Warrior of Ice

by Michelle Willingham

  The man’s silence suggested that he didn’t care that anyone had come for him. Or perhaps he believed that Killian was here to torture him or draw out information that could be used against his family.

  Taryn had pleaded with him to save this man, while Maeve wanted him to die. Imbolc would begin on the morrow, and this was Devlin’s last day to live.

  ‘Do you want to see them?’ Killian asked. He waited for an answer, but Devlin only lowered his head.

  ‘Nay, I’ve no wish for them to see me like this.’

  He could understand that—especially if he believed their lives would be in danger. ‘Your daughter asked me to intervene on your behalf,’ he told the King. ‘She begged me to set you free.’ Killian hardened his tone and continued, ‘Why are you worth saving? Or shall I just let you die?’

  ‘I have no intention of dying.’ There was enough arrogance in the man’s voice to make him wonder what the King’s intentions were. ‘The High King is trying to use me as an example to other kings. If he executes me, he risks losing the support of his allies. And the Normans will not look upon him with favour.’

  The man’s treason was clear enough. He had betrayed his kinsmen, and there was no remorse in his actions.

  ‘Why did you ally with our enemies?’ Killian asked.

  ‘Rory will not keep his throne unless he forms an agreement with the Normans. His plan to raise an army against them will cause hundreds of men to die. If we negotiate with them, it will save many lives.’

  ‘I suppose you already have an “agreement” with them.’ Now he was starting to gain a stronger understanding. If Devlin intended to overthrow the High King, it would give him a position of power among their enemies.

  ‘The Irish will never come together as one kingdom,’ Devlin said. ‘They raid against the other tribes, and there are so many kings, they squabble among themselves.’ His voice grew quieter, and he added, ‘Rory is a weak High King. He will never hold his throne against the Normans. Strongbow knows it, and so do I.’

  Richard de Clare, a Norman nicknamed Strongbow, had brought his own invasion only a few years ago. His men had remained within Éireann, and the Norman King Henry had visited Tara to establish his own dominion.

  Killian probed further, wanting to know more about Devlin’s plans. ‘And what about the Queen? Your wife intends to rule Ossoria without you.’

  ‘Maeve knows nothing of how to rule,’ Devlin said quietly. ‘Men do not listen to her.’ He turned to face Killian at last. ‘I know you were sent to question me. But ask yourself this. What will happen when the Ard-Righ is stripped of his throne, because he did not acknowledge the greater power of our enemies? If you do not carefully consider your loyalties, your head will be beside his. Think upon that. For the Normans are intending to seize land, while King Henry intends to claim Éireann. Unless he already has a man loyal to him, who takes command as High King.’

  Devlin made it sound as if an attack was imminent. And whether or not it was, there was no doubting that the man held no allegiance towards Rory Ó Connor. He was indeed a traitor.

  ‘And what of your daughter? Were you intending to give her in marriage to one of the Normans?’ He couldn’t keep the fury from his voice. Taryn did not deserve such a fate.

  ‘I doubt she will ever be able to marry,’ Devlin said. ‘If you have seen her, you know the reason why.’

  Anger darkened within Killian. These were not the words of a proud father who loved his daughter. And yet...though Devlin could be lying, pretending as if he didn’t care for her at all, the dull tone in his voice suggested otherwise.

  ‘Was it true what Maeve said, that you were responsible for her scars?’

  Devlin remained silent. But his lack of a denial was the answer Killian had anticipated. It seemed that he had set his dogs upon his daughter. What kind of a man would make her suffer in such a way?

  His mood was dark when he stepped back towards the gate. Though Taryn would be devastated by Devlin’s death, he could see no reason why the man deserved to live.

  * * *

  ‘You are commanded to come with me, Lady Taryn,’ a young woman bade her. ‘King Rory wishes to speak with you.’

  It was barely past dawn on the morning of Imbolc. Taryn rose from her place on the floor, feeling numb with terror. Killian had not returned last night, and she knew not what decision the High King would make.

  The maid led her outside the room, where two guards shadowed them. Although they did not seize her, Taryn was well aware of their weapons. They continued down the stairs and outside.

  Winds tore at Taryn’s hair, pulling it back from her face and revealing the scars to anyone who stared at her. Though she wanted to lower her head, it made no difference now. Let them look, she thought.

  And so she kept her shoulders back, following the maid through the fortress towards a large stone chair. Rows of men stood before the High King, and there was an unnatural silence.

  ‘Why have I been brought here?’ she asked the maid. But the young woman only shook her head, offering no answer at all. Taryn took slow steps forward, feeling uneasy about what was happening. Only when she reached the chair did she see her father on the ground before the High King. He was dressed in only a ragged léine made of wool, and his black hair was matted. His beard had grown out below his chin, and manacles hung from his wrists.

  ‘Father,’ she whispered, dropping to her knees. Tears blurred her eyes at the sight of him. When she looked upon his features, she did not see the face of a traitor.

  Instead, she saw the man who had grieved for the loss of his son...and the man who had spent years treating her as a beloved daughter. They had taken long walks together, and he’d taught her how to lead their people. He had never raised a hand against her, and she wondered if what her mother said was true. Had he set the dogs upon her and caused the attack? Was that why he had spent so much time with her—out of remorse? Or had her mother spoken lies, meant to make her despise her father and leave him to die?

  She didn’t know. But it hurt to see him like this, facing his own execution.

  God help him, she feared that her mother’s prediction would come true. Maeve had said that the High King intended to execute Devlin...and if Taryn pleaded for him, Rory would kill him before her eyes.

  Killian stood beside the High King, but she saw no mercy in his eyes. His attention was fixed upon Devlin, and though he had to have seen her approaching, he did not meet her gaze. It could only mean the worst.

  Look at me, she wanted to plead. She wanted to gain strength from Killian’s presence, to know that he would stand by her and help her free Devlin. Instead, she was terrified that he was powerless to do anything.

  Her father’s léine was stained with blood, and she was certain he’d been whipped or tortured. But instead of fear in his eyes, she saw a restlessness. It was as if he were waiting for something to happen.

  Taryn turned to look at the crowd of men and women gathered around. She recognised only a few of the High King’s soldiers nearby. Shielding her eyes against the sun, she saw Maeve on horseback in the distance, surrounded by her own escorts. It seemed that her mother fully intended to witness her husband’s death.

  Again, Taryn raised her eyes to Killian, praying that he would do something to stop this. If he was Rory’s acknowledged son, then he could ask on her behalf. But there was a stoic expression upon his face, as if he cared not what happened to her father.

  She didn’t understand at all. This man had fought for her, lain beside her at night, and loved her until she’d cried out from the joy of it. Why would he not look at her?

  ‘I know that you have come to plead for Devlin Connelly’s life,’ the High King said to her. ‘But this man is a traitor and has allied himself with the Normans, intending to overthrow me and seize command of Éireann.’ His gaze was iron, h
is grey eyes staring hard at her. ‘He deserves to die.’

  She could not bring forth any words. Aye, she wanted to beg for the High King’s mercy once again. But the stony expression on Killian’s face suggested that there would be none.

  Taryn moved forward until she stood directly before the High King. When she reached her father, her eyes filled up with tears. He appeared half-starved and emotionless.

  Slowly, she lowered herself to her knees. The cold earth was damp, and the wetness seeped into her skirts. She remained kneeling before the High King and said quietly, ‘I give you my loyalty, as Lady of Ossoria. And I would ask for your mercy on my father’s behalf. Exile him, if you must. But please...let him live.’

  Her words did nothing to soften the High King’s ire. Taryn barely heard the King’s answer, his diatribe about how Devlin had betrayed them, raising an army against them. Instead, she studied Killian’s face, searching for answers within those cold grey eyes.

  He’d wanted land of his own, a chance to have his freedom and a different life. She had offered that to him in return for saving Devlin. But now, he had no need of it. And that meant he no longer needed her.

  ‘I accept your fealty,’ the High King answered. ‘And I am inclined to forgive your part in my bride’s disappearance, since you brought my son back to me. But as for your father, I will grant only the mercy I spoke of before.’

  Her pulse was racing, her knees aching as she prayed that Killian could somehow intervene for them. A swift death was the only offer Rory had made.

  ‘I must know that my son is loyal to me,’ the High King continued. A low buzzing rang in Taryn’s ears, and she felt sick with fear. ‘I need to believe that his obedience is without question.’ Rory unsheathed his own sword and passed it to Killian.

  Nausea rose up in her throat, her heart pounding. Dear God, she now understood why she had been brought here.

  ‘I will indeed grant your father mercy and accept your loyalty. Instead of a traitor’s death, he will be beheaded. Death will come in one swift blow.’

  She stared at the gleaming sword in Killian’s hand. The High King was testing his son’s loyalty and obedience. If Killian refused to kill her father, then he would be accused as a traitor.

  But if he obeyed, all was lost.

  Don’t do this, she pleaded silently. The tears fell down, and she rose from her knees, not knowing what to do.

  She moved towards Killian, her heart breaking into pieces. She had given this man everything, believing in him. He had sworn that he would do everything to protect her father.

  ‘Please,’ she said to Killian, dropping to her knees before him. Though she could not shield Devlin, it was the only thing left she could do. ‘Don’t, Killian. I beg of you.’

  He did look at her then, but his eyes were frosted and cold. Gone was the man who had loved her at night, who had taken away her fears. No longer did she see the man who had ridden by her side, journeying with her to this place.

  And she knew. God help her, she knew that he would carry out this death sentence. The tears flowed freely, and she could not bear it when he stepped past her, his sword raised.

  Then he lifted his weapon and struck.

  Chapter Thirteen

  His sword bit through flesh and bone, and Killian slashed down the assassin who had come up behind the High King. The blade fell from the soldier’s hand, the man staring back at Rory with sightless eyes.

  He had moved on instinct, seeing the flash of the sword behind his father. He’d suspected that the Normans were here among them, waiting for the right moment to attack. And just as he’d predicted, other men charged forward, their weapons drawn.

  ‘Stay down!’ he commanded Taryn, moving in front of her. He gave the sword back to Rory and seized another from one of the guards. The fighting broke loose all around them, and Rory Ó Connor struck down another assailant.

  Devlin lay upon the ground, still breathing, but motionless so as not to attract attention. Killian didn’t know where all the men had come from, but it was clear that their intent was to overthrow the Ard-Righ. They must have hidden themselves among the fuidir for months now, so as to escape anyone’s notice.

  His mind blurred with the haze of battle, and he swung his sword hard, the blade clanging against metal. More soldiers arrived on horseback, and it was difficult to tell which men were enemies or allies. Though outwardly, it might appear that he was defending the High King, the truth was, he was fighting for Taryn. He would let no man threaten her.

  Though he knew he should force Taryn to go into hiding, he suspected there could be more men lying in wait. But if he kept her with him, the danger would be even greater. He had to get her away from the fighting and fast. If he helped her escape to her mother’s camp, that would be the safest place.

  Luck was on his side, for he saw Maeve and her men across the terrain. The Queen was riding towards them, surrounded by her own guards.

  He guided Taryn to stand by the stone chair. ‘You need to reach your mother and her men. She will get you to safety. I will protect you along the way, but we have to go now.’

  Her eyes welled up with unshed tears. ‘Were you going to kill my father?’

  He gripped her hand and met her gaze. ‘I would never do anything to hurt you, a mhuírnín.’

  She gave a slight nod, squeezing his hand in return. Though her fear had not diminished, it did seem that she believed him. ‘Promise me you’ll be careful,’ she murmured. Her long black hair was windblown, her blue eyes sharp with worry. Both of them knew that his chances of survival were slim, for he was well outnumbered.

  ‘I have a reason to live,’ he insisted. ‘And someone to fight for.’

  She nodded and said, ‘I love you, Killian.’

  The words were an invisible embrace, encircling his spirit. He kissed her roughly, and then Maeve drew her horse to a stop nearby. The fighting had shifted in another direction, and Killian saw an opening to bring Taryn to the Queen.

  ‘Keep close to me,’ he commanded, guiding her towards the outskirts. She gripped his hand, and her fingers were icy cold from fear.

  But the moment they were nearly there, four men charged forward, their weapons drawn.

  ‘Killian!’ Taryn called out in warning, and he released her hand, unsheathing his dagger.

  ‘You have to go. Now!’ he ordered, and she obeyed without question. He lost sight of her, forced to concentrate on the men surrounding him. Let her reach Maeve safely, he prayed silently.

  His heartbeat thundered in his ears, his body responding from years of training. Time slowed down to a fragile breath of air, and he no longer heard the sounds of battle. He had become frozen, his soul lost, as his blade twisted within men’s flesh. He moved like a shadow, his sword weaving a path through the enemy.

  Some of the MacEgan soldiers came to his aid, and with their help, Killian defeated the Normans. His muscles ached, but he forged on, searching for a glimpse of Taryn. He needed to see that she was safe, but there was no sign of her among the people.

  Perhaps that meant she was with the Queen, out of harm’s way. And yet, he could not let go of the suspicion that something had happened to her. The thought was a dark torment, eating away at his patience.

  You were never meant to be with her, his conscience taunted.

  He didn’t want to believe that. For whatever had begun between them had evolved into emotions he’d never before encountered. Taryn had treated him as her equal from the moment they had met. And in his eyes, there was no woman more beautiful.

  He fought alongside the MacEgan soldiers and Rory’s men, hacking a path towards the edge of the soldiers. Somehow, in the midst of the fighting, he saw that Devlin Connelly was gone.

  So be it. There was naught he could do, and what mattered now was surviving and protecting Taryn.
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  He slashed his way through the men, fighting alongside the others, until he reached the outer perimeter. And the sight of the woman before him nearly stopped his breath.

  Queen Maeve lay unconscious upon the ground, her red hair tangled over her face. And there was no sign of Taryn.

  Killian hurried forward, his pulse racing. When he reached her side, he shook her gently. Maeve moaned, and when her eyes opened, he demanded, ‘Where is your daughter?’

  The woman was pale, blinking with confusion. ‘I don’t know. I fell from my horse, and I have not seen her.’

  He helped her rise to her feet and brought her to one of her men, directing him to bring her to safety. In the meantime, he searched the grounds for a sign of Taryn. The Norman army had begun a retreat, and dozens of bodies littered the grass.

  An uneasy feeling wrenched within his gut, mingling with guilt. He never should have sent her off alone. Killian hurried through the crowds of soldiers, forcing a path through the fighting. The sound of a woman’s scream cut through the violence, and he saw Taryn standing with a blade in her hand.

  Two men were closing in on her, and one held a spear in his hand. The other was trying to come up behind Taryn, and he seized her hair, jerking it backwards.

  Killian lifted his own sword, prepared to strike down the man, when suddenly he spied Devlin. The man was watching his daughter, but he did nothing to help her. Damn him for it.

  With his sword raised, Killian hurried forward, intending to disarm her attacker. But instead, Taryn lunged with her blade. The knife slashed against the man’s throat, but it wasn’t enough to bring him down. Instead, he seized her wrist and squeezed hard enough for her to cry out in pain. The knife fell from her grip, leaving her defenceless.

  ‘Let her go,’ Killian said, raising his sword towards the man with the spear.

  ‘Put down your weapon,’ the assailant answered. ‘Or I will kill her.’

  Killian met Taryn’s gaze, but did not lower the sword. ‘You are outnumbered by our men.’