Chapter Five #2
Mairead was burrowed against him, and he could smell the faint floral aroma of her hair.
He didn’t really know what to do. This was, quite possibly, the worst torment he had ever endured—because with every moment, he craved her more.
To have this woman in his arms, to hold her in a way that was utterly forbidden, was taking apart the only shred of honour he possessed.
He leaned back against the stone tower, keeping her in his arms while he stretched his legs out. After a few moments more, her breathing grew soft and even. She’d fallen asleep in his embrace. And it humbled him that she had given him that trust.
Mairead would be the death of him—of that, he had no doubt. And yet, there was a strength in her he admired, along with her endless belief that there was good in everyone. She even treated him as if there was something worth saving.
No one had ever really looked at him in that way.
For a brief moment, he allowed himself to imagine what it would be like if someone like her cared for him.
Or what it would be like if a woman nestled close to him like this, welcoming his embrace.
She felt right in his arms, and he brushed a kiss against her hair.
The hollow ache of unbidden longing was like nothing he’d ever imagined. And maybe…a part of him wanted to be worthy of her.
He made a silent vow to himself to keep her safe, whatever the cost. If that meant laying down his life for hers, so be it. Mairead was lovely and good, worth fighting for.
And there was a battle coming—one for her father’s throne.
Balor hadn’t told her everything he’d learned tonight.
After he’d left the horse near Rionallís, among the others in a stable, he’d waited and watched.
The group of Norman soldiers had indeed been Gerald and Sir Edward.
But they’d been led by the Earl of Lowell.
A tightness caught his chest at the thought of the earl marrying her.
The Normans had gone straight to the gates of Rionallís, likely to search for her.
He’d have done the same thing, if she’d been taken from him.
Balor imagined the earl intended to bring her back to Laochre—but was Lowell also hoping to use her for his own advantage?
It still seemed as if there was a betrothal that the two kings had arranged.
Balor was convinced that the English king had somehow ordered Liam MacEgan’s disappearance. The tánaiste had been trained since birth to defend his father’s lands. But if King John seized command of Laochre, he could then threaten the other territories controlled by the MacEgans.
Balor’s mind was racing with all the possible outcomes as he tried to strategize what to do. But then Mairead turned in his arms and rested her hand upon his heart. That one motion stilled his thoughts.
A reckless part of him wanted to ignore what was right and just—and simply take the woman he wanted.
And with her cheek pressed against his chest, it made him wonder if she might be willing to go with him.
* * *
In the morning, Mairead stirred against him, and Balor realized that he had, in fact, fallen asleep.
His shoulders and back were sore, but the warmth of her body had brought an unexpected comfort.
When her eyes flickered open, she appeared surprised at where she was.
He let his hands fall to his sides, letting her stay or go as she chose.
But she stayed. ‘Good morn to you.’
‘And to you.’
An awkwardness filled the space between them, and Mairead stood, stretching her arms. ‘I’m starving.’ Then a moment later, she winced, as if remembering what had happened the night before. ‘What do you want to do?’
He reached inside a fold of his cloak and brought out bread and dried meat. ‘Here. You can eat this while we make a decision.’ Mairead was slender, and he didn’t truly need to eat.
She tilted her head and asked, ‘How did you know to bring food? We didn’t take any supplies besides your horse.’
With a shrug, he said, ‘Go ahead. It’s yours.’
But she tore the small bit of bread in half and handed it to him. He didn’t take it at first, but she opened his hand and pushed it into his palm. ‘I am not eating unless you do, too.’ With a slight smile, she added, ‘You came prepared.’
He gave a nod. Though he didn’t know why he told her, he added, ‘I’m no stranger to hunger. I always carry food with me.’
At that, her smile faded. ‘I am so sorry, Balor.’
He wished he’d never said it, for she would only pity him now. Instead, he turned away, building back the invisible walls between them so he wouldn’t appear weak in her eyes. He ate the bread and acted as if it meant nothing. ‘You didn’t know.’
Mairead ate a little of the bread and then ventured, ‘Was it because your family suffered during the winter?’
He shook his head, not wanting to talk about it. But she stared at him for a long moment.
‘Were you punished?’
Balor met her gaze. ‘Why does it matter?’
She was trying to pry for more details, but he had no desire to talk about it.
The last thing he wanted was for her to see him as vulnerable or helpless.
His past didn’t define him now. He’d become a fighter, a man who didn’t care about anyone or anything.
And he would gain vengeance against Fergus soon enough.
‘I saw…the way your chieftain behaved towards you. And I know you want him removed from power.’ After a slight pause, she said, ‘I suppose he withheld food from you, when you were a boy?’
Clearly, she wasn’t going to let it go. ‘He saw no reason to waste food on someone like me.’
Her expression tightened. ‘What a terrible person. Who would do that to a child?’
‘Fergus never needed a reason. He’s hated me from the moment I was born.’ He paused a moment and said, ‘But Kenneth often brought food to me in secret. And then I started keeping it with me, at all times.’
His brother had tried to look after him, though the food was never enough to satiate Balor’s hunger. But once, Kenneth had admitted that their mother had given him the food and ordered him to give it in secret. Almost as if she cared.
Balor knew better than to truly believe it. His mother rarely spoke to him or gave him any attention at all. He’d long ago stopped hoping for a trace of affection.
And he hated her inability to stand up to her husband. Whenever Fergus gave her orders, she’d obeyed—even if it meant turning a blind eye to his cruelty. Orla had defied her husband only once—when she’d sent Balor away to England for fostering.
On the day he’d left éireann, he’d been eleven—almost twelve.
Orla had given him into the care of a merchant, who had agreed to let him travel with him to England.
She’d given the man coins, likely stolen from her husband.
And she’d given Balor a silver ring, one he’d never seen her wear.
She’d bade him give the ring to the Norman lord, in exchange for his fostering.
It was hardly more than a twist of silver, but she’d promised him that once the earl saw the ring, he would agree to train him.
The last moment he’d seen his mother, just before he’d boarded the boat, she’d reached out to touch his cheek.
‘Balor, I am sorry,’ she whispered. ‘I wish—’ But she’d never finished the sentence.
Instead, there had been a shadow of pain in her eyes before she’d given him an unexpected embrace and turned away.
He couldn’t remember the last time she’d hugged him.
Even so, he still blamed Orla for not defending him during his childhood. She could have stopped the abuse—but out of cowardice and fear, she’d chosen not to. A dark resentment remained buried within him for that.
Mairead tore off another piece of bread. ‘I’m starting to understand why you want Fergus gone.’ She held out the bread, and he ate from her fingertips, his lips grazing their edges.
Then she took a piece of the dried meat and tore it in half, giving him the rest. Balor took it, but after he ate, she caught his hand and said, ‘You didn’t deserve to be treated so cruelly as a child, Balor.’
There was nothing to say, so he remained silent, only meeting her gaze as he held her hand in his.
‘I hope you find your own happiness,’ she continued. ‘Truly, I do.’ Then she released his hand.
Did she understand what she was doing to him? He wanted to capture that mouth, kissing her until he forgot all the reasons why he would never have someone like Mairead. But he held back, not wanting to frighten her.
‘Should we go to Rionallís now?’ she asked. ‘Where is our horse?’
‘I left it at your uncle’s stable,’ he answered. ‘I didn’t want to draw attention back to us by riding away.’
Her face fell before she said, ‘I suppose it’s not too far to walk.’
‘We’re not leaving yet. I want to get a better look from the top of the tower to make certain it’s safe. We’ll make that decision after we see our surroundings.’
She waited for him to lead the way up the stairs, but he gestured for her to go on. ‘You first,’ he said. ‘That way, if you stumble, I’ll catch you.’
She took a single step up and turned around to face him. It brought her face to his level, and he wondered if she understood the way she kindled the hunger for far more than a kiss. He held himself steady, meeting her gaze, even as every part of his body responded to her nearness.
‘Be careful, a mhuirnín,’ he warned.
But his words had nothing to do with the steep stairs and everything to do with the way her green eyes held a yearning that echoed his own.
* * *
They waited until nightfall to approach Rionallís on foot. Mairead was exhausted, but she agreed with Balor’s belief that they shouldn’t travel far during the day—at least, not yet.
Earlier that morn, after they’d climbed to the top of the roundtower, she’d seen the gleam of Norman armour in the distance, along with her father’s men who wore dark leather. The soldiers had travelled to Rionallís while others searched along the coast and farther inland.