WARRIORS OF IRELAND

Fighting for honour and for love

In this powerful new duet by Michelle Willingham step back in time to medieval Ireland, where proud men were willing to die for honour and for the ones they loved—although not without a fight!

Fans of The MacEgan Brothers mini-series will meet some familiar faces along the way, but prepare to have your hearts captured by two new fierce warriors!

Meet Killian MacDubh in

Warrior of Ice available now

and look for

Warrior of Fire coming soon

AUTHOR NOTE

Beauty and the Beast has always been one of my favourite fairytales. In Warrior of Ice I wanted to twist the tale by having a hero with a handsome face but the tormented soul of a beast and the heroine a scarred face but the heart of a beauty.

I was also very inspired by the character of Jon Snow from Game of Thrones in this story, and I wanted to write a tale where the bastard hero becomes the king he was meant to be. I hope you’ll enjoy the love story of Killian and Taryn as they learn to look beyond appearances. Also look for the sequel to this book, Warrior of Fire, which tells the story of Carice Faoilin, Killian’s ‘adopted’ sister.

If you’d like me to email you when I have a new book out, please visit my website at michellewillingham.com to sign up for my newsletter. You can also learn more about my other historical romances and see photos of my trips to Ireland.

Warrior of Ice

Michelle Willingham

www.millsandboon.co.uk

RITA® Award finalist MICHELLE WILLINGHAM has written over twenty historical romances, novellas and short stories. Currently she lives in south-eastern Virginia with her husband and children. When she’s not writing Michelle enjoys reading, baking and avoiding exercise at all costs.

Visit her website at: michellewillingham.com

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To Fitch, the best cat in the world. You’ve kept me company through each of my books and, although it’s difficult to write when you plant your furry behind on my keyboard, you always make me smile.

Contents

Cover

Introduction

AUTHOR NOTE

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Extract

Copyright

Chapter One

Ireland—1172

His sister was going to die.

Killian MacDubh could see it, even if everyone around him was in denial. Though Carice was still the most beautiful woman in Éireann, her body was fragile. She left her bed rarely, and when she did, she often had to be carried back. Her illness had struck hard, several years ago, and she’d wasted away ever since. This evening, she had sent word that she needed to speak with him, but he did not know why.

Outside, the rain pounded against the mud, but another storm brewed inside Killian. There was a restless anticipation within him, as if an invisible threat hung over all of them. He couldn’t place it, but all day, he’d been pacing.

His tunic and leggings were soaked through, and he stood at the back of the Great Chamber. The moment he stepped inside, Brian Faoilin’s face was grim with distaste, as if a stray dog had wandered into his house. The chieftain loathed the very air Killian breathed. Though he’d allowed Iona to keep the bastard son she’d brought with her, Brian had forced both of them to live among the fuidir. All his life, Killian had slept among the dogs and dined upon scraps from the table. He was forbidden to possess any rights of the tribe or own any land. It should have taught him his place. Instead, it had fed his resentment, making him vow that one day, no man would call him slave. He hungered for a life where others would look upon him with respect instead of disdain.

He’d spent time training among the finest warriors in Éireann, intending to leave the tribe and become a mercenary. Better to lead a nomadic life on his own terms than to live like this. But then Carice had fallen ill. He’d delayed his plans to leave, for her sake, after she’d begged him not to go. Were it not for her, he’d have disappeared long ago. She was the only family he had left, and he knew her life was slipping away. For that reason, he had sworn to remain with her until the end.

The chieftain leaned over to one of the guards, undoubtedly giving the order to throw Killian out. Within moments, his friend Seorse crossed the Great Chamber, regret upon his face. ‘You know you cannot come inside without orders, Killian.’

‘Of course not.’ He was supposed to remain outside in the pouring rain, amid the mud and the animal dung. Brian refused to let him be a part of their tribe—not in any way. He was expected to work in the stables, obeying all commands given to him.

This time, Killian crossed his arms and stood his ground. ‘Will you be the one to throw me out?’ His voice held the edge of ice, for he was weary of being treated like the bastard he was. Frustration clenched in his gut, and he didn’t move.

‘Don’t start a fight,’ Seorse warned. ‘Take shelter in the tower if you must, but don’t cause more trouble. I’ll bring you food later.’

Killian gave a thin smile. ‘Do you think I care about causing trouble?’ He enjoyed fighting, and he’d earned his place among the men as one of the best warriors. Beneath his fur-lined tunic, he wore chain-mail armour that he’d taken from a dead Norse invader during a raid. He had no sword of his own, but he knew how to use his fists and had broken a few bones over the years. Every time he won a match or bested a clansman, it was a thorn in Brian’s side.

Seorse dropped his voice low. ‘Why are you here, Killian?’

‘Carice sent for me.’

His friend shook his head. ‘She’s worse today. I don’t think she can leave her chamber. She was sick most of the night, and she can hardly eat anything.’

A tightness filled up Killian’s chest. It bothered him to see her starving to death before his eyes, unable to tolerate any food at all. The healer had ordered Carice to eat only bread and the plainest of foods, to keep her stomach calm. But nothing seemed to work. ‘Take me to her.’

‘I cannot, and you know this. Brian ordered me to escort you outside.’

He wasn’t about to leave—not yet. But as he moved towards the entrance, he glanced behind him and saw a hint of motion near the stairs. Brian’s attention was elsewhere, so Killian hastened up the spiral steps. Seorse sent him a warning look, but his silent message was clear. He would not let Brian know that Killian was still here.

Carice was struggling to walk down the stairs. Her skin was the colour of snow, and she held on to her maid’s shoulder, touching the opposite wall for support. Instantly, Killian went to the stairs and offered his arm. ‘Do you need help, my lady?’

‘Call me that again, and I shall bloody your nose, Killian.’ Her dark brown hair was bound back from her face, and her blue eyes held warmth. She was far too thin, and he could see the bones in her wrists. But her spirit was as fiery as ever.

‘You should not have left your room, Carice.’ He moved up the spiral stairs, and she gestured for her maid to go.

‘I’ll sit here a moment and talk with you,’ she said. ‘Then you can carry me back to bed afterwards.’

‘You’re too ill,’ he argued. ‘You need to go back now.’

She shook her head and raised a hand. ‘Let me speak. This is important.’

He climbed a few more of the stairs to reach her side. Carice sat down, steadying herself. ‘Father shouldn’t treat you this way. You are my brother, and always have been, even if we do not share the same parents.’ She reached out her hand and squeezed his palm. In so many ways, she reminded him of his mother. Gentle and strong-willed, she’d made it her task to take care of him. ‘You deserve a better life than this, Killian. It was wrong of me to ask you to stay.’

He didn’t deny it, but he knew that once he left, he would never return to Carrickmeath. ‘One day I’ll go. Perhaps when you are married and are no longer fighting my battles for me.’

She drew back, her face serious. ‘I’m not going to marry anyone, Killian. This winter is my last. I may not live until the summer.’

Uneasiness passed over him, for her proclamation wasn’t a jest. Each season grew harder on her, and it was only a matter of time before she lost her fragile grasp on life. Though her body was weak, her inner strength rivalled a warrior queen’s.

‘Father doesn’t believe me. He thinks I’m going to get well and wed the High King, becoming Queen of Éireann. But he is wrong. And so I have taken matters into my own hands.’

‘What do you mean?’ She wasn’t planning to take her own life, was she?

‘I will not marry Rory Ó Connor,’ she said. ‘I have made arrangements to leave this place.’ Her face softened, and she admitted, ‘Father has been delaying my journey to Tara for my marriage. He’s told the High King of my illness, but soon enough, the King’s men will come for me. And I will not have my last moments be shadowed by marriage to such a man.’ She reached out and smoothed his hair. ‘I know Rory is your father, but I am glad you are nothing like him.’

‘I will never be like him.’ The stories of the High King’s ruthless actions were well known. Rory had plundered and burned the lands of Strabane and Derry, even ordering his own brother to be blinded, in order to seize possession of the throne. It was one of many reasons why no one dared to stand against him.

‘In one way, you will.’ Carice’s hand rested upon his cheek. ‘You have the blood of the High King within your veins. You are destined to rule over your own lands.’

While he wanted to believe that, he didn’t know if he would ever overcome his low birth. Men respected his fighting skills and his strategies, but he needed far more than that to win a place for himself.

‘I am a bastard,’ he pointed out, ‘and the Ard-Righ will never acknowledge me as his son.’ It was well known that the High King had sired dozens of bastard children, and he had little interest in them. Brian had travelled to visit Rory, hoping to receive compensation for Killian’s fostering, but the King had been away, and his retainers had refused to grant anything. During those years, Rory had been King of Connacht, before he became High King of Éireann.

‘That could change,’ she argued. ‘And I know you will fight for the life you want. Just as I will fight for the death I want.’

The words were chilling, for Carice was the one good part of his life. Her quiet spirit and kindness had helped him to push back his hatred of Brian. Without her, there was no one to fight for.

‘Carice, don’t,’ he said, not wanting to speak of it. ‘You cannot give up.’

She ignored him and continued. ‘I have asked the MacEgan tribe for help. Someone will come and take me to our holdings in the west. I ask that you help me to leave. Do not let Father’s men stop me.’ Though her face remained strong, he caught the rise of tears in her eyes. ‘If I stay, I will have to marry the High King. And I do not wish to endure that wedding night.’

She took a slow breath, her hands trembling. ‘Help me escape, Killian. You’re strong enough to fight this battle.’

He bowed his head, knowing that it was peace she wanted. And so he gave a vow he knew he could keep. ‘I swear, on my life, that I will never let you wed King Rory.’

Her shoulders lowered with relief, and she touched his hair, resting her forehead against his. ‘Thank you. I cannot say when I will leave, but one day soon, I will be gone. I know Father’s men will search for me, but keep them searching to the north instead. Tell them I went to visit friends, if you wish. The MacEgans will protect me with other false stories, if needed.’

‘So be it.’

She leaned against the wall, and he suspected she had not the strength to return to her bed. ‘You are the brother of my heart, Killian, no matter what my father says. I pray that one day you realise how worthy you are.’

He reached out to lift her into his arms. ‘I’m taking you back to your chamber. Rest, and trust that I will keep you safe.’

* * *

Taryn Connelly had never rescued a captive before.

She knew nothing at all about how to infiltrate the High King’s fortress at Tara and steal a prisoner away, but her father’s time was running out. If she didn’t organise soldiers to save him, his life would be forfeit. But finding warriors was proving to be a problem.

Her father, King Devlin, had been a good man and a strong ruler. But the last group of men who had gone to rescue her father had all been returned to Ossoria—without their heads. She shuddered at the memory. King Rory had made it clear that he was not going to release his prisoner.

Her mother, Queen Maeve, had insisted that the remaining soldiers stay behind to guard their province, and they were all too glad to obey.

Taryn refused to leave Devlin there to die. It wasn’t fair and it wasn’t right. Someone had to save him. And though she wasn’t strong enough to lead men into battle, she could find a warrior who was.

A sudden rise of nerves caught in her stomach, for she had never left Ossoria before. For so many years, she had remained hidden away, so that no one would look upon her scarred face. Her father had warned that others would scorn her for the physical imperfections if she dared to leave. But now, she had no alternative. Given the choice between facing a jeering crowd and saving his life, she would set aside her fear and risk everything.

Her mother opened the door to Taryn’s chamber, staring at the open trunk of Taryn’s belongings. Inside lay not only fine gowns, but a box filled with gold pieces, silver chalices, and a small bag of pearls.

‘You cannot save him, Taryn,’ Maeve said. ‘You saw what happened to the last group of soldiers who went to the High King.’

‘If you were in his place, would you want us to go about our lives, not even trying to bring you home?’ she countered. ‘He’s my father, not a traitor.’

She was certain of that. Devlin had answered a summons, only to be taken by the King’s men and bound in chains. And whatever the reason, Taryn intended to bring him home. ‘I will not turn my back on him.’

Her mother was silent, her expression tight. Around her throat she wore a gold torque set with rubies, while her long red hair fell to her waist. ‘I know you believe Devlin was a good father. He tried very hard to make you think well of him.’ Her voice was calm, but it held the unmistakable edge of loathing.

Taryn tensed, for she’d known that her parents’ marriage had never been a happy one. Her mother had miscarried many children over the years, and it shadowed her moods at all times. She controlled every moment of each day and kept the servants at her beck and call. Those who disobeyed were punished for any infraction.

Maeve sighed and paced across the room. ‘I am sorry, but you cannot go to Tara. And you may not send more of my soldiers on Devlin’s behalf.’

My soldiers? Taryn bristled at that. As if she’d already given up on her husband?

‘They are still Father’s men, too,’ Taryn corrected.

But Maeve’s face turned cool. She walked to stand at the window and said, ‘I have not, nor will I, give permission for you to take soldiers against King Rory. Every last man of them would be killed, including yourself. And I am not a woman who sends others to die needlessly.’

Not even for your husband? Taryn wanted to ask, but didn’t.

‘I do not intend to take an army,’ she told Maeve quietly. ‘I go only to plead for Father’s life. Surely there is no harm in appealing to King Rory. I am no threat to the High King.’

‘You will not leave,’ Maeve said. ‘And that is final.’ Her gaze swept over Taryn. ‘The Ard-Righ will not listen to anything you have to say.’ She reached out to touch Taryn’s scarred cheek. ‘And unlike other women, you cannot use your looks to win his attention, I fear.’ Her mother’s touch burned into her skin like a brand.

Taryn knew she would never be beautiful, and she would bear the disfigurement of her face and hands forever. But to hear it from her mother was a blow she hadn’t expected. She stepped backwards, lowering her gaze to the floor. ‘I do not want King Rory’s attention.’

Far from it. She knew she had a face that made men shudder, and she was too tall. Her hair was black instead of her mother’s fiery colour. They shared the same eyes, however. More than once, Taryn had wished that she did not have to see those icy blue eyes staring back at her in a reflection.

Sometimes she wished that her mother had been taken captive, instead of her father. Maeve never seemed to care about anyone but herself. And it hurt to imagine Devlin in chains, suffering torture.

Taryn closed the trunk and stood. ‘I do not understand why I may not take a small escort when I speak with the High King. Two or three men are harmless.’ More than that, she could see no reason why her mother would care what risks she took. ‘If I fail, there is nothing lost.’

‘Nothing, save your life,’ Maeve countered. She continued staring out the window, and at last she said, ‘A messenger came this morn. Devlin is to be executed on the eve of Imbolc.’ With that, she turned back. ‘I do not think you want to witness your father’s death. And if you go, the Ard-Righ will force you to watch.’

Horror wrenched her stomach at the thought. Taryn gripped her hands together tightly, wishing she could control the trembling. ‘And you’ll do nothing to stop it.’

‘I will not interfere with the High King’s justice, for I value my own life.’ Maeve moved closer, cupping Taryn’s chin. ‘Just as I value yours. Devlin is gone, and there is nothing more to be done.’

The Queen’s face held traces of regret. ‘I can read your thoughts, my daughter. You plan to slip away and try to save Devlin. But I will not let you endanger yourself or others. Your father is not the man you think he is.’ She paused a moment, as if she wanted to say something more, but then held her silence.

Taryn said nothing, not at all believing her mother. Devlin was a quiet, wise leader whom the people respected. Her blood ran cold at the thought of her father’s death. Their small province would fall into chaos, for Maeve would rule with an iron hand. Devlin had brought peace and prosperity among them, but it would not last beneath her mother’s commands.

She swallowed hard, her stomach churning at the prospect of facing the High King. But face him she must, if it meant saving Devlin’s life. Imbolc was only a few weeks away.

‘May I go now?’ she asked her mother. There was little time left, and she wanted to leave Ossoria at dawn. She dared not travel with more than a single guard, and it would be difficult to find anyone who would go with her, if she asked it of him.

‘To your chamber, yes,’ Maeve answered. ‘But nowhere else. And, Taryn, if you do attempt to leave against my orders, my soldiers will bring you back. Be assured of it.’

Taryn said nothing, but curtsied to her mother before leaving. An uneasy fear gathered in her stomach, for she suspected her mother would punish any servants who dared to accompany her.

Once she reached the hallway, she leaned back against the stone wall, terrified of the next few weeks. It would take at least a sennight to reach Tara, and even then, she needed men to defend her. Not an army—but enough fighters to help her rescue Devlin, if King Rory would not listen.

Who would agree to such a task? She didn’t know how to hire mercenaries, and if she asked a neighbouring chieftain or king, they would never consider allying against the High King.

She needed leverage, something King Rory wanted.

You cannot use your looks to win his attention, her mother had said. And Taryn knew that all too well. The very idea of offering herself was impossible, for men did not want a scarred bride—they only wanted her kingdom. Most behaved as if they didn’t see her, or they turned their backs to avoid her presence. Her stomach twisted at the unwanted memories. Although no one dared to mock her openly, it was easier to hide herself away from others, pretending as if she was unaware of their revulsion.

She forced back her thoughts, still wondering how to save her father’s life. She’d heard Devlin speak of the betrothal between King Rory and Carice Faoilin. The young woman was rumoured to be the most beautiful woman in Éireann—a perfect bride for the High King. But Taryn doubted if any woman alive would want to be wedded to such a cruel man.

Then, again, it was unlikely that Carice had a choice.

A union between the High King and the Faoilin tribe would be a powerful one, giving the King more influence in the southern territories. Rory Ó Connor needed strong armies and alliances that would protect Éireann, since the Norman invaders were gaining a stronger foothold. War was brewing, and they knew not who would win.

Would the King listen to a plea from his bride? Taryn wondered if she could convince Carice to let her travel with her as a companion. Though she had never met the young woman, perhaps she could visit Carrickmeath and seek help on her father’s behalf.

Inwardly, Taryn worried whether pearls or gold would be enough to gain their assistance. She had little else to offer in exchange for Devlin’s rescue. And now that her mother had forbidden her to take soldiers as escorts, she could not travel in a wagon. It meant she could only bring wealth she could carry. Even then, she might not gain the help she needed.

An idea began to form as she thought about Carice Faoilin. Perhaps a distraction was what was needed. Carice had not yet married the High King...but what if Taryn accompanied her to the wedding? A celebration would offer the strongest diversion yet, where hundreds of wedding guests would attend, offering the perfect chance to rescue her father in secret.

She didn’t need an army—only a small group of well-trained men to slip past the guards.

And she knew exactly where she would find them.

* * *

The overcast sky darkened as the afternoon stretched into evening. Taryn huddled within her fur-lined cloak while the damp conditions turned into frost. Her guard, Pól, accompanied her, carrying the small bundle containing a bag of jewels and silver, as well as a second gown. She’d had to leave almost everything behind, since they hadn’t taken a horse. Pól had protested, saying that it would take far too long to travel on foot.

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.’

‘You don’t know what sort of man I am.’ He lived each day with the knowledge that he was nothing to Brian Faoilin, beyond his fighting skills. And Taryn was wrong—he would die to save Carice’s life. She was the only person who cared anything for him. The only woman who had given him kindness after his mother had died. He traced the outline of the silver ring upon his smallest finger that Iona had given him before her death.

‘No,’ she agreed. ‘I don’t know you at all. But I suspect you might be someone who could help me. For a price,’ she added.

Though it was true that he did need gold or silver to raise his status, he was wary of trusting a stranger. He knew nothing of this woman, aside from her claims.

‘My only concern is in protecting Lady Carice,’ he told her. ‘She does not wish to wed the High King.’ And she is dying, he thought, but didn’t say it. The journey to Tara might weaken her even faster. He would do whatever was necessary to prolong whatever life she had remaining.

The Lady gave a nod. ‘I understand.’

Killian didn’t miss the slight shiver when she spoke, as if she feared the High King. And likely she had reason to, for few women wanted to wed a man so ruthless. His own mother had fled from Rory Ó Connor, remaining in hiding for the rest of her life.

‘I don’t think you do,’ he countered. ‘Carice wants to slip away and escape the marriage altogether. She was planning to flee before the soldiers came.’

‘Perhaps I could help her,’ she offered. ‘That is, if she will let me travel with her.’ Taryn gripped her brat, drawing it closer.

‘You will have to ask.’ Killian stared at her, wondering exactly what she intended to do, once she reached Tara. Travelling alone was a disastrous idea, one more dangerous than she could imagine.

And yet...she could help his sister slip away at nightfall. Or Taryn could help to deceive the King’s men by disguising herself at night, letting them believe she was Carice and thereby granting his sister more time.

He wasn’t a man to make a decision lightly, especially when there was so much at stake. If he refused to let Taryn get involved, Carice would be taken against her will in the morning. It would be far too difficult to help his sister escape.

But a deception at night could work, especially if Taryn remained behind in Carice’s place. The soldiers might believe it for a few hours, if she kept her face shielded.

He couldn’t fathom why he was even considering this. It would never work.

‘May I warm myself by your fire?’ Taryn asked quietly.

He decided it was best to consult Carice in this, for it was her decision to make. ‘I will take you to my sister’s chamber, and you may warm yourself there,’ he told her, ‘but she has been ill and is resting. If she awakens, you may ask her what she wants to do.’

‘I would think she’d be relieved and eager to help me.’ Taryn’s mouth twisted. ‘Especially if she can somehow avoid the marriage.’ There was a faint trace of unrest in her eyes. For all her bravado, this woman was afraid of Rory Ó Connor.

He led her up the stone staircase and when they reached the top, he blocked her way. ‘I will let you meet my sister. But if Carice refuses to let you travel with us, you’re going to leave.’ He would find another way of helping his sister escape the marriage—even if it meant carrying her out of the fortress in the middle of the night.

Taryn nodded slowly in agreement, though he suspected she would not give up that easily. Killian knocked upon his sister’s chamber and heard her weak reply, ‘Come in.’

He pushed the door open and found Carice curled up on her side, her strained expression revealing her pain. The room smelled of sickness, and it was clear that she hadn’t managed to eat the bread that her maid had brought.

‘Leave us,’ Killian told the serving girl. She obeyed, glancing at Taryn as she did. After the girl was gone, he went to Carice’s bedside. ‘I’ve brought someone to meet you. There has been a change in our plans since we last spoke.’

Taryn remained on the far side of the room, but he beckoned for her to draw nearer. When she did, she held her hair against her cheeks, hiding the scars. Though he understood why she did it, it bothered him. His sister was not the sort of person who would judge someone by her appearance.

Upon the foot of the bed, a smoke-grey cat arched his back and stretched, clawing at the coverlet. Harold began purring and jumped down, rubbing against Killian’s legs. He scratched the cat’s ears and lifted Harold up, giving the animal affection before he sat beside his sister. By the Rood, she looked weary and frail.

Carice opened her eyes and looked first at Killian and then at Taryn. ‘I have seen you before,’ she said to Taryn, her voice barely above a whisper. Her fingers dug into the sheets as if another stomach cramp plagued her. ‘You are Lady Taryn of Ossoria.’

Taryn nodded. ‘I am, yes.’ Even with her hair shielding her face, she held herself back, keeping a goodly distance from both of them. Killian sensed that she was nervous.

‘Why have you come?’ His sister struggled to sit up, and Killian assisted her, propping up a pillow behind her shoulders.

Taryn glanced back at him, as if questioning whether or not she should tell Carice everything. He nodded for her to continue. ‘Tell her.’

‘I know you are betrothed to the High King,’ Taryn said. ‘My father is the High King’s captive, and I cannot let him die as a prisoner. I must get close in order to save him, and I...I wanted to accompany you to Tara.’

Carice stared at the young woman as if uncertain what to say. The cat jumped down from the bed again, padding towards Taryn. The moment he approached, she tensed and moved aside to avoid him. Harold responded by purring and nudging her legs, but Taryn wouldn’t even look at the animal.

‘King Rory’s men arrived less than an hour ago,’ Killian told his sister. ‘They want you to journey to Tara in the morning.’

‘They what?’ Horror came over his sister’s face. She glanced towards the door as if trying to think of an escape. ‘So soon?’

He squeezed her hand in quiet reassurance. ‘I haven’t forgotten my promise, Carice. Trust in me.’

Taryn came closer. ‘I will help you to avoid the marriage,’ she told the other woman. ‘I could disguise myself in your clothing until you’ve managed to leave. And then Killian will bring me to Tara in your place before anyone knows you have gone.’

Killian studied his sister, who had laid her head back down. God above, he wished he could take this suffering from her. She should have had a life before her, marriage and the children she wanted. Instead, every moment was filled with pain.

‘What do you want to do, Carice?’ he asked, gently touching her cheek.

His sister let out a weak smile. ‘It seems that Fate has changed our plans, doesn’t it, Killian?’ She closed her eyes for a moment. ‘While I understand your offer, Lady Taryn, I fear it cannot work. My father would never allow us to carry out such a deception, much less an escape.’ She reached out a hand to the cat, who came closer and rubbed his head against her fingers. ‘If the King’s men are here, my father will insist upon accompanying me.’

The desolate weariness on her face was like a blade in Killian’s chest. If she had to leave with the High King’s men, it would end her life even faster.

He wanted to plead with Brian to end the betrothal, but the chieftain was blind to his daughter’s illness, believing that she would overcome it. He wanted Carice to be Queen of all Éireann, no matter what the cost. If these men wanted her to leave with them, Brian would send his daughter.

‘Your father doesn’t have to know,’ Taryn said. ‘Let him believe that I am merely accompanying you to your wedding. No one will suspect anything if you begin the journey at my side. We could travel in a litter, and then you can slip away at night. If I remain hidden, it would give you time enough to flee. Perhaps my guard could take you wherever you want to go.’

His sister took a shaky breath. To Taryn, she admitted, ‘What you are suggesting is dangerous. If I do escape, when you arrive at Tara, the High King’s men will tell him what happened. You would be punished for deceiving his men.’

‘It is a risk,’ Taryn agreed. ‘But I am willing to try, for my father’s sake.’

‘And what if the High King demands that you take my place?’ Carice asked. ‘You are Lady of Ossoria, after all. What if he forces you to marry him?’

Taryn’s face reddened, and she shook her head. ‘He would never wed someone like me.’ She fingered the ends of her hair, and Killian knew why. She didn’t want anyone to see her features. And though he could demand that she show his sister the scars, he was holding back her secret. There was no need to voice what both of them knew. The High King of Éireann would never accept a scarred woman as his bride.

Even so, Taryn was not as unattractive as she seemed to believe. No, she did not have the strong beauty of Carice, but her long black hair framed a face with bold blue eyes. The freezing rain had dampened her face, and her wet hair rested over her shoulders. Her gown clung to a slender body with a slight swell of hips and generous breasts.

A sudden vision flared, of peeling back her gown to reveal that creamy skin. He imagined tasting the water droplets as they rolled over erect nipples and between the valleys. Would she sigh with pleasure, arching and grasping his hair?

Gods, where had that thought come from? It had been a while since he’d been with a woman, and certainly he’d never had a noblewoman in his bed. This one seemed timorous somehow, though she had braved her journey here alone.

Her appearance might be marred, but Taryn of Ossoria had something that others lacked—courage. He knew of no woman who would offer to deceive the High King at a risk to herself.

‘King Rory will seek vengeance if you do this,’ Carice insisted. ‘He is old and cruel. And he acts swiftly before considering the consequences.’ She paused a moment and looked at him. ‘He is also Killian’s father.’

Taryn didn’t flinch, but she admitted, ‘I heard him say that when he spoke with the soldiers.’ She glanced over at him as if she expected to see traces of his father there. And perhaps there were. Killian prided himself on never allowing emotions to cloud his judgement.

‘I am the High King’s bastard,’ he reminded her. ‘Not a true-born son.’

He expected the young woman to regard him with derision. Instead, she seemed more curious, her gaze discerning.

‘Killian and I are not brother and sister by blood,’ Carice said. ‘But I’ve always thought of him in that way. His mother sought sanctuary with my father, and we grew up together, though we had different parents.’ She ventured a smile, but he sensed that she was growing even more tired.

Taryn moved closer to them, and upon her face, there was sympathy. ‘Why does your father want you to marry the High King, if you find him to be cruel? Especially if you’ve been so unwell?’

‘Because Brian wants me to be High Queen,’ Carice admitted. ‘And because he does not believe how ill I am. He cannot accept weakness in anyone, and he keeps sending for healers who bleed me and give me potions I despise.’ Her voice dropped to a whisper. ‘I suppose, in his own way, he wants a better life for me. You know what a father will do for his daughter, do you not?’

Killian caught the sudden flash of pain over the young woman’s face when she nodded. ‘I do, yes. And I know what a daughter would do for her father.’

A silent understanding passed between them. Then Carice added, ‘I know you are trying to help him. But you should not endanger yourself. There are other ways you might send men to Tara.’

Killian wasn’t so certain. If the Queen had refused to intervene on her husband’s behalf, then there were reasons for it. In the meantime, he wasn’t going to lose the opportunity to get Carice to safety—not when Taryn had offered to help.

‘I will speak with Brian and see what can be done,’ Killian offered. He placed the cat beside Carice and pulled the coverlet over her, brushing her hair aside. ‘Rest now.’ Harold curled up beside his sister, and she stroked his ears. Her eyes held sadness, as if she’d resigned herself to an unwelcome fate. But Killian wasn’t about to give up hope. There had to be a means of saving her—and he wouldn’t stop until he’d found a way.

* * *

Taryn followed Killian into the hall, but he did not return towards the stairs. Instead, he beckoned for her to follow him towards another chamber.

‘Aren’t we going to speak with your chieftain?’ She wasn’t certain quite where he was taking her.

Killian seized a torch from an iron sconce on the wall and opened another door. ‘Not yet.’ He stood before the entrance, waiting.

Though she knew he was expecting her obedience, she took a moment to study him closer. She could see the chain mail beneath his dark woollen clothing. His forearms were scarred, and his face held the dark bristle of unshaved cheeks. His grey eyes were the colour of the sky on a winter’s morning.

Taryn took a single step inside the chamber, then froze. The room was small, hardly large enough for a chair, and it had no window at all. ‘I’m not going in there.’ She didn’t know this man at all and certainly didn’t trust him.

He placed the torch upon one wall, and it illuminated the space, casting shadows on the wall. ‘We need to talk about Carice. Close the door and stand beside it if it makes you feel safer.’

While she thought about it, the grey cat wandered into the room, weaving against her legs before it went back to Killian. He picked it up, and the animal began purring.

She took another hesitant step inside the chamber and closed the door. Killian remained on the far side of the room, the torchlight flickering across his face. ‘You don’t like animals, do you?’

It surprised her that he’d noticed. ‘Oh, I don’t mind animals. It’s just that they don’t seem to like me.’

Killian set down the cat. ‘You’re afraid of them.’

‘Sometimes.’ She saw no reason to be dishonest, but when the cat approached, she couldn’t help but retreat.

‘Don’t show your fear,’ he advised. ‘They sense it.’

She knew that, but she’d never been able to suppress the way she felt. Not only because of her brother Christopher’s death, but also from her own scars. She didn’t remember how she had been attacked, but she had nightmares about wild teeth tearing into her flesh. Every time she was near animals, the hairs on her arms stood on end, and fear enveloped her. The reaction was instinctive, though she knew most animals meant her no harm.

‘What should we do about your sister?’ she asked, needing to change the subject.

Killian paused a moment. ‘I’ve been thinking, and there may be a way to solve both of our problems.’

He was watching her, and Taryn pulled her hair forward again, not wanting this man’s discerning gaze upon her face. ‘What do you want me to do?’

He crossed his arms. ‘Accompany Carice to Tara, and do not leave her side. Not at all.’

Curious, she leaned against the wall, wondering what sort of deception he intended.

‘We won’t be explaining ourselves to anyone,’ he continued. ‘When anyone addresses Carice, you will be beside her. If all goes well, the High King’s men won’t know which one of you is the bride. Let them believe what they want.’

The idea was a bold one, but it would indeed create an illusion. ‘And what will we do about her illness?’

‘Hide it as best we can.’ He spoke of her standing at his sister’s side, granting her physical support so she could walk to the litter. ‘Brian will want that as well.’

‘And what will we do about him?’ The chieftain would undoubtedly give away Carice’s identity if he accompanied them.

‘If he escorts Carice, I will ensure that he does not stop her from leaving,’ Killian answered.

The ice in his voice frightened her, for she knew not what he intended to do. Whatever it was, Killian was not a man she would ever want as her enemy.

And yet, she could not fault him for wanting to protect the woman he called sister. Would he hold the same loyalty towards his own woman, if he were married? Perhaps. And yet, she believed he was a man who walked his path alone. He wore an air of isolation, as if he wanted to remain apart from others.

‘What will happen to Carice?’ she asked him. ‘How will she escape?’

‘Within a day or two, one of the MacEgan men will “kidnap” her,’ he answered. ‘Carice will disappear, and you will take her place for a few hours that night, before anyone notices she’s gone.’

‘And if I do this, will you help me to free my father?’ she ventured.

He studied her for a moment but shook his head. ‘I will take you the rest of the way to Tara, but that is all.’

It wasn’t what she had hoped for, but it was a start. ‘What of the other men? Is there someone else who might help me?’

His silence was not reassuring. There was so little time left, and she had to find someone quickly. It would take days yet to reach Tara, and if she did not find someone here, she would have to seek help from mercenaries. Such warriors would sooner steal her gold than do her bidding.

‘Brian’s men will not stand against Rory,’ he said at last. ‘And even if you did find someone to free King Devlin, your father could never return to his kingdom. Not if the High King wants him dead.’

Her spirit dissolved in fear, for that was true. She might save Devlin’s life—but she could not save his reign. The only way to truly bring him back was to mend the breach between the two kings. Someone had to intercede on her father’s behalf...someone with the ear of the High King.

Like his son.

Killian MacDubh might be a bastard, but surely the Ard-Righ would listen to him.

Yet Killian wanted no part of his father. He was trying to keep Lady Carice from wedding the man. It was unlikely that he would even consider her request.

‘I could pay you in silver or pearls,’ she said. ‘If you found men willing to help me.’ She eyed him, adding, ‘Certainly, the task would be too difficult for only one man.’

His expression tightened at her challenge, as if he wanted to rise to the bait.

Just how proud are you, Killian? she wondered. Was he willing to help her, in return for the riches he lacked?

‘Too difficult, is it?’ he countered. In one swift motion, he extinguished the torch. Darkness enveloped the room, and Taryn huddled against the door. Only the faintest embers glowed against the wood, and she could hear nothing at all.

Silence permeated the space, and a moment later, his hands were upon her shoulders, his breath against her ear. ‘When I want to be unseen, this I can do, a chara. Like a shadow.’

Shivers erupted over her skin, and she tried to calm the rapid beating of her heart. Never before had any man come so close to her, and she could feel the hard planes of his body behind her.

‘It will be dangerous at Tara.’

She told herself to step forward, out of his hold. And yet, her feet stubbornly refused to move. A reckless side to her imagined what it would be like if he pressed her back against the wall and claimed a kiss.

He turned her in the darkness, keeping her hand in his. Against her palm, she felt the calloused skin of a swordsman. ‘It is, aye.’

‘And you’ve said that you will not help me,’ she reminded him. ‘Unless there is something else you want that I can grant.’

The moment she spoke the words, she regretted them. It sounded as if she were offering herself as the prize.

His hand moved through her hair, his thumb skimming the ridged scars upon her cheek. The touch only reminded her that she was a woman no man would ever want. He didn’t have to speak a single word for her to know the answer.

Abruptly he opened the door, and light speared her eyes from the hall. ‘Stay with my sister for the rest of the night. I will tell Brian that you are here.’

He made no promises, and she could not imagine what he was thinking right now. A strange ache caught within her, knowing that she was utterly alone in wanting to save her father.

Taryn closed her eyes against the light in the hall, pushing back the hurt feelings before she emerged. She knew she should do as Killian had ordered, returning to share the chamber with his sister. And yet, she did not want to be brushed aside so soon.

She tiptoed down the stairs, hiding herself against the curve of the wall so that she had a view of the Great Chamber. From here, no one would see her. The chieftain was seated at a long table, upon a dais, surrounded by other men. The High King’s soldiers were dining at the lower tables, tossing bones to the dogs, and drinking ale.

Killian walked towards the chieftain, striding past the men as if he ruled over all of them. But Brian Faoilin looked displeased to see him. The chieftain motioned for one of his guards to come forward, and he spoke quietly to the man.

Killian stared at Brian, waiting for his chance to speak. But instead of agreeing to an audience, the soldier approached and ordered him to leave. It was clear that the chieftain had no intention of acknowledging a fuidir.

Taryn was startled to realise it. Why? What harm was there in speaking to the chieftain? Though it was true that Killian lacked full membership in the tribe, due to his low status, surely Brian would allow him a voice.

Killian didn’t move at all, but folded his arms and held his ground in his own defiance. Fury darkened the chieftain’s face, and he stood. The first soldier seized Killian, shoving him against one of the benches. But instead of losing his balance, Killian moved with swift reflexes and flipped the man over, tossing him across the table. Food and drink went flying on to the floor, and a moment later, he stood before the chieftain, a faint smile upon his face.

You cannot force me to go, he seemed to be saying.

The violent hatred in the chieftain’s eyes stunned her. He looked as if he wanted Killian to be beaten bloody and left to die. Within seconds, other soldiers joined in on the fighting, trying to force him out. Even the High King’s men stood from their benches, surrounding Killian. All, save two men, whose expressions held anger and displeasure at the disturbance.

Instead of surrendering, Killian remained in place. A moment later, he was no longer standing there. Never in her life had she seen any man move so fast. A fist swung towards his jaw, but he dodged the blow and it collided with another man’s face.

He was indeed like a shadow, here for a fleeting second, and gone the next.

The drunken men continued to fight, but Killian somehow managed to move away from them. When anyone tried to hit him, he spun and shoved them off balance. It soon became clear that he was defending himself, not provoking more fighting. But when one soldier’s fist connected with Killian’s jaw, it turned violent. Killian struck back, beating the man bloody, until his opponent backed off. It was an unmistakable silent message sent to the others. At last, he threw a dark glower at Brian and strode towards the back of the hall, as if he didn’t want to waste words on the chieftain.

Taryn hurried from her hiding place and followed him outside. The rain had stopped, but the air was moist and smelled of damp earth. Within the inner bailey, she glimpsed her guard, Pól, and she sent him a nod, thankful that he’d made it safely inside. She raised her hand in recognition, intending to speak with him later.

Killian continued towards the stables, and she hurried to keep up with him. Her footing slipped a time or two, but eventually she reached the outer door.

For a moment, Taryn rested her hand upon the outbuilding, taking the time to push back the unreasonable fears. The horses would be enclosed within the stalls, she told herself. If she kept her distance, no harm would come to her. Though it was foolish to be afraid of horses, a darker memory lingered on the edges of awareness.

It was your fault that Christopher died, came the voice of her conscience. She closed her eyes, wanting so badly to push back the grief. But against her will, she saw her brother’s lifeless body in her vision, her heart still hurting for the loss.

She’d been a young girl, only four years old. Christopher was twelve and was home from his fostering, visiting for Yuletide. She’d idolised him and had followed him around everywhere, wanting so badly to be near him. Her brother had an easy smile and he’d never seemed to mind her attention. Sometimes he would swing her up on his shoulders, letting her feel as tall as a grown woman.

Sweet Jesu, she had loved him.

But one morning, she had run through the courtyard, eager to bid him farewell before he went off hunting with their father. She hadn’t paid any heed to where she was going, and Christopher’s horse had reared up without warning, throwing him off. Her brother’s head had struck a stone, and he had never awakened again.

The bitter guilt had remained with her all these years, for it had been her fault.

Taryn took a tentative step inside the stable and was relieved to see that all of the animals remained still and quiet with only an occasional nicker. Killian stood on the far end, resting both palms against a stall. Tension lined his shoulders, and she suddenly questioned her decision to follow him.

‘You were supposed to stay with Carice,’ he told her.

In his voice, she sensed the caged frustration. But even so, she wanted to understand what had happened in the Great Chamber. ‘Why did the chieftain refuse to let you speak?’

He didn’t turn around, and his knuckles tightened against the wood. ‘Brian wishes that I had never been born. He’s hated me since I took my first breath.’

‘Why? What threat could you possibly pose to him?’

He faced her, and in his grey eyes, she saw a man of ice. There was no pain, no emotion at all. Only a frozen mask of indifference.

‘I’m a bastard, Lady Taryn. I was not born a member of the tribe, and I’m not worth even the dirt beneath his feet. Why would he speak to me?’ Killian studied her with a mocking smile. ‘Brian wants naught to do with me. He wanted me hidden from everyone, like a secret meant to be forgotten.’ He spread out his hands, gesturing towards the stable. ‘Look around you, Lady Taryn. This is my home. I sleep here, among the horses and dogs.’

She didn’t like that at all. A man’s worth had nothing to do with his birthright.

‘You are not to blame for your mother’s choices.’

‘A choice?’ He looked incredulous at her words. ‘My mother had no choice at all. She was with child when she fled the High King. Brian took her in, but we were both treated as fuidir.’ He shrugged as if it meant nothing. Still, it bothered Taryn to see a man so mistreated, merely from circumstances of birth.

‘Why did she leave the High King?’

He sent her a disbelieving glance. ‘It’s more likely that she never wanted to be with a man like him. She wouldn’t speak of Rory, though everyone knows I am his son.’

‘Does he know about you? That is, did you ever go to see him?’ Though it was quite a distance to Tara, she couldn’t imagine that he’d remained here.

‘No. Brian told him about me, but Rory cared nothing about my existence. I had no desire to meet him, based on my mother’s experience.’

She suspected there was more that he hadn’t revealed. In his eyes, she saw the hard resentment of a man who hated his life. Most of the fuidir she’d encountered were not as proud as this man. But Killian seemed unwilling to accept a fate such as this, and she could not blame him.

‘If this is not the life you want, you could leave,’ she suggested.

He said nothing, and she realised that she did have something to offer this man. A home where he would not be treated as a slave. ‘If you free my father, you could come and live among our people at Ossoria. You would have a place with us.’

The doubt upon his face made it clear that he did not believe her. ‘I intend to see my sister to safety. That is the only reason I am escorting you to Tara—to help her escape. After that, I will go my own way.’

She wasn’t ready to give up so soon. Not when there was a chance he could save her father’s life.

Yet, there was so much bitterness locked away in Killian, it was festering deep inside. Despite the High King’s reputation, there was a blood bond between them, of father and son. There might be a way for him to gain Rory’s favour.

‘And after Carice is safe? What then?’ she pressed. ‘Will you return here and live among men who treat you like the dirt they walk upon?’

Rage flashed in his eyes and she knew she had struck upon his weakness—pride. This was a man who had the demeanour of a king, though he was trapped in the life of a slave.

‘My decisions are my own.’ He took a step towards her, letting his height intimidate her. But she refused to back down—not when she believed he had the power to save her father. This man had single-handedly fought back against the chieftain’s strongest men, proving that he could overcome the odds. When she looked upon his face, she saw a man of determination, a man of courage.

He reached down and caught her wrist. ‘Don’t think I’m unaware of what you’re doing, a chara. You want me to speak on your father’s behalf to King Rory and ask my father to free Devlin.’ He sent her a sidelong look. ‘As if a bastard son has any influence at all.’ She tried to pull her hand back, but he gripped it tight. ‘I’ll not be risking my life for his.’

He wouldn’t want that, no. But there was something else that might sway him.

Taryn reached beneath her skirt to a pouch she’d tied beneath it. From the pouch, she withdrew a silver coin. She held it up and said, ‘If you do go your own path, you will need to build your own wealth. You could start with this.’

She pressed the silver into his palm, but he caught her hand and held it. The small piece of metal warmed beneath their joined hands, but there was more than a simple touch. ‘This is what my word is worth,’ she continued. ‘If you rescue my father, I can give you a chest of silver so heavy, you cannot lift it. You could buy anything you want.’

Killian’s steel eyes smouldered with fury, and he looked as if her offer had wounded his pride. Taryn’s skin tightened, her body flushing at his intense stare. She tried to look away, but every part of her was strangely attuned to him. Her body had grown sensitive, and the coldness of his face caught her breath.

Like a fallen angel, his features were darkly handsome. Though he didn’t bruise her skin with his grip, he was letting her know who was in command. And it wasn’t her.

‘I’ve never met anyone of noble blood whose word could be trusted.’ He pressed the coin back into her hand, as if to say he wanted nothing she could give.

His words infuriated her. She had done nothing to warrant such distrust, and it was insulting. ‘You don’t even know me, Killian MacDubh. I am a woman who keeps her promises.’

‘Are you?’ he asked softly. ‘The first words you spoke were lies and deceptions. Why should I believe you?’

Her face flushed at the memory of how she’d told the soldiers she was Carice. From the shielded expression on his face, she realised that Killian was a man who trusted no one, save himself. No matter what vows she made, he would not believe them.

‘Then perhaps I won’t help your sister after all,’ she countered. ‘I’ll confess to the soldiers who I really am, and your father can take her to Tara to be wedded to the High King. I’ll find other soldiers to save my father.’

She started to move away, but he caught her waist, trapping her against the wooden horse stall. ‘Don’t.’

His hard body was pressed against hers, and she was completely at his mercy. Though he was likely meaning to intimidate her, instead, it felt like an embrace. Her body softened against his hardness, and she found herself spellbound by his iron eyes. The fierceness of his expression was of a warrior bent upon gaining her surrender. He kept her wrists pinned with his hands against the wall. But instead of feeling trapped, her traitorous mind imagined what it would be like to be claimed by this man.

She suspected that Killian would only take what he wanted, never giving anything of himself. And though it should have frightened her, she wondered if there was any warmth at all behind his heart of ice.

‘You will do nothing to harm Carice. Not ever.’ Though his words were spoken softly, the threat was not lost upon her. ‘Not in word or in deed.’

Taryn stared back at him, facing him without fear. ‘I will do whatever I must to free my father. We can be allies and help one another...or we can be enemies. The choice is yours.’

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