by Diana Cosby
The grief she struggled against threatened to overwhelm her. This was all so unfair; could they not linger a while longer? “Hold me again, Rónán, if only for a moment more.”
On a muttered curse, his expression wrought with heartache, he reached for her.
“Lathir!”
At Lord Craigshyre’s terse voice, she whirled to face him.
Chapter Twelve
Heart pounding, Lathir turned, damned herself for placing Rónán in a suspicious light to her betrothed. Rónán had behaved as a gentleman. Any impropriety came from her. “Lord Craigshyre.” She faced Rónán again. “I thank you for informing me that you have spoken with the master-at-arms to arrange tomorrow morning’s meeting in the war room. That is all I shall need from you this night.”
“Aye, my lady.” Rónán’s eyes, dark with concern, held hers. “If you need me to remain—”
“I willna.” Any anger from her betrothed was hers to deal with.
“As you wish.” Mouth tight, he nodded to the noble. “Lord Craigshyre.” The soft crunch of snow filled the silence as Rónán departed. The door to the turret closed on a soft thud, leaving them alone.
Torchlight wavered upon the snow-dusted wall walk as her betrothed eyed her. “Be warned, regardless of your feelings for Sir Rónán, I willna be cuckolded.”
She stiffened. “I have done naught improper, nor will I tolerate your slander.” She started to walk away, and he caught her arm. Lathir rounded on him. “Release me!”
He did, then stared at her for a long moment in a way she couldn’t decipher.
“You love him.” It wasn’t a question.
Emotion balled in her chest, the pain, the loss of never being with Rónán breaking her heart. “My feelings for him are irrelevant,” she said, her voice cool. “My vow to wed you has been given. ’Tisna one I will break or taint with misdeeds.”
“Nor was I pleased by our betrothal.” On a sigh, he crossed his arms over his chest. “Not because you arena a lass I admire.”
“Then what?”
“Like you, I love another.”
She blinked, shocked. Yet at the anguish in his voice, the bleakness of his expression, her anger faded. Saint’s breath, he was suffering with heartbreak, just as she.
Impulsively, she touched his arm. “’Tis not too late. We can speak with your father. Then, once we free my—”
“Nay. I tried, I assure you. My father made it clear that he, as yours, wants a tie between our realms. Neither will be swayed.”
Wind feathered across her face as the last wisp of hope faded to a blackened mar across her heart. Like Craigshyre, she was bound by a duty that would sever any possibility of their being with those they truly loved.
“Now what?” Lathir rasped, wanting to scream her frustration.
“I…” He lowered his arm. “We become friends?”
Friends? In some ways, he reminded her of Rónán. His confidence and forthright manner. An alliance of friendship was a wise decision. Lathir doubted she’d ever come to love the man, but ’twould make the years ahead easier to bear.
“Aye, though ’tis best that you know that I am my own woman and willna be someone to command, now or ever. As my mother and father did, once you and I wed, we will rule together.”
She awaited his anger at her bold words; instead, a smile tugged at his mouth. “Nor would I have it any other way. My mother was a strong and spirited woman as well, who ruled alongside my father.”
Her body relaxed. She’d prepared herself for a confrontation. In truth, though a formidable man, since they’d first met, he’d been naught but respectful and kind.
Nor could she deny he was handsome. No doubt many a lass had tried to win his attention. If she hadn’t met Rónán and fallen in love, she could have accepted their match and believed they would have lived if not in love, then in peace.
“Lord Craigshyre, I believe I would have liked your mother.”
“As we are betrothed, call me Kieran. As for my mother, she would have enjoyed your forthright manner as well.”
Another hoot of an owl sounded from the distant trees.
He turned toward the shore, gave a slow exhale that tumbled out in misty white. She wondered if he was thinking of his lost love.
“’Tis beautiful,” he finally murmured.
Shimmers of light danced upon the loch, glinted off the bits of ice clinging to the edge. “Being here has always brought me peace.” At least she would have this place to return to.
She stilled.
Or, once they’d wed, would he insist on returning to his castle? She fisted her hands at the thought of leaving her home. And her father; if they didna rescue him, then what?
Kieran leaned upon the carved stone, glanced over. “’Tis foolish to think about, but our upcoming marriage wouldna be an issue if I wasna the only surviving son.”
Caught off-balance by his words, she frowned. She’d never heard that Lord Craigshyre had a sibling. “I am so sorry for your loss. Did your older brother die in battle?”
“Nay, during birth. ’Twas something I overheard as a child, when my mother and father were speaking and didna realize I was nearby.” He paused. “Do you have any sisters?”
“Nay, I have nay siblings.”
“Which brings us back to our predicament. Worry naught, I assure you, I am thankful you are a strong and wise lass unafraid to speak your mind. And”—he said with a hint of a smile—“beautiful.”
His words held naught but camaraderie, and she relaxed. “And I that you arena a weak-willed man.”
“I have never,” he said, his voice dry, “been accused of such.”
The annoyance in his reply sounding so much the way Rónán would say it, she chuckled. “That I can believe.”
Kieran pushed away from the stone. ‘Come, ’tis growing late. Allow me to escort you to your chamber.”
After one last glance over the land she loved, Lathir nodded.
“Though we are bound by duty,” he said as he walked toward the turret, “for the first time since my arrival, I feel relief in that, though ours will not be a marriage of love, ’twill be one of respect.”
“I feel the same.” Though she doubted she’d ever recover from the pain of losing Rónán.
They walked in silence for several moments, their shadows blending into the night.
Another gust whispered past, tossing flakes of snow in a delicate swirl. They spun in the star-laden night in a graceful spiral, swaying softly to land upon the wall walk. She was glad for the thick fur cape that kept the cold at bay.
“My lady—”
“Lathir.”
He nodded at the invited intimacy as they strolled. “Lathir, I wanted to inform you that runners were dispatched shortly after your arrival to learn any details of where Lord Sionn may be held.”
“I thank you, but why did you not tell me earlier?” she asked, irritation sliding into her voice.
“Until we have a solid idea of where he is being held, I didna want to give you false hope. After our conversation just now, in the future I will be forthright with you.” He paused. “Rest assured, my father and I will do all within our power to ensure Lord Sionn is freed.”
Shame filled her at her terse manner. He knew so little about her; his actions were born from caution. And she’d reacted instead of appreciating his consideration. “Forgive me for sounding so harsh. I am tired and on edge, and you were being naught but thoughtful.”
“’Tis naught to apologize for. If my father was in danger, I would be the devil to deal with.”
“I thank you for understanding. My father and I are very close.”
“As are my father and I.”
Their both holding strong ties with their parents was important. That they’d both lost one of their parents, however devastating, was anothe
r bond. Then there was the fact that each of them loved another.
They may not have chosen the other, but the more she came to know Kieran, the more she tried to convince herself that their union would be more than peaceful, but close.
Though she’d never lost a sibling. Did he ever think of his brother? Something she would not ask until their relationship was more secure.
Moments later, torchlight wavered in the turret as he closed the door behind them. The chill of the fresh night air melded with the scent of tallow and rushes as they made their way to her chamber.
Outside her room, she paused. “Thank you.”
Thoughtfulness chiseled his features as Kieran lifted her hand, pressed a chaste kiss upon the back of her fingers. She felt nothing, but gave him a smile nonetheless. His lips quirked in silent understanding.
“’Til we break our fast, my lady.”
Her mind spinning, Lathir entered her chamber, closed the door, and leaned back against the thick, carved wood. He seemed like a good man, one she could depend on. She struggled to be thankful that although her life ahead wouldna be the one she’d chosen, their union wouldn’t be one laden with strife, a fate that could have all too easily occurred.
In a twisted sense, ’twas a gift that Kieran loved another, that they were both bound by duty. He was gracious in his understanding, and from his manner tonight, Lathir suspected he wouldn’t press marital obligations until she was ready.
Nor would she ponder further familial duties their marriage directed. The time for that would come soon enough.
But she couldn’t banish thoughts of Rónán, of the emptiness in her heart, a place he would hold until she drew her last breath.
Emotions storming her, she crossed to her bed and climbed beneath the thick covers. Restless, she stared at the flames. Though exhausted, she doubted she’d sleep this night.
* * * *
Sunlight streamed through the leaded glass window, illuminating the crafted image of a biblical scene as Rónán settled in an empty chair at the table in the war chamber. He glanced at Lord Torridan, Lord Craigshyre, Lathir, and the master-at-arms, who were taking their seats as well.
Rónán ignored the luxuriously crafted tapestry depicting a battle scene, the formidable display of swords, daggers, and other weaponry hanging on the wall, and remained silent. His head pounded from lack of sleep, a common occurrence since he’d learned of Lathir’s betrothal.
He’d ordered himself to push thoughts of the life they’d planned aside, but like a thorn that festered, he ached for what they’d lost. Watching her was painful, her strong and graceful beauty that of a true noble. And the spare seat to her side, clearly saved for him, was like a dart of poison. Had his relationship with God not been strong, he would have suspected the chair was meant for him to endure the torture of her company.
He’d wanted to hate her betrothed. But after almost a fortnight, time to come to know the noble, Craigshyre was proving to be a man he could admire. He was even-tempered and clearly a man who had earned authority. Even though he heeded his father’s wishes for a wife, he did not live in his elder’s shadow. His own opinions were well-thought-out and spoke of a stalwart character.
Nor, if he was being purely logical, could Rónán fault Lord Sionn. Lathir’s father’s intention was to erase tensions between the two realms.
In truth, if he didn’t love Lathir, he would have agreed that she and Kieran made a fine match.
The chair scraped as Lord Torridan stood, met each person’s gaze. “I received word from the first of the runners.”
Lathir straightened. “Have they found him?”
“Nay,” he replied.
At the devastation on her face, Rónán’s gut twisted. Blast it, by now he’d expected to have heard where her father had been taken.
On several occasions he’d strode to the stable, wanting to take a mount and search himself. But too many years had passed since he’d traveled in Ireland, and he no longer had contacts he could turn to for help.
“The runner,” the noble continued in a quieter tone, seemingly in response to Lathir’s distress, “departs tomorrow to search in southeastern Ireland, where the English have control.” His gaze rested on her. “We will find him, my lady.”
She gave a shaky nod.
Though the questions of when and if he would still be alive burned in Rónán’s mind. Bedamned this waiting!
The rapid tap of steps had them glancing toward the corridor moments before a knock sounded.
“Enter,” Lord Torridan commanded.
A guard stepped inside. “Lord Torridan, the pirate ship has returned. Their captain requests to speak with you. He states ’tis of grave importance.”
Hope flickered in Lathir’s gaze as it met Rónán’s a second before shifting to Lord Torridan. “My lord, there can be only one reason Bran would return. He has word of my father’s location.”
Lines of strain settled across the noble’s brow. “I pray you are right.” He nodded to the guard. “Escort the captain here immediately.”
“Aye, my lord.” The guard hurried away.
Rónán leaned back in his chair and took a moment to collect himself as he reached for the glass of wine.
As much as he wished ’twas the reason for the pirate’s visit, he despised the chance of seeing Lathir’s hopes crushed. Many things could have guided Bran’s hasty return, including that English ships had spotted him and were giving chase. His arrival here may be naught but a frantic search for protection.
He longed to lay his hand over hers. With her betrothed seated beside her, not a possibility. God’s truth, he despised being unable to touch her, to hold her.
Tense silence filled the chamber, broken by the errant crackle of the fire in the hearth.
“More wine, my lady?” her betrothed asked.
She shook her head. “I doubt I can drink anything until I learn Bran’s news.”
The steady tap of leather boots echoed from the corridor. Moments later, Bran entered, followed by Tighearnán.
Rónán nodded to the man, far from surprised to see the previous captain accompanying Bran. No doubt after the pirate ship had been sighted, Tighearnán had hurried to meet his friend.
Nor had Rónán missed, during their time here, how Tighearnán, and one of Lathir’s maids had shown interest in each other. Given that he’d seen the pair talking in a quiet corner of the bailey, ’twould seem that Tighearnán would find more than a wife, but a mother for Órlaith.
Bran took another step forward.
Tighearnán halted beside his friend.
“Lord Torridan, Lord Craigshyre, Lady Lathir, Sir Rónán,” the captain said. “I come with news of import regarding Lord Sionn.”
Lathir rose to her feet. “You have found him?”
“Aye,” Bran replied, his voice gruff. “He was alive when I saw him taken—”
At the dread in the pirate’s voice, she clenched her fists at her sides. “To where?”
Bran’s jaw tightened. “He is imprisoned at Murchadh Castle.”
Lathir gasped.
Kieran lay his hand upon hers.
She withdrew from his touch, struggling against the fear at this news of her father incarcerated within the earl of Ardgar’s stronghold. All knew of the powerful lord’s brutality. Over the years, she’d never heard of any who’d entered his dungeon emerging alive.
“Was he hurt?” she asked in a voice that trembled despite her best efforts to contain it.
The captain cleared his throat. “He had a few bruises, my lady. For the most part, he was able to walk on his own.”
For the most part? Nausea welled in her throat. No, he was alive, she would concentrate on that.
“Captain,” Lord Torridan began, “what challenges do we face in freeing Lord Sionn?”
After a look of re
gret at Lathir, Bran nodded to the noble. In detail, the pirate explained the defenses they’d have to overcome at Murchadh Castle, fortifications that included the arrival of a fresh contingent of English troops.
Face flushed with anger, Lord Torridan pounded his fist on the table. “Bloody upstarts. Any Irishman who joins the Sassenach is naught but a traitor! Nor will their forces joining the English help our cause.” The snap of the fire filled the silence as he scanned those within the chamber. “Given the stronghold’s cliffside location, a frontal assault could devastate our combined forces, and a siege could last months, time we dinna have. If only we knew of a secret tunnel.”
“Lord Torridan,” Rónán said, “if I can find any galloglass to speak with, as I once served within their ranks, they will inform me if any of their warriors has detailed knowledge of Murchadh Castle’s layout.”
A fresh surge of hope shot through Lathir as the room erupted into thoughtful murmurs.
“We passed an encampment of galloglass en route to Wynshire Castle,” Lord Craigshyre said.
Rónán’s gaze cut to Lathir’s betrothed. “How far?”
“A few hours’ ride, if they are still there,” Craigshyre replied.
Rónán’s chair scraped as he stood. “There are still several hours of daylight. I will leave immediately.”
Lord Torridan nodded. “While you are away, I will prepare the men to sail. Upon your return, we will depart.”
Bran cleared his throat. “My lord, we have another problem.”
Lord Torridan’s gaze cut to him. “Which is?”
“En route, I was informed by a friend that the English and Irish are gathering a fleet of ships off the northeast coast of Ireland filled with troops who are planning to halt northeastward along the coast, then move overland to attack Wynshire Castle. To make it here without delay, I was forced to sail past them in the dark.”
Knuckles white on her chair, Lathir leaned forward. “How many ships did you see?”
“At least eight,” the pirate replied, “but ’twas a cloudy night. There could very well have been many more.”