Chapter Three #2
She was fully aware of the heat of his hand against her waist as he moved her through the dance. ‘What is it?’
He leaned in against her ear. ‘I spoke to some of the Normans. Many of them are here at King John’s command, not for your hand in marriage.’
The heat of his breath sent a ripple of sensation over her skin. ‘Why? What do they want?’
He led her in a circle, and when she stared back at him, he answered, ‘I think you already know the answer.’
A chill prickled over her at his words. She didn’t want to believe that the men were here to claim her father’s throne.
But more and more, she was starting to believe that King John had chosen the earl to be her husband—and his soldiers were here to see it done.
This aenach was an illusion, not a celebration.
And she didn’t know if she would have any choice in the matter of her marriage anymore.
If she refused to wed a Norman, would her family be at risk?
‘I don’t want to believe it. But if they are a threat to us, what should I do?’ His palm rested against her waist as they spun in a slow circle, and she grew fully aware of the heat of his touch.
His blue eyes were staring at her with undisguised longing.
And his face was so close to hers, she wanted to reach up and touch the rough stubble on his cheeks.
God help her, she wanted to feel his mouth against hers again, claiming a kiss she shouldn’t want so badly.
Her body grew restless, feeling those strong arms around her while he moved her amid the others, taking command.
Balor was dangerous, tempting her towards reckless decisions.
‘Don’t do anything yet,’ he advised. ‘Keep your ears open and tell your father what you hear.’
It was good advice, so she nodded. The dance ended, and he raised her palm to his lips, offering a faint smile.
Oh, he was far too handsome to leave her unaffected. Even after Balor returned among the others, her skin yearned for his hands upon her. She wanted him to kiss her again and sensed that it wouldn’t be gentle at all.
Balor ó Phelan was a temptation she didn’t need right now. But when she glanced back to where he’d been standing, he was already gone.
Her brother, Liam, was standing beside their mother when she returned, along with her uncle Ewan. All were clearly awaiting an explanation from her. She was going to have to tell them the truth about the rescue, if for no other reason than to save Balor from their wrath.
When she started with a smile, Liam met her gaze and declared, ‘Absolutely not.’
She feigned innocence while she considered what to say. ‘What do you mean?’
He raised an eyebrow. ‘I mean you’ll not wed Balor ó Phelan. I don’t care what he’s said to you or—’
‘He rescued me from the Norman attack,’ she interrupted.
All of them fell silent as they absorbed this new information. She was careful to keep her expression composed.
‘Balor is the man who guarded me and brought me back to Ennisleigh,’ she finished. ‘I owe him my life. The least I can do is offer him food and dancing.’
Before she could walk away, her brother caught her hand and held it. Liam’s stare turned discerning. ‘Be careful, Mairead. I saw the way he was looking at you.’
‘You’re wrong. He’s not here as a suitor, and I know I could never marry him.’ Although they were the words everyone expected her to say—and she saw their visible relief—a pang of regret settled in her gut.
She had no illusions that any of her suitors were here for love. They wanted political alliances, and although most were kind, they cared nothing about her.
But Balor had been different from the moment she’d met him. He’d saved her during the attack, and he’d shown a bravery she hadn’t seen in most men.
In their few stolen moments together, she’d sensed something happening between them.
Balor had made her feel alive again, even if it was only raw attraction.
After she’d lost Diarmud, she’d been living in a blurred world where life went on around her, and she’d had to pretend she had gotten over the loss of her first love. Even though she hadn’t.
It wasn’t wise to let her bruised heart fall for the wrong man again. Better to lose Balor now by pretending their stolen moments didn’t matter. And she would deny the rise of interest she’d felt in his arms.
When Lord Lowell smiled at her and approached to offer a dance, Mairead told herself that she would give the earl a true chance at winning her heart. He had been kind enough—surely, she could learn to care for him.
If he was the match the king and her father had chosen—and if this marriage would please King John and protect her family—she saw no choice but to fulfil her duty.
Letting Balor go was the safe choice, the one that would protect him.
Even if it broke her heart.
* * *
It was dawn when Balor awaited Marcas at the barbican gate. He wasn’t entirely certain whether the lad would arrive, but the only people walking around were the guards. If Marcas wanted privacy to practice, then he would have it.
Balor’s sleep had been troubled last night. He’d dreamed of Mairead, of her being captured by more Normans while he was unable to save her. He’d awakened in a restless panic, his body sweaty and his heart pounding.
He reminded himself of all the reasons why it shouldn’t matter. She would choose a husband, marry, and bear noble children like hundreds of women before her. Her life was her own.
But last night, he’d seen the troubled look on her face when she’d danced with the earl. It was the look of resignation, not hope. And he didn’t know what that meant.
‘Good morn to you,’ a voice called out. He turned around and saw Marcas hurrying forward. The boy wore a tunic that was slightly too big for him with a colc sword at his waist. The weapon was short, but it still hung below his knees.
‘Where did you get the weapon?’ Balor asked.
‘I borrowed it from my older brother,’ Marcas said. ‘He won’t mind.’
‘Does he know you borrowed it?’ He kept his voice bland, wondering if the brother would come after him for it.
‘He’s visiting our cousins in the west. I’ll return it before he returns at Lughnasa.’ With a grimace, he added, ‘If I don’t, my sister Gabriella will tell him.’
‘I want to see what you already know,’ he said. ‘Unsheathe your sword and show me what you’ve been taught.’
Marcas appeared uneasy, but he obeyed, holding it out. After a little while, his arm began to shake, revealing his physical weakness.
‘Go on,’ Balor said quietly. ‘I need to see what you can do.’
The boy made a slashing motion, his feet unsteady as he jabbed at an unseen enemy. Without warning, Balor gave the boy’s shoulder a light shove, and he went sprawling.
Marcas’s face turned startled. ‘Why did you do that?’
‘You have no balance or support. It doesn’t matter what kind of weapon your enemy wields if you can’t stay balanced.’ He reached out a hand and helped the boy up. ‘Stand here with your feet apart like this.’ He demonstrated a fighting stance.
Some of the guards nearby took interest and started watching. Balor took the boy’s colc sword away and adjusted Marcas’s posture. This time, when he gave the same slight shove, the boy held his balance better.
‘Good,’ he told the boy. ‘During a fight, you have to be prepared to face a strike from anywhere. Keeping your balance is important.’
Marcas gave a nod, and Balor gave him the blade back. ‘This time, hold the sword out and keep it steady.’ He adjusted the boy’s grip and moved it into a defensive stance.
‘Now what should I do?’ Marcas asked.
‘Keep holding it until you can’t hold it upright any longer.’ The boy was lacking in physical strength, and he needed to develop his stamina.
‘But what about during a fight?’ His expression turned uncertain, even as he continued holding the sword.
‘During a fight, you’ll be holding out a sword for far longer than you’d imagine. And if you lower it, you die.’
The lad’s eyes widened when Balor raised his tunic and revealed a silver scar across his chest and stomach. ‘That happened when I wasn’t fast enough.’
Soon, the boy’s arm began shaking, and he struggled to keep the sword up. When he finally could hold it no longer, he lowered the weapon.
‘Now switch hands,’ Balor said.
‘I can’t use my left hand as well as my right.’
‘Not many can,’ he agreed. ‘But it could save your life one day. And you’ll also need strength to hold a shield.’
As he continued to work with the boy, he noticed a group of men hauling a stone chair towards the center of the inner bailey. A prickle of awareness caught him, and Marcas turned to look. ‘That’s for the morrow. When they choose my father to be the new King of Laochre.’
‘King Patrick is stepping down?’
Marcas nodded, lowering his sword. ‘The brehons will arrive today, and they will arrange for the choosing.’ There was a solemnity to his voice. ‘Papa spent last night at chapel, praying.’
‘So, you’ll become a nobleman, then,’ Balor remarked.
‘Me? No. That’s—No, I can’t.’ Color flooded the boy’s face. ‘My father will be king, but that’s all.’
It wasn’t, and they both knew it. Once Liam MacEgan took the kingship, the boy’s life would completely change.
Marcas sheathed his sword and turned back to him. ‘Thank you for your help this morn. Will you show me more later?’
‘If you like. But you should ask your father for help,’ Balor said gently.
The boy shrugged. ‘I haven’t seen him since last night. He’s too busy.’ His gaze drifted over to the stone throne that would be used for the new king.
‘Then ask him again when you see him next.’