countered. The coldness in his voice held a ruthless air, and she suddenly suspected that she would not like what he was about to say.

  He crossed his arms and studied her. Freezing droplets of ice caught in his dark hair, and she was held spellbound by his iron eyes. This man, though little more than a slave, was accustomed to getting what he wanted. He was breathtakingly handsome, and she had now experienced what it was to be kissed by this man. It had shaken the foundation of her good sense.

  ‘I could take you to Tara,’ he said slowly. ‘And I might be able to save your father’s life. But it isn’t silver that I’m wanting as my reward.’

  Her nerves tightened at that. ‘What is it you want?’

  ‘I want land,’ he said quietly. ‘I want a place of my own in Ossoria.’

  For a moment, his words hung within the space. She wanted to tell him yes, of course, she could grant him a place. But she hesitated, needing to be truthful with him. ‘Land may not be within my power to give. Especially if my father is exiled from Ossoria. I do not know who will become the new king.’ Taryn took a step closer and pleaded, ‘Let me give you silver or wealth. Or you could become one of our tenants with all the rights of a tribesman.’

  ‘No.’ He studied her a moment and said, ‘My land will not be part of Ossoria, for I will have no man as my king.’ Within his eyes, she saw the frustration of a man who had been powerless all his life. But he was asking for too much.

  All she could say was the truth. ‘Then I will have to get help from someone else.’

  In his bearing, she saw years of resentment and frustration. For a moment, she wondered how she would feel if she were a serving girl, forced to obey the commands of others. She understood why he wanted another life...but she held so little power in Ossoria. Her father and mother commanded the people—not her.

  Killian crossed his arms, and she caught a glimpse of the stone-hearted man he was. All his life he had lived with invisible chains—she understood that. But she could not divide her kingdom for his sake.

  ‘My father is the only one who can grant that wish,’ she admitted. ‘If he is pardoned, then I have no doubt he will give you the reward you deserve.’

  The expression on Killian’s face suggested that he didn’t believe that at all. ‘He can never return. You know that as well as I. Rory will not forgive a man who tried to seize his throne.’

  She suspected as much, but she didn’t know what to say any more. It felt as if all the pieces of her life were shattering around her. ‘You are Rory’s son. Do you not think you could intervene on my father’s behalf?’

  ‘I do not know,’ he said. Turning back, he added, ‘I may be able to free your father in secret. But I doubt if the Ard-Righ even cares if I breathe.’

  She stared at him, the wind icing through her cheeks and hair. Killian went to stand at the edge of the battlements while the rain battered his face. As she watched him, she saw a man who had been isolated all his life—a man who had never relied upon anyone but himself.

  I care if you breathe, she wanted to say but didn’t. The thought frightened her, for she was indeed getting too close to this man. She took a step towards him but forced herself to stop.

  ‘I am sorry to hear it.’

  He stared out into the darkness, seemingly unaware of the harsh weather. Taryn held her hood over her face to shield her from the freezing rain, choosing her words carefully. ‘Would you rather not go?’ she asked. ‘I could still speak to the High King myself and plead for mercy.’

  At that, Killian faced her. There was a dark expression on his face, as if he didn’t at all like that idea. ‘He will not listen to a woman’s desires.’

  He drew closer, and she grew nervous beneath his gaze. The water and ice clung to his face, but the cold did not appear to bother him. ‘And he might threaten you in other ways.’

  It was disconcerting to be the focus of this man’s att
ention. He was so handsome, almost as if he were not real. She found herself watching his mouth, remembering the aching pleasure of his kiss.

  ‘No man would threaten me at Tara,’ she said. ‘I know what I look like and how I seem to outsiders.’

  But he caught her chin and tilted it up, forcing her to face him. With his hands, he framed her scarred face, staring into her eyes. She watched as a droplet of water rolled down his cheek, and the instinct to touch it came over her.

  ‘Believe me when I say that men do not care about a woman’s face. Some will take what they desire, whether a woman wills it or not. You would not be safe from the High King’s men.’

  She supposed that could be true of some soldiers. Thankfully she had never been in such danger. But even so, most men shunned her presence.

  ‘They say I am cursed,’ she said softly.

  His fingers passed over her marred skin, and the touch was so light, she felt it spiral down her body. For a moment, she wondered what it would be like to have smooth skin. Or to have a man like Killian look upon her with interest. The sudden flare in his eyes made her go motionless. He did not take his hand from her face, and his thumb edged her lips.

  ‘Perhaps you are,’ he answered. But in his eyes, she saw an intensity that frightened her. He was watching her in a different way, one that made her cheeks grow warm.

  He does not want a woman like you, she reminded herself. All he wants is land of his own.

  And there was no means of granting that to him.

  ‘You won’t go to Tara alone,’ he swore. Her skin rose up with gooseflesh beneath his stare. For a moment, she imagined what it would be like if this man were her protector. The thought only heightened an unspoken yearning.

  ‘I know the MacEgan soldiers have agreed to be my escorts,’ she said. ‘But will you come with me as well?’

  He didn’t answer at first. Then he slid one hand against her waist. For a moment, he kept it there, watching to see what she would do. His touch burned through her gown, making her wonder why she was so fascinated by this man. Was it because he saw past her scars? Or was there something more?