Chapter Two #2
Even now she still didn’t trust the Normans.
Though she was trying to behave as if everything was normal, she still awakened at all hours of the night, remembering the moment she had ended the soldier’s life.
It haunted her, not because of what she’d had to do—but because of how easy it had been to kill him.
In that moment, the choice had transformed her.
And she didn’t know how to go back to being the maiden she’d been.
Or even if she wanted to.
But she did want a husband and a family of her own, and this was probably the best way to get acquainted with possible matches. Perhaps the best way to remove the fear was to face it.
She smoothed her light blue silk gown and stood, pretending as if his words didn’t bother her. ‘I will consider the king’s men, as well as the others.’ Then she asked, ‘Are all of the preparations ready for tonight?’
‘Your mother has everything in hand.’ Patrick sat back in a large wooden chair, his gaze suddenly turning thoughtful as Isabel came close and rested her hand on his shoulder. He softened and added, ‘I have always hoped that we would live long enough to see you married.’
Her emotions tightened within her as she approached. ‘Please don’t talk like that, Father.’
‘You were a gift to your mother and me,’ he said softly. ‘An unexpected one.’ His tone turned to one of sadness.
‘And a blessing,’ Isabel agreed. ‘The healer told me I would never bear another child. And then you came when I was past forty.’ She shook her head in wonder. ‘We never imagined such a miracle.’
Mairead came and drew a stool up beside them.
To anyone else, Patrick and Isabel appeared old enough to be her grandparents.
But she’d always adored them both. Seeing the way they loved one another was something she wanted for herself.
She wanted a man to look at her the way her father looked at her mother.
And although Isabel claimed that Mairead’s father had despised her when they’d first met, Mairead didn’t believe that for a moment. ‘I will meet the suitors, and if there is anyone I wish to wed, then we will set the betrothal,’ she told them.
‘After you choose a husband, I’m going to step down as king,’ Patrick said. ‘It’s long past time Liam took my place.’
A sudden rise of fear caught her, but she pushed it back.
She didn’t really know why her father hadn’t given up the throne years ago.
Though most people said it was because Patrick was their most beloved king, she wondered whether her brother, Liam, would truly take the throne.
Liam had been named tánaiste, the heir to the kingship.
And yet, there was always a chance that the people could select someone else to reign over the lands.
Provincial kings were chosen from among the people.
Mairead said nothing, not wanting to worry her father. ‘Liam will make a good king,’ she said, taking his hand. ‘As for my marriage, I am grateful that you’re allowing me the right to choose.’
‘Within reason,’ he said. ‘I’ll not let you wed a man who does not honour you.’
His words evoked the memory of the day she’d met Balor ó Phelan. His kiss still haunted her, even now. It had been both gentle and tempting, coaxing her towards surrender.
It reminded her of Diarmud’s kiss, and the grief rose up again before she pushed it back. Don’t think of him. She’d paid the price once before, falling in love with a man her father didn’t approve of.
Right now, she needed to push away all thoughts of Balor.
He was exactly the sort of dishonourable man her father had warned her about.
The ó Phelan rogue had fully planned to kidnap her at first—but at least he had listened to her reasoning and had changed his mind.
She had to admit to herself that it meant something.
The relations between the MacEgans and ó Phelans were uncertain, at best. Years ago, Donal ó Phelan had tried to seize the throne for himself. Was that the reason why Balor had meant to take her hostage? To challenge Liam and put their own tribesman on the throne?
Her blood chilled at the thought.
She had kept her word and had sent an invitation to Kenneth ó Phelan.
But why had Balor spoken on his brother’s behalf instead of his own?
He’d already said that he had no interest in marriage—not that she wanted someone like him.
But something about Balor intrigued her…
which probably meant that a part of her was wicked and rebellious, too. Her cheeks flushed at the thought.
‘There is someone I’ve been wanting you to meet,’ her father said. ‘Lord Rogan Hammett, the Earl of Lowell, is one of the king’s noblemen. He arrived earlier this afternoon, and I agreed to grant him an audience before the aenach.’
‘Did you?’ She wasn’t at all certain about this—especially if the man was a Norman.
‘Just meet him,’ her father said. ‘The choice is still yours.’ He rose from the chair and offered his arm. ‘Come, and I’ll introduce you.’
Mairead took his arm, following him outside the solar, along with her mother.
As they descended the stairs, she didn’t miss the way her father slowed his steps, pausing to catch his breath.
Sometimes it frightened her to think of his age.
But she agreed that it was a good decision to let Liam take the throne at last.
When they reached the Great Chamber, her spirits lifted. She turned back to her mother and said, ‘Mother, this is beautiful.’
Isabel had decorated the gathering space with fresh flowers, particularly those in Mairead’s favourite color: yellow.
Dried gorse, irises, and primroses adorned the tables and walls while new rushes lined the floors.
A warm peat fire burned at the hearth, and several long trestle tables had been scoured.
Throughout the room, light burned from sconces on the walls with fresh beeswax candles.
As they approached the dais, Mairead saw several men rising from their places.
A sudden rush of nerves tightened in her veins at the thought of being the center of attention.
She wished Velaria were still here. Right now, she wanted a trusted friend and confidante.
But instead, her cousin had married Brian of Penrith in a quick wedding.
Both were gone, and loneliness surrounded Mairead in a cloak of sadness.
Her father led her closer to a blond man dressed in a green silk tunic and trews. The nobleman was older, possibly near forty, and she suspected he might have been married before. He wore a heavy gold chain that crossed both shoulders, and his brown eyes warmed at the sight of her.
Her father introduced the man, speaking the Norman language. ‘Mairead, this is Lord Rogan Hammett, the Earl of Lowell.’
Lord Lowell bowed and spoke in the Norman language. ‘My lady Mairead, it is my pleasure to meet you at last.’
For a moment, she felt as if her mouth couldn’t quite form the right words to say.
Only a few weeks ago, she would have been delighted to meet a handsome, wealthy suitor.
But now she couldn’t help but compare him with Balor.
Lord Lowell’s brown eyes seemed dull in comparison with Balor’s piercing blue eyes.
The earl didn’t make her heart race, but she realized he was meant to be a safe, reliable choice of a husband.
Likely one with strong connections to the English king—which made her wonder what they wanted from her.
Although she knew Lord Lowell and his men had nothing to do with the scouts who had attacked her a month ago—those soldiers had been part of King John’s entourage before he’d traveled north—it was still difficult to trust any Normans.
She managed to mumble a greeting, even as her father rested his hand against her spine.
Probably to reassure her, but more likely to prevent her from bolting away.
Why was she so nervous all of a sudden? It frustrated her to feel so scattered. Mairead took a deep breath, then another, forcing her heartbeat to steady.
‘I had heard tales of your beauty, and I am glad to see they were not exaggerated,’ Lord Lowell continued. His compliment sounded genuine, and guilt weighed upon her, for she ought to give him a fair chance.
‘I—thank you, my lord,’ she managed to answer. Her father then brought her to meet the other men, but she could feel the earl’s gaze upon her.
‘Would you walk with me for a little while?’ Lord Lowell asked, after she’d been introduced to the others. ‘So we could get better acquainted?’
Mairead glanced at her father, and he inclined his head with permission. ‘I suppose so.’
The earl offered his arm and led her from the Great Chamber to the large doors that led outside. ‘It wasn’t my intention to make you feel uncomfortable,’ he apologized. ‘I am sorry if I did.’
‘All of this makes me uncomfortable,’ she confessed. ‘I was not truly thinking about what it would mean to have so many suitors here for my sake. It’s overwhelming.’
They passed by her cousin Alanna, whose eyes had gone wide. A stricken look crossed her face as a basket slipped from her hands, spilling rushes and flowers everywhere. Mairead started to move towards her, but the woman bolted away.
At first, she worried about Alanna—but then, a sudden shock rippled through Mairead. Was this connected to the May crown she’d made several weeks ago? Was Lord Lowell the man she was meant to marry, and was that why Alanna had appeared so shaken?
‘I am sorry,’ Mairead murmured. ‘We must have startled my cousin.’
The earl glanced in Alanna’s direction for a moment before he turned back.
‘You needn’t be overwhelmed by so many suitors.
I would hope that you would see it as an honour.
’ His mouth curved in a warm smile. ‘A woman of your rank, a king’s daughter, deserves nothing less than the right to choose her husband. ’
Mairead didn’t truly know what to say, so she said, ‘Tell me about yourself and your homeland.’