Chapter Six
All her life, Alanna MacEgan had believed in fate. She’d learned, at a young age, that her instincts were strong. The people around her felt their emotions deeply, yearning for love or happiness.
And she truly did want to help them. As a girl, she’d believed in love charms and magic spells. As a grown woman, she believed in watching others—reading beyond their words and interpreting their actions.
Sometimes, a love charm gave a young woman courage to talk with a man she cared for. And sometimes when Alanna saw a dangerous infatuation, she could protect someone from a terrible fate by telling her that the match was not meant to be.
She’d always known Mairead needed a lover outside the MacEgan tribe. Her cousin was far too impulsive, despite her large heart.
But now, seeing the Earl of Lowell left behind in the solar, she felt unsettled. Her father had already left, knowing there was no harm in leaving the two of them alone. And although it was reckless on her own part, she felt the urge to nudge fate in the right direction.
‘How are you, Lord Lowell?’ she asked him quietly. ‘Are you all right?’
The earl turned to look at her, and she noticed the weariness in his brown eyes. His blond hair was tousled as if he’d raked his hand through it in frustration.
‘No,’ he admitted. ‘Not really.’
Alanna studied him closely, and she couldn’t deny that she found him handsome. Not that it mattered. Men never noticed her. She had earned her reputation as a fortune teller, and everyone believed she was strange.
‘Would you like some ale or mead?’ she offered.
The earl’s gaze lingered on the door as if he wanted nothing more than to push his way down the hall and follow Mairead. Though he didn’t answer, Alanna poured ale and handed him a cup.
But she chose her words carefully as she spoke. ‘You needn’t worry. My cousin knows her duty, and she has always had a kind heart.’
‘Is it kindness she feels towards her guard? Or something else?’ he remarked. But she didn’t miss the undertone of jealousy.
‘It doesn’t matter what she feels,’ Alanna answered honestly. His feelings were easy to read, and so she reassured him, ‘You are the suitor her father chose.’
He took a deep sip of ale and then asked, ‘What is your name?’
‘I am Alanna MacEgan,’ she answered. ‘You’ve already met my parents, Bevan and Genevieve.’
He walked over to the table and poured a cup of ale for her. She took it and sat in her chair, drinking to avoid saying something foolish.
‘Do you and your husband live nearby?’ he asked. ‘Have you any children of your own?’
‘I have neither,’ she answered. Her heartbeat quickened with her own embarrassment. ‘I live here with my family.’
At that, he turned to her. ‘Did your father not arrange a marriage for you?’ The expression on his face appeared confused, as if he could not understand why.
She wasn’t about to confess that no man wanted to wed her. She’d shied away from men, most of her life, for they made fun of her.
‘He tried,’ was the only answer she could give.
But she was fully aware that the earl was only a little older than herself.
And although she knew he was meant for Mairead, there was a small part of her that wished she could have met someone like the earl, years ago when she was young and filled with hope.
Alanna leaned back in her chair. ‘If you truly wish to win my cousin’s heart, then help her find her brother.’
‘We’ve been trying,’ the earl answered. ‘But aside from the group of Normans who left Laochre, we’ve found no trace of him.’ He finished his ale, and she did the same as they sat in companionable silence.
And when she felt the eyes of the earl watching her, she couldn’t help but dream of a very different future than the one Fate had chosen for her.
* * *
It was strange, lying in a bed. Balor had slept on the floor for most of his life.
During his fostering, he’d slept on a pallet stuffed with fresh hay, and he hadn’t minded so much.
But here, the mattress sank slightly beneath his weight, and the coverlet had been warm.
He hadn’t been able to stop himself from thinking of Mairead, wondering what it would be like to share a bed with a woman.
He could only imagine the softness of her skin, the heat of her body.
And God help him, he couldn’t stop the desire, the craving for her.
This had been a mistake. He never should have escorted her here. It had only awakened a different kind of yearning.
Her words had been a challenge to become more than what he was.
Balor had never really considered it. All his life, he’d been tormented and abused because of the Norman who had fathered him.
It had awakened a rage within him, a hatred of Fergus.
It had been his sole purpose, his driving need for revenge.
But Mairead’s quiet encouragement—who you could become if you dared to reach for it—made him suddenly question everything.
For a moment, he let his mind drift with daydreams. He’d lived in a castle before, during his fostering, so dwelling amid stone walls and guards was familiar.
But when he was younger, he’d kept to himself, not wanting to be noticed.
He hadn’t wanted to befriend anyone. It was easier to remain alone and apart from the others.
But he’d still helped the younger boys with their training, guarding them from the older ones who had tried to intimidate them. It had been a way of remembering his own brother, Kenneth.
His thoughts drifted back to the present. What would it be like, having to defend an entire castle of people? An immense responsibility, no doubt. And yet, he thought of the young boy, Marcas. He could easily imagine defending the lad and others like him.
Fergus had used his position as chieftain to exert his own authority over others. He had gloried in the power, commanding his men. And yet, if they came under attack, Balor believed the chieftain would turn and run. Never would he pick up his sword.
Even if Kenneth tried to defend them, his younger brother lacked the strength and resilience to guard them.
Maybe that was why he’d come back to Dunmalus. A small part of him didn’t want to abandon Kenneth, despite everything.
His brother needed help learning how to protect the ó Phelans—he was too young and inexperienced to lead.
If Fergus was gone and Kenneth became chieftain, perhaps it would be better to stay and guide him.
It wasn’t the life Balor had imagined for himself, but he would consider staying for a time if it meant securing Kenneth’s future.
He could become the sword wielded by his brother, protecting them from enemies.
The Demon of éireann.
He’d earned that name. But despite the blood on his hands, he didn’t care what everyone else believed of him.
He’d had his reasons for killing so many fighters, leaving them to rot.
And if no one but him knew the truth about what had happened that day, so be it.
He refused to stand aside and let innocents be threatened.
He didn’t care if everyone believed he was a butcher.
All his life, Fergus had reminded Balor that he was to blame for his mother’s misery.
Orla had shrouded herself in grief, finding happiness in nothing.
Certainly, she lived within her marriage as if she were a ghost. Her emotions towards her husband were empty, and the more she shied away from Fergus, the more the chieftain took out his rage on Balor.
Even though Kenneth had been kind, Balor couldn’t get close to his brother without being severely punished.
And when your own family—the ones who were supposed to love you—treated you as if you were nothing but a burden, it was easy to believe.
Balor was torn between wanting to help his brother and knowing that no one wanted him at Dunmalus. Then, too, there was another problem if he stayed here. He might see Mairead again, married to a nobleman.
A tightness caught in his gut at the thought of another man kissing her. Touching her.
Lord Lowell was a far better choice of a husband for Mairead—Balor could offer her nothing.
Not a home and not the life she deserved.
And yet, jealousy slid through his veins.
Last night he’d barely slept, fully aware that the earl was here, under the same roof.
He knew, full well, what the earl wanted.
But Balor wasn’t so certain about Mairead’s desires. He couldn’t understand why she had brought him here last night, demanding that he receive a chamber of his own. He wasn’t used to anyone taking care of him.
He ran his hand over the coverlet and sheets, marveling at such a thing. Even something as simple as having privacy to sleep alone. The only time he’d ever had that was when he’d slept out of doors within a tent.
And this room had been warmed by the brazier.
Balor stood from the bed, feeling the slight chill when he went to get dressed.
He walked towards the window and opened the shutters, staring outside at the serfs who were unloading supplies from a wagon while soldiers trained in the inner bailey.
Others brought trays of food from the kitchens, and his stomach rumbled at the thought.
Mairead deserved to live in a place like Rionallís, with a bed of her own and a warm room. In his mind, he imagined laying her down on a bed such as this, skin to skin.
In England, several of the maids had flirted with him.
He’d been startled by their attentions at first, but they had quickly taught him how to please a woman.
And although he’d enjoyed it, he’d never fully taken advantage of them, not wanting to sire any bastards of his own. It wasn’t right or fair to the child.
But the thought of spending an entire night pleasuring Mairead brought an ache within him, a fierce craving to taste that sweet softness and drive her over the edge of fulfilment.