Chapter Two #4
He thought about lying and saying he didn’t want to, but it seemed better to tell Marcas the truth. ‘It doesn’t matter what I might want. She wouldn’t look twice at someone like me,’ he answered.
‘But if you did like her, would you—’
‘I wouldn’t waste her time.’ He cut off the boy and continued, ‘I’m not a wealthy nobleman like the others here.’
Marcas’s brown furrowed. ‘Then how can I repay my debt to you?’
‘You owe me nothing.’ He was about to walk away, but the boy stepped in and interrupted.
‘Mairead’s favourite color is yellow. And she likes walking barefoot by the sea at sunset when it’s warm outside.’
Balor paused. ‘How would you know this?’
The boy smiled. ‘She’s my aunt. I’ve known her all my life.’ Then his gaze turned serious. ‘Do you know how to use a blade? You look like you do.’
‘I do. And so does your aunt.’ He wasn’t entirely certain what the boy wanted from him.
Marcas tilted his head to the side. ‘If you teach me how to be a better fighter, I can take you to her when she’s alone and introduce you.’
The boy’s earnest desire to help was like a fist to his gut.
Balor had never expected anything in return for the silent defence—but he couldn’t deny that a moment alone with Mairead was indeed tempting—even if it was unlikely she’d ever want to see him again.
But Marcas saw his hesitation and said, ‘Or, if you don’t think I’d be any good at fighting… ’
‘What about your father?’ he ventured. ‘Didn’t he teach you to fight?’
Marcas nodded. ‘He tried, but I wasn’t any good. It would be better if you taught me in secret.’
‘I’m a stranger to you,’ Balor pointed out. ‘How do you know I could even teach you? You’ve never seen me fight.’ He shook his head, knowing that the MacEgans would never want a fighter like him near Marcas. ‘It’s better if you let your father show you how.’
‘But if my father teaches me, then everyone watches,’ Marcas said quietly. ‘And they laugh at me. I embarrass him.’
The boy’s pain echoed his own. Although Balor knew it was a terrible idea, he also couldn’t deny that the boy could give him an advantage. He could ask Marcas to help Kenneth gain a private audience. ‘How old are you?’
‘I’ll be ten soon.’
The yearning in the boy’s voice pulled at him, and Balor let out a breath. ‘Tomorrow at dawn. I’ll be near the barbican gate. If you’re not there…’
‘I will be,’ Marcas swore. With a mischievous look, he added, ‘Follow me.’
‘Now?’
The boy nodded. Balor kept his hood up to cover his face and followed the lad up a set of stone stairs towards the parapets. He walked past the guards, and the boy led him to one of the towers that overlooked the sea.
‘Wait here,’ Marcas said. ‘I’m going to bring her to you.’
Before he could protest, the boy was gone.
With a sigh, Balor leaned back against the stone wall.
Despite the forbidden pull towards her, it wasn’t wise to see Mairead again.
Or else he might start thinking about the taste of her lips that first time.
After she’d reached out to him, he’d been unable to resist stealing the kiss he’d wanted. Even now, it haunted him.
Outside, the moon was beginning to rise, casting rays of amber upon the dark seas.
As Balor waited, he took a step forward and glanced down at the suitors gathering below.
There were far more Normans than he’d imagined.
Clearly, her father was looking for a match that would please King John and raise Mairead’s rank even higher.
Or possibly they were here for another reason—to take command.
Balor studied them, feeling a sudden uneasiness when he saw Fergus speaking to some of the Norman soldiers.
Why would the chieftain do so? Fergus despised the Normans after what they’d done to Orla.
Unless he hoped that somehow these men would help him gain an advantage with the MacEgans?
He didn’t trust Fergus at all—and with good reason. The chieftain hated him for every breath he took and always had. The man had seemed to enjoy starving or punishing him.
Had it not been for Orla’s intervention, Balor suspected he might not have survived at Dunmalus.
He’d understood exactly what it was to be a victim. And he couldn’t help but see a glimpse of himself in the boy.
Balor hadn’t known anything about fighting, except what it was like to be on the receiving end of the fists. He’d been just a little older than Marcas when Orla had sent him away to England, after a bad beating from Fergus.
At the time, he’d felt so abandoned and lost…but in her own way, his mother had saved him. He’d been allowed to dwell among a Norman lord’s foster sons, and there, he’d learned how to fight, becoming more than the child he’d once been.
And whether or not they’d wanted him to return, he’d found the courage to travel back to éireann, even knowing he didn’t belong among the ó Phelans. The years had forged his will into a weapon, one that would bring down Fergus ó Phelan and put Kenneth in his place as chieftain.
Were it not for his brother, he’d have turned his back on all of them.
‘Balor.’ Mairead’s voice was breathless as she stepped into the tower, escorted by Marcas. ‘I thought I saw you earlier.’ The softness of her smile only heightened his awareness of her beauty.
Don’t, he warned himself. The last thing he needed was to let himself be allured by a woman he would never have.
The young boy released her hand and met his gaze briefly, reminding Balor of the promise he’d made. Then Marcas disappeared, leaving them alone. So be it.
Lady Mairead took a step closer, and the scent of her skin flooded the air with a hint of rose. Balor wanted to bury his face in her hair before capturing that mouth again. Damn her for giving him a taste of forbidden fruit.
‘You look…better than the last time I saw you,’ he said roughly. The words weren’t the compliment he’d meant to say, but whenever he was around her, he couldn’t quite form the words he wanted to.
‘So do you.’ She didn’t seem at all nervous, and there was a hint of amusement in her voice. ‘I’m glad you decided not to cause a war between our families.’
‘There’s still time.’
At that, a slight smile tilted at her lips. ‘Are you as bad as they say you are?’
The words felt like a challenge, and he rested one hand on the wall beside her. ‘Far worse.’ He needed her to remember that he wasn’t one of her suitors. He wasn’t here to win her affections or even her hand in marriage.
Her smile faded. ‘Then why are you here?’
‘Your nephew wants me to teach him how to use a blade. Marcas believed he owed me a debt and thought I wanted to see you alone.’
Her face had gone pale, but she lifted her chin. ‘But you don’t, do you?’
‘I didn’t at first.’ He took advantage of his position and traced the line of her jaw with his thumb. When she exhaled, her eyes staring into his, he murmured, ‘But maybe I’ve changed my mind.’
When she didn’t speak, he continued moving his hand down her nape to her shoulder. ‘Why did you kiss me that day, Mairead?’
Color flooded her face. ‘It—it was nothing. I just wanted to thank you. I wouldn’t be here today if you hadn’t saved my life.’
‘You did well enough with your blade.’ He moved his hand back to her throat, and against his fingers, he felt her pulse beating wildly.
‘Against one man,’ she argued back.
He slid his hand against her braided hair while the other rested against the wall. If she wanted to pull away from him, it was easy enough. But she didn’t move. And he was fascinated by the curve of that mouth, watching her lips part.
‘I remember our kiss, a mhuirnín. Are you wanting me to kiss you again?’ He cupped the back of her nape, leaning in close.
A cool blade slid beneath his chin. ‘Leave me alone, Balor ó Phelan. You only want to use me for your own gain.’
He smiled at that and pressed Mairead’s blade away, not even caring that the edge sliced his fingers. ‘I’m impressed.’
He expected her to shove him back, but instead, she moved to stand beside him, her shoulder brushing against his as she leaned against the wall. ‘Why are you really here?’
‘I told you. My brother, Kenneth, wants to wed you.’
She sheathed her knife. ‘There are many men here who want to wed me.’ She sent him a sidelong glance. ‘Except you, I suppose.’
‘Except me,’ he repeated. ‘I have no need to marry.’ He also couldn’t provide for a wife, even if he wanted one.
She paused a moment and said, ‘I met your father and brother a little while ago. Fergus said that Kenneth was his only son. Why would he deny you?’
‘Because it’s true. I’m not his son.’
* * *
Mairead didn’t understand what he meant by that. If Balor wasn’t the chieftain’s son, then…
‘Who is your father?’
His demeanour tightened and he shrugged. ‘A Norman who attacked my mother during a raid.’
Although his tone remained emotionless, she was starting to understand why he was so estranged from his family. ‘I’m sorry. But that wasn’t your fault.’
‘Fergus blames me for it.’ He turned to look at her. ‘It’s no surprise I’m not welcome among my tribe.’
‘But you are close to your brother?’ she ventured.
He inclined his head. ‘Kenneth is a good lad and eager to please. He’ll make a good chieftain one day.’
Even so, she already knew it was unlikely that she would marry someone like Kenneth. Not when her father had already arranged potential alliances with Norman noblemen, like Lord Lowell.
But she had no intention of revealing that. ‘I will consider your brother, just as I will all the others,’ she said. ‘There will be a banquet tonight and dancing.’ A mischievous thought caught her, and she asked, ‘Will you be there?’
‘I don’t dance unless it’s with a weapon.’ His voice held a warning, but Mairead ignored it.
‘You eat, don’t you?’ She took a step back and said, ‘It’s the least I can do for you after you saved my life.’
He didn’t argue, and she moved towards the edge of the tower, staring out at the people below.
She ought to rejoin her family inside—and yet, she wanted to spend more time here, with Balor.
Part of her wished she hadn’t drawn a blade on him—otherwise, he might have kissed her again. Her skin tightened at the thought.
A few moments later, he asked, ‘After the attack…did your cousin live?’
She turned back and realized that he didn’t know. ‘Yes. My cousin has always been an exceptional fighter, thanks to her training.’ Then she added, ‘Velaria married Brian of Penrith, shortly afterward.’
He took a step closer and admitted, ‘I’m glad she survived.’
She nodded and started to leave when he suddenly caught her hand in his. Before she could pull away, he pointed towards a group of soldiers. ‘I know you are going to choose a suitor in the next few days. But before you do, consider how many Normans are here and why.’
‘I know why they are here,’ she answered. ‘Many accompanied King John when he traveled north a few weeks ago.’
She kept her voice calm but couldn’t suppress the chill that rose over her skin as she remembered the Normans who had attacked her and Velaria.
One of the men had spoken about the king’s arrival.
And although those men had only been scouts, preparing the way for King John, she knew the monarch hadn’t come to Ireland simply to visit.
Balor seemed to predict her next words when he continued, ‘King John came to secure his power among the Irish kings. And a marriage between you and one of his noblemen would only strengthen it.’
‘Maybe.’ She didn’t understand what he was implying. ‘But if I choose a Norman husband, I’ll return home with him to England.’
Balor’s expression turned thoughtful. ‘Your father is getting old. He won’t be king for much longer.’
‘And my brother, Liam, will take his place,’ she finished. ‘He was chosen as the tánaiste, and he’s been ready to take the throne all his life. What of it?’
‘Kings are chosen,’ he said. ‘Had you considered that some of your suitors might be here because they intend to depose both your father and brother?’
She shook her head. ‘That’s not possible. The MacEgan people would never choose a Lochlannach as king. They can elect anyone related to our family.’
‘But what better way for a Norman to secure power than to wed the king’s daughter? He would be family then, and able to take the throne.’
‘They would never do such a thing,’ she argued.
‘I have plenty of family members who are Normans, including my mother. If there was anything to be concerned about, they would tell me. My father introduced me to a Norman earl today and—’ Her words broke off as she suddenly wondered whether it had been her father’s choice—or King John’s command.
‘How many Irishmen, besides my brother, are here?’ Balor asked quietly. ‘Among those who want to wed you.’
‘There are several,’ she started to say, but truthfully she didn’t know. ‘I still don’t see why it matters whether they are Irish or Norman.’
His hand tightened on hers, making her aware that she hadn’t pulled away the way she should have.
‘Just ask yourself if they are here for you…or for your father’s kingdom.’ Then he released her hand and walked away.