Chapter Four
At nightfall, a loud knock sounded at the door of her bedchamber.
Mairead let out a groan, for it had been a long day of endless conversations with men she barely knew.
But her earlier conversation with the earl had bothered her deeply.
If Lord Lowell had been chosen by King John as her husband, then it put her in a difficult position.
It felt as if invisible chains were locking her into a betrothal with a man she hardly knew. But what complicated matters more was that Lord Lowell had been kind. He’d done nothing to suggest that a marriage to him would be a hardship of any kind. She wasn’t being fair to him.
But whenever she was near him, he didn’t make her blood race. She didn’t imagine his kiss or wonder what it would be like to feel his skin against hers. Not the way Balor did. Which was unwise since he’d already said he wasn’t here seeking her hand in marriage.
The pounding at the door sounded again, and she went to answer it. But when she lifted the latch, she saw her nephew Marcas and Balor standing behind him.
‘Have you seen my father, Aunt Mairead?’ Marcas asked. His voice held genuine fear, and she didn’t know why.
‘No. I’ve been busy all day. Why do you ask?’
‘The last time I saw him was yestereve,’ Marcas said. ‘My mother cannot find him, either. I hoped maybe…you knew where he was.’
She exchanged a look with Balor, and his expression was grim. Without another word, she understood the true problem. If her father stepped down as king and Liam wasn’t there…
By the gods. She was starting to wonder if the Normans truly did pose a threat.
‘We’ve been searching all day,’ Marcas said.
‘Have you told my father?’ She tried to keep her voice steady, but the danger was very clear. ‘The king must know if Liam is missing.’
‘I was afraid to tell,’ Marcas admitted.
‘Go and speak with your grandfather now,’ Balor advised, resting his hand on the boy’s shoulder. ‘It might mean nothing at all. He may have sent your father on a short journey.’
There was a hint of relief on Marcas’s face, as if he hadn’t considered that. ‘All right.’
But Mairead doubted that her brother had gone anywhere. She nodded to her nephew in agreement, and Marcas hurried off.
As soon as he’d gone, she opened the door wider in a silent invitation for Balor to come in.
His gaze fixed upon hers, and she suddenly flushed at the thought of him here, in her bedchamber.
Her skin seemed to grow more sensitive, even as she tried to face him.
‘They’ve taken Liam, haven’t they? The Normans. ’
Worry caught her at the thought of her brother being threatened. She drew her hands around her waist, ignoring the wish that Balor would hold her instead. The thought of being in his arms right now, of being able to rest her cheek against his chest while he guarded her, was a wistful imagining.
‘I think so.’ His tone was grim, and he added, ‘The Normans may hope to crown the earl as the next king, with you as his bride.’
‘They can’t do that,’ Mairead protested. ‘It has to be a male from our bloodline.’
‘Can you not become queen?’
She shook her head. ‘It isn’t our way.’
But she couldn’t deny that Balor could be right. Maybe that was what this was—a form of vengeance. King John might be punishing her father for daring to give such a show of force when he’d traveled north with his brothers and their armies after her attack.
Although Patrick had claimed they had come to offer fealty, she suspected the truth. Her father had been angry about the Normans who had attacked her and Velaria. Arriving with hundreds of men was a silent message to King John that he did not fully control the kings of Ireland.
Which likely meant the monarch wanted to retaliate. Or perhaps he already had with Liam’s disappearance.
Mairead sank down on a low stool, her stomach twisting. ‘What should we do? Do I wed the earl, in return for Liam’s life?’
‘That’s likely what they want you to do,’ he said quietly, pulling up a stool beside her. ‘But if you do wed a Norman, your family may lose control of the kingship anyway, and Laochre may fall under King John’s reign.’
A coldness caught within her at the thought, followed by fury.
All her life, she’d been soft and obedient, the daughter her father expected her to be.
But Patrick had been a warrior, as had his brothers.
They had fought for peace, and the last thing she wanted was to bow to a foreign king—especially if they had taken her brother.
She wanted to fight, just as her father and uncles had. And although she lacked physical strength, she had her wits. Mairead closed her eyes, trying to think of what to do.
‘My family will not lose the kingship,’ she said firmly. ‘We need to gather men and find Liam.’
‘I agree. Your father should ask his brothers to return here quickly, along with their men.’
He was right. If her father had time to gather his brothers together, they could defend Laochre from any threat.
‘Until we find Liam, I’m not going to marry anyone.’ She stood and regarded him. ‘And you’re going to help me leave Laochre.’
For if she was not here to wed any of the Normans, it weakened their ability to impose a marital alliance. They would have to take Laochre by force.
* * *
‘No.’ Balor stood to face her, refusing to play any part of this. ‘I’m not helping you leave.’ Although he’d previously wanted to disrupt her betrothal, it had been about dissuading her from marrying the wrong man or becoming a king’s pawn—not running away with him.
‘Why not?’
‘I’m not about to abduct the daughter of a king, just so you can avoid marriage to a Norman,’ he continued.
Though he was well aware of his own hypocrisy, he knew better than to take her from Laochre with the number of guards and suitors watching over her.
‘The MacEgans would murder me if I dared take you beyond those gates.’
‘You already tried to abduct me at Bealtaine before,’ she argued. ‘Why would it be any different now?’
The gleam in her eyes made him uneasy. His previous plan had been a reckless idea to remove Fergus as chieftain. She’d been right—it never would have worked. And now she wanted to become his hostage?
‘You warned me, the last time I took you, that it could start a war. Why would we want your family to believe you’re in danger?’
‘But I would go with you willingly,’ she argued. ‘You’ll escort me out of the castle and keep me safe. At least until my brother is found.’
‘No.’ He folded his arms across his chest and shook his head. ‘If you defy your father and flee, everyone will think I’ve stolen you.’
‘Or they might think I chose you as my husband.’ Her voice held a note of teasing, but he didn’t respond.
‘Everyone would know that isn’t true.’
His words were dull, emotionless. And yet, her expression shifted into one of sympathy. ‘Why would you say that?’
‘Because a king’s daughter would never choose a bastard.’ He knew the truth, even if she clung to her ill-placed belief in him.
Mairead studied him for a long moment. ‘Are you afraid to travel with me?’
She took a step closer, her voice gentle, as if she were trying to tame a wild animal. Her dark hair rested over one shoulder, and he couldn’t deny that she fascinated him. He’d tasted those lips once before—but it hadn’t been nearly enough.
She drew so close, she was hardly more than a breath away. Her green eyes stared into his while she awaited his answer.
Balor slid his hand to her waist, wanting her to understand all the reasons why this was a bad idea.
In the space between them, heat seemed to rise, and he was fully aware of the temptation to touch this woman and taste her lips once again.
But he needed to push her away, back into the protection of her father and uncles.
Balor held his ground and stared back. ‘Maybe I don’t want to protect you. Maybe I’m the one you should be afraid of.’
‘You wouldn’t hurt me if I went with you,’ Mairead said quietly. ‘You’re a man of honour.’
She was looking at him as if she truly believed that. As if she saw something in him of worth. And damn her, the words broke the restraints around him.
‘That’s the last thing I am, a mhuirnín. I have no honour at all.’
With that, Balor tangled his hands in her silken hair and claimed her mouth in the kiss he’d been craving since the first time she’d pressed her lips to his. He tasted the sweetness of her innocence, the softness of her mouth.
It was both an indulgence and a reminder to Mairead that he was not the man she wanted. He fully expected her to shove him away and demand that he leave her alone. Even as his tongue slid inside her mouth, he was waiting for her to strike him.
But instead, she wound her arms around his neck and kissed him back. Damn her for it.
Her kiss met his challenge and took apart his intentions.
He didn’t know why she’d done such a thing, but he was starting to understand that Mairead was a woman of her own defiance. He’d issued a challenge, and she’d answered it back with one of her own.
When her tongue slid against his, desire roared through him. His shaft went rigid as her hips pressed close. Gods help him, this wasn’t supposed to happen. She was supposed to be outraged, to draw her knife on him the way she had last time. Instead, she was pulling him closer.
God’s blood, but he wanted her. Mindless need and longing tore at his control, and he pressed her against the wall, ignoring the voices of logic that reminded him that a king’s daughter was far better than him.
But her response was more than he could bear. Her lips were soft, answering his fierce kiss with her own needs. He broke it off, keeping his hands upon the wall on either side of her.
Because if he succumbed to his own desire, he was going to peel back the layers and touch her bare skin.