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Taryn had argued back that she wanted to disappear quietly. The truth was, horses terrified her. Her heart sickened at the memory of her older brother’s death, and never would she forget that terrible day when he had died after being thrown from his horse. She had tried to avoid riding ever since.
No, if she could not travel in a wagon, she would walk. It wasn’t that far to Carrickmeath—less than a day’s journey on foot. And without a horse, it was more difficult for her mother’s soldiers to track them.
She was so tired, her feet were numb. She’d been walking since the middle of last night, in order to get past her mother’s guards. Her hair was sodden from the earlier rain, hanging across her shoulders against her blue woollen gown. Weariness cloaked her, but she could not stop this journey. Her mother would send men to bring her back, and she had to put as much distance as possible between them. Once she reached the safety of Brian Faoilin’s ring fort, she could stop.
* * *
After another hour of walking, she spied a fortress in the distance. It was a wooden structure atop a hillside with a deep trench surrounding it. Sharpened stakes were set at even intervals all around it, with a wicker fence to keep out invaders.
Thank goodness. She would beg hospitality with the Faoilin tribe for this night, and gain their protection, if possible. But when she drew nearer, she spied two dozen soldiers approaching the fortress, their commanders on horseback. They were riding towards the gates with spears clenched in their fists, and it was clear that they had not come for an amicable visit. One carried the High King’s banner, and they looked as if they were waiting for the right moment to attack.
Why would the High King’s men wage a battle here? Were they here to lay siege upon the fortress? Or had the Faoilin chieftain betrayed the High King? Whatever the reason, Taryn was not about to intrude. At least, not until she knew why they were here.
She slowed her pace and exchanged a look with her escort. ‘I think we should wait before approaching the ring fort.’
‘I agree, my lady.’
Taryn motioned for Pól to follow her into a grove of trees. The wind whipped at her cloak, freezing her skin. Even worse, the rain started up once more, mixed with ice. Taryn hurried towards the oaks, taking shelter beneath a large tree. She had no idea what to do now or how long she should wait. The last thing she wanted was to sleep out in the open. At night, it would begin snowing, and the ground would harden into ice. It was dangerous to sleep in the midst of such treacherous weather.
‘What should we do?’ she asked Pól.
The older man rested his hand upon his sword, shrugging. ‘We’ll have to wait until they’ve left. Or at least until they’ve gone inside.’
Taryn despised waiting. She much preferred to take action and hope for a good outcome. Yet she knew better than to act on impulse and endanger their lives. The wooden gates remained closed, and four men stood within a guard tower, overlooking the entrance. For a time, the High King’s soldiers remained in front of the gates, and she could not tell what was happening. Eyeing the men, she wondered how they would respond if she approached.
‘We cannot wait all night,’ she mused aloud. ‘We have to find out why they’re here.’
Her guard shrugged. ‘Whatever the reason, I would not be asking them, my lady. I can build a fire and a shelter for you in the meantime.’
The older man had insisted upon accompanying her to Tara, and she was grateful for his loyalty. But he wasn’t the strongest escort, and she questioned his ability to defend her. He could wield a sword, but his hands suffered aches and pains during damp weather. Pól was nothing like Brian Faoilin’s men, who were among the strongest fighters in Éireann, second only to the MacEgans.
Taryn exhaled, her breath forming clouds in the air. Somehow, she needed to ally herself with Carice Faoilin. The High King’s bride was her safest means of getting close to Tara.
She started pacing, worried about why these soldiers were here. Would they allow her to approach the fortress? Likely if the Faoilin tribe kept their gates closed, then there was a reason for it.
‘Do you want me to move in closer to learn more about why they’ve come?’ Pól asked. ‘So long as I leave my weapons with you, no one would suspect me.’
It was a dangerous risk, but one they needed to take. They had to get inside the fortress and seek shelter for the night.
‘Yes, you should go,’ she ordered the guard. ‘Return when you know what’s happening.’
Pól bowed in agreement before he walked towards the main road. Then he adjusted his gait to add a slight limp, making it seem that he was a harmless old man.
With every moment she was alone, Taryn’s apprehensions increased. What if Pól didn’t return? She couldn’t remain here alone. Yet, if she approached the High King’s men, they might harm her. She knew she wasn’t beautiful, but as a woman, there was still a strong risk. Then, too, if she appealed to Lady Carice, there was still the chance that the young woman would refuse to let her join her ladies—even if Taryn confessed her reasons. The more she dwelled upon her rash decision, the more unlikely it seemed that she would succeed.
You cannot give up, she told herself. No one else would save her father.
And so, she continued to wait. Pól had given her a dagger, which she had secured at her waist. She had no idea what to do with his sword, for she could hardly lift the heavy weapon. In the end, it seemed best to prop it up against a tree.
* * *
After nearly an hour, the men still had not entered the fortress. Something was very, very wrong. Minutes crept onward, and when Pól did not return, Taryn couldn’t stand the waiting any longer. She simply had to know what was happening.
This is dangerous and foolish, she told herself. But what choice did she have? She was alone, with no shelter for the approaching night. She could die at the hands of these men, or she could freeze to death.
They might not kill her, she supposed, as she began walking towards the fortress. They had no true reason to take her life. It was a small consolation.
The rain had slowed to a soft drizzle, and she kept her head and scarred face covered with a woollen brat. No matter how she tried to square her shoulders and walk with confidence, like the lady she was, she couldn’t stop her teeth from chattering or her hands from trembling.
Within moments, one of the soldiers spied her. Word began to spread, and it wasn’t long before all two dozen men were staring at her. Taryn adjusted her head covering, searching for a glimpse of Pól. But he was nowhere to be found, and she realised that he had likely hidden himself.
‘Were you going somewhere?’ one of the commanders asked. He wore an iron helm, and a sword rested at his left side. Trying not to show her alarm, she averted her gaze. She never had time to answer before another man emerged from the fortress.
He strode forward, his gaze narrowed upon the soldiers. And the moment she glimpsed his face, her pulse quickened.
Never in her life had she seen a warrior so handsome. He was like the son of Lugh, a god walking among them. He was tall with dark hair that hung below his shoulders. Every perfect feature looked as if it were carved from ice, with steel-grey eyes, an aquiline nose, and a mouth that tightened as he stared at the armed men. He seemed to be assessing their strength and ability to fight. Though he was dressed in ragged, worn clothing, she spied the glint of chain mail beneath it.
He carried no weapons, but she suspected he was not a man who needed them. There was not a trace of fear in his demeanour, and he didn’t seem to care if he lived or died. But when his gaze swept over her, she caught a warning in his eyes, as if he’d ordered her to say nothing. Her cheeks warmed beneath his gaze, and she tried to suppress the embarrassment of such a man watching her.
She lifted her chin, still keeping her face covered by the woollen brat so that only her eyes were revealed. Though it was vain, she didn’t want him to see her scars. For a moment, she wanted to look upon this warrior as if she were his equal.
The man turned to the soldiers and said, ‘Our chieftain would like to know why you’ve come with armed men to Carrickmeath.’
The commander moved forward, two riders on either side of him, armed with spears. His eyes narrowed for a moment as he confronted the man. ‘You have the look of the Ard-Righ about you.’
The man did not seem pleased by the observation. ‘I am the High King’s bastard son. And you still have not answered my question of why you are here.’ His words were iron, revealing his impatience.
‘Brian Faoilin betrothed his daughter to the Ard-Righ,’ the commander answered. ‘And yet, he has not brought the bride to King Rory, despite messengers that we sent over the past few months. The King wishes to know his reasons for delaying the marriage.’
‘Lady Carice has been ill,’ the dark-haired man said. He crossed his arms over his chest and met the man’s accusations openly. ‘The High King already knows this.’
‘I have my doubts,’ the commander said. ‘It looks as if she was about to flee.’ He stared hard at Taryn, and she ignored his gaze, feeling a sudden rush of fear.
He hadn’t seen her face. He thought she was the Lady Carice because her scars were hidden. Her heart beat faster, and she had no idea what to say. Taryn stole another look at the dark-haired god, but he did not deny the soldier’s mistake. Instead, his eyes fixed upon her, and in them, she caught another warning. Whatever was happening, he wanted her to follow his lead.
It was clear that she had to maintain a pretence. A frozen chill washed over her at the thought of such an illusion. It would never work—not in a thousand years. The moment anyone saw her face, they would know the truth.
But whatever it was that the man wanted from her, he would owe her a favour if she did as he asked. She needed his help, more than he needed hers. And for that reason, she met his gaze evenly and gave a slight nod.
‘Lady Carice was not trying to flee,’ he said smoothly, reaching out his hand to her. It was an offer of sanctuary, so long as she obeyed him. Taryn hesitated a moment, for this man was a stranger to her. She had no idea whether or not she should trust him.
His grey eyes were as cold as frost upon stone. There was no trace of emotion or any reaction upon his face. It was as if he cared not what she did.
Taryn took a slight step forward, feeling uneasy about the deception. But she kept her face shielded by the wool, lowering her gaze to the ground. Each step brought her closer to this man, and she had no idea why he wanted to perpetuate such a lie.
But perhaps her acquiescence would lead to the help she needed. One wrong move, and the High King’s men would attack this fortress and bring violence with them—she had no doubt of it.
When she reached the dark-haired god’s side, Taryn could feel the tension stretched tightly between them. She risked a glance at him and sent a pleading look, praying that he would help her.
Despite his ragged appearance, his hard body strained at the wool and hidden armour, revealing a warrior’s build. He crossed his upper arms, and the bulge of muscle made it clear that he had the strength to fight any of these men. But more than that, he held an unshakable confidence.
She took his hand, and he squeezed it lightly in a veiled command to remain silent. She decided that this was her best chance to save her father’s life. All she needed was to maintain the deception long enough to gain their cooperation. Just a little longer.
But the wind tore at her woollen brat, whipping free the dark locks of her hair. She seized the edges of the wool, trying to hide her scarred face.
For a moment, she held her breath, afraid that they had seen her. But instead, the commander gave a nod, as if her identity had been confirmed. ‘What have you to say, Lady Carice?’ He eyed her and remarked, ‘I presume you were trying to flee and realised your mistake.’
She sent another questioning look towards the dark-haired warrior. But this time, he gave no indication of what he wanted her to say. Instead, he seemed to be waiting for her response.
Taryn needed help from the Faoilin clan. Her best means of gaining an army was to offer them assistance in her own way.
‘You are right,’ she told the commander, trying to sound sheepish. ‘I was trying to flee. But then I realised how foolish it would be to do so.’
She lifted her chin, keeping the wool firmly in place to reveal nothing but her eyes. ‘I am Lady Carice. And I suppose you’ve come to escort me to Tara for my wedding.’
Chapter Two
Who in the name of the gods was this woman? And why was she here?
Killian had never seen her before, but her presence had been the answer to a dilemma. He had left the fortress, intending to speak with the armed men, and the woman had appeared out of nowhere. The pleading look in her blue eyes was a silent cry for help, and he’d acted on impulse, letting the commander believe what he wanted to.
Because Carice’s freedom depended on the decisions he made now.
These men had come to seize his sister, and it would have ended her chance of escaping. But now, there was a fragment of hope.
The woman had kept her face hidden, and the effect had magnified those beautiful eyes. Her hair was wet from the rain and snow, like a length of black silk. Every man there had been unable to take his eyes from her, and that was why the High King’s men had believed she was Carice.
Fate had delivered a way of saving his sister into Killian’s hands, and he had acted on that instinct. The woman clearly wanted help, and he would give it—at his own price.
Carice wanted to leave, to have her freedom, and this young woman was offering herself as part of the deception. He didn’t know how he would use her—perhaps they could switch places. But for now, he would take her inside, and find out what she wanted later.
His breath became mist in the frigid air, and he kept his gaze fixed upon her. She was terrified and with good reason. Everything rested upon the decision he made now.
‘My men have travelled far,’ the commander said. ‘They need food, wine, and a place to sleep before we depart on the morrow.’ His gaze narrowed upon the young woman. ‘Open the gates, and we will give her this night to ready her possessions.’
Killian had no wish to bring the soldiers inside the castle, but neither could he raise their suspicions. To deny them hospitality might make them question their motives. He inclined his head once. To the woman, he said, ‘You should return to your chamber. I will escort you there.’
And then he would have the answers to his questions. Though he doubted if she posed any threat, he would find out before he allowed her to dwell among the women. He kept her gloved hand in his, noting the slight tremor in her palm. But even so, she carried herself with a quiet grace that was different from the other women he’d known. And he knew, without her revealing her true identity, that this woman had noble blood.
Before they could walk further than a few paces, the commander stepped forward to intercede. ‘We go with her, lad.’
‘I am Killian MacDubh. Not your lad,’ he said. But he motioned the commander to follow. When they reached the entrance, he ordered the men to open the gates.
‘They are here at the High King’s command,’ Killian told the guards. ‘They have come to escort Carice to her wedding.’ Which was the truth, and none here would deny it. He deliberately said nothing about the strange woman, for once the gates were open, he intended to have words with her and learn her reasons for the deception.
While the soldiers rode inside, Killian moved back to wait for them. The young woman drew away from the horses, gripping his palm as if she was trying to gain strength from him. Her fear had not diminished at all, and he wondered if she had been fleeing from someone in pursuit of her.
Not once had she let go of the woollen brat, and he now was beginning to think she was trying to hide her true identity. For what purpose?
Against her ear, he murmured, ‘Do exactly as I command and say nothing.’
She nodded, and Killian brought her forward while the men gave over their horses to the stable boys. His friend Seorse was watching, and Killian kept his voice low, saying, ‘Take the High King’s men to dine with our chieftain while I escort the Lady to the solar.’
Seorse looked as if he wanted to ask more, but Killian shook his head slightly, denying him that. There would be time for answers later.
Thankfully, the High King’s men followed Seorse into the Great Chamber. His friend welcomed the men, and Killian kept the young woman back so that she was hidden from Brian Faoilin’s view. Once the men were speaking to the chieftain, he seized the opportunity to escape. He took the young woman towards the spiral stairs leading towards Carice’s chamber. For a moment, he paused, waiting to see if any of the High King’s men would follow. When no one did, he pulled her into the shadows and covered her mouth with his hand.
In a low voice, he murmured, ‘I’m going to take my hand from your mouth, and we’re going to talk. You’re going to tell me who you are and why you’re here.’
Although she had offered herself in Carice’s place, that didn’t make her worthy of trust. If anything, her lie made him more suspicious. She was here for reasons of her own, and he knew not what threat she posed.
Killian removed his hand from her mouth, but the young woman kept the brat over her face, hiding her features. She met his gaze evenly. ‘I am Taryn Connelly of Ossoria. My father, King Devlin, is a prisoner of the High King and will be executed on the eve of Imbolc. I came here to seek help from your chieftain.’
For a moment, Killian studied her. Of royal blood, was she? He could almost believe it, given her demeanour and the way she held her posture. But no king’s daughter would travel alone.
‘Where are your escorts?’ he demanded.
She glanced behind her and shrugged. ‘I...brought only a single guard. I sent him here before me, but I have not seen him. I do not know where he is now.’
The worry in her voice did nothing to dispel his distrust. She was hiding the truth from him, as well as her face. Though he knew why she had veiled herself among the soldiers, he wondered why she would not uncover her features.
‘Lower the brat,’ he ordered. ‘I want to see your face.’
Her blue eyes held wariness, and she shook her head. ‘No. Not now.’ She gripped the wool as if it could make her invisible from his gaze.
The stricken expression in her eyes warned that she did not want him to see her.
He couldn’t imagine why. With her midnight-black hair and spellbinding eyes, she captivated his attention.
Killian ignored her refusal and took the edges of the wool, forcing her to remain still. He lowered the brat from her head, revealing her face. It was then that he saw the jagged red scars upon her right cheek. It looked as if someone had tried to tear her face open, and he could only imagine the pain she’d endured. There was a matching scar upon the left side, though it was whiter in colour.
This was why she had wanted to shield herself. If the men had seen the scars, they would have known she was not Carice.
He was at a loss for words. Not because the scars and reddened skin made her unattractive—it was because they revealed a suffering that no one should endure. And this beautiful woman would bear the marks of this attack forever.
Her hair hung down in waving locks against her shoulders, and it was still soaked from the rain. When she pulled the wet strands against her cheeks, the scars were barely visible. Like Carice, Taryn had blue eyes, but they held a stronger resemblance to the sea. Worry creased her expression, as if she did not want him to see her true appearance.
‘And now you see why I hide myself,’ she admitted. ‘I am ugly. No one would ever want to look upon me.’
Killian supposed that men did avoid her—and yet, the scars revealed a woman who had been through the worst and survived it. It didn’t bother him at all; instead, it intrigued him.
‘Do not hide yourself from me,’ he told her. ‘You have nothing to fear.’
She gave him a half-hearted smile, as if she didn’t believe him. And still she held the silken strands to her face, like a shield. ‘I don’t know why the men possibly believed I was Lady Carice,’ she said. ‘I look nothing like her.’
‘No,’ he agreed. ‘But the men have never seen her before.’ Carice had brown hair with hints of red and gold. Her blue eyes were lighter than Taryn’s, similar to a bright summer sky. His sister had lacked no shortage of suitors, but Brian had no intention of letting any man have his only daughter, save the High King.
‘Why was your father taken prisoner by the High King?’ he asked Taryn.
She shook her head, admitting, ‘I don’t know. Whenever I ask why, my mother will not give me an answer.’ At last, she released the strands of hair, letting him glimpse the reddened scars. ‘I want to plead for his life, but she refused to allow it. It is why I travelled alone. I thought I could ask your chieftain for help, and I would offer compensation to the warriors in return.’
He said nothing, for he doubted if Brian would want to be involved. The chieftain would do nothing to threaten his close alliance with the High King.
Taryn paused a moment and added, ‘Or if Lady Carice is travelling to her wedding, I could accompany her and speak with King Rory while I am there.’
‘You may ask Carice,’ he offered at last, ‘but Brian would never bring soldiers against the High King. Not when he hopes his daughter will be Queen.’
She thought for a moment. ‘I know you are right. I did not mean to suggest that his men would fight against the King. Only that...perhaps someone could help my father escape in secret.’ She raised hopeful eyes in his direction, and he knew she was referring to him.
‘No.’ Killian wasn’t about to go anywhere near the High King. This wasn’t his fight.
But she wasn’t so easily deterred. ‘Your men are stronger and better-trained than ours were. They could easily—’
‘Were?’ he interrupted. At the guilty flush on her face, he suspected the worst. ‘Are they dead, then?’
Her hesitation only confirmed his belief. Her men had failed, and it had cost them their lives.
‘I was not there to know exactly what happened. But yes, they died.’ She rubbed her shoulders as if to fight off a chill. ‘Perhaps it would be different with stronger men, like you. And you already have a reason to travel to Tara.’
‘You want me to risk my life for your father?’ he prompted. ‘My loyalty does not lie with Ossoria.’ Only with Carice, whom he would protect with his life. But he had no desire to lay eyes upon the father who had refused to acknowledge him.
‘Would you intercede with the chieftain for me?’ she asked at last. ‘I presume you are his son or...one of his commanders?’
Killian folded his arms across his chest. ‘I am little more than a slave here, Lady Taryn. But Carice is like a sister to me.’
Confusion crossed over her face. ‘Then why did you—’ She stopped speaking and chose different words. ‘That is, if you are only a slave, why did you speak to the High King’s men on Brian Faoilin’s behalf?’
‘Because if the soldiers killed me, my life would be no loss to the chieftain.’ He spoke the words matter-of-factly, though the real answer was because he’d recognised the High King’s banner. There was no question that the King’s men posed a threat to Carice, and he’d gone to protect her.
The Lady straightened and regarded him. ‘I don’t believe a man like you would ever willingly go to die.’