Chapter Nine #3
He continued along the edge of the wall, and as he drew close to the far corner, he found a large piece of wood with an iron ring, covering the ground. It must have been used for storing food, he guessed. But when he raised up the door, he heard a faint groan coming from inside.
They’d kept a prisoner within the earthen chamber. He didn’t know how deep it was, but he bent down and called out, ‘Is someone there?’
A coughing sound was his only answer. Balor tried again, ‘Who are you?’ But the prisoner didn’t answer.
Light. He needed a torch, so he hurried back to the abandoned hearth.
He gathered some of the unlit tinder and struck flint with his dagger, sparking a fire.
It took some time to build it up, but eventually he made a makeshift torch from a half-burned stick of wood and a torn piece of his tunic as kindling.
He brought the torch over to the pit and leaned into the darkness.
There, he saw Liam MacEgan, bound and gagged. A coldness caught him as he wondered how long the tánaiste had been kept prisoner here—and where were his captors?
‘Can you stand?’ Balor asked. ‘I’m here to get you out.’
But Liam’s expression was weak and glazed. It was likely the man hadn’t had enough water, which was why he lacked the strength to free himself.
Balor studied the distance and then looked around the fortress. The pit appeared deep, which would make it difficult to lift Liam up without a ladder or a way of climbing back out. But there were a number of fallen stones and also the wood from the trap door.
‘I’m going to free you,’ he swore. But as he began gathering materials, he was starting to understand what Fergus had done.
He’d paid men to bring Liam here as a prisoner, to prevent him from returning to Laochre.
It seemed as if his Norman captors had abandoned the tanáiste, leaving him with hardly any food or water.
Or did they intend to return soon? It was possible, but Balor wasn’t about to let Liam die.
He strained under the weight of several large stones, dropping them into the storage chamber. Then he ripped away the trap door, breaking it free of its hinges.
‘Listen to me,’ he told Liam. ‘I’m going to lift you up so you can climb out.’ He lowered himself into the pit and removed the man’s gag, offering him a flask of water. ‘Drink this slowly.’
Liam took the water and was careful with it, though from the way he drank, it was clear that he’d not had water in at least a day or two. Balor reached into a fold of his cloak and passed the man a crust of bread.
‘Where is—’ Liam’s words were raw, barely more than a whisper.
‘Your family?’ Balor guessed as he arranged the stones against the wall. The man nodded.
‘Your wife is safe with the queen. Your sister, Mairead, traveled with me here, and she’s in the village. I imagine your father and his men are following us.’
He tried to help Liam stand, but the man’s legs buckled under him. Balor supported his weight and then stepped on the first stone. He struggled to lift Liam, but he braced his leg against the second stone and used all his strength to lift the tánaiste up high to the edge of the pit.
‘Climb out,’ he commanded. ‘On your hands and knees.’
Liam struggled, but his strength gave out. ‘Not safe. You have to…get help.’
‘Not until I get you out first.’ Balor shoved the man over the edge. Only when Liam was out of the pit did he haul himself up.
A moment later, he discovered where Liam’s captors were when a circle of torches illuminated the ruined fortress.
And Balor saw the faces of Norman soldiers staring back at him.
* * *
Mairead had followed Balor back to the fortress after he’d left. She’d been careful to keep a slight distance and had seen the Norman soldiers closing in. Her brother stood with his hands bound, appearing dizzy and weak, while Balor supported him with an arm under his shoulders.
‘You’re not taking the prince,’ one of the men said. He motioned to some of the soldiers and added, ‘He has to remain our prisoner.’
Mairead’s heart beat faster as she stared at the men in the darkness. Balor had been so close. He’d nearly helped her brother escape.
But now, with the soldiers surrounding them, she was starting to sense another truth. They were going to punish Balor for this—and she would be forced to watch.
No. She had no intention of remaining in the shadows. Not if she could help.
Mairead pulled back her hood and strode into the fortress. She stood in front of Balor and her brother, eyeing the Normans. ‘You will not lay a hand on either of them.’
Their leader’s expression tightened. ‘My lady, you would be wise to step away. We are following King John’s orders, and His Highness does not want you harmed. You are not part of this.’
Her breath tightened, as she suspected the king still had plans for her arranged marriage. But she ignored them and squared her shoulders.
‘My brother is your prisoner. I would say I’m very much a part of this.
’ She narrowed her gaze on them amid the flare of torches.
‘My father and his men are on their way here now.’ Though she couldn’t be certain, she hoped it wasn’t a lie.
‘What do you think will happen to you, if he finds out you’ve harmed any of us? ’
Balor leaned in close. In a low whisper, he said, ‘Steal a horse from the man on the edge of the others and ride north to Banslieve, Mairead. Bring back your uncle Connor and his men as reinforcements while I fight to free Liam.’
Without turning her head, she saw which rider he meant. The man wasn’t holding the reins, and he appeared distracted. There were only three horses, but if Balor could get himself and her brother to the other two, they had a chance.
A low ache caught in her stomach as she realized he meant to fight back against all of them. She turned to him and whispered back, ‘If I leave, they could kill you. There are too many.’
‘They’ll likely take us prisoner,’ he corrected. ‘When I make a move, you run. Take the horse and go.’
She gave a faint nod, fear pooling within her. Though he spoke as if he believed he could succeed, part of her worried that this might be the last time she saw him alive. She traced her hand against his cheek and murmured, ‘Don’t die, Balor.’
He touched his forehead to hers and then moved her behind him as he unsheathed his sword.
He charged towards the left, and most of the men attacked him, leaving her a clean escape.
Mairead raced to the horse and seized the man by his tunic, using her body weight to pull him off balance.
When he tried to grab her, she slashed at him with her blade.
He gripped his wounded arm, and she mounted the horse, urging it out of the fortress.
She rode hard, leaning against the mare as she turned it northward.
It was the hardest thing she’d ever done, leaving Balor and Liam behind.
But he was right. Their only hope was if she brought back reinforcements from Banslieve.
Her cousins, Dylan and Finn MacEgan, would fight, along with her uncle Connor.
Mairead blamed herself for everything. They never should have stopped here. They should have asked for help from her cousins first and brought their own forces. And now it would be her fault if Balor died. The ache in her chest made her realize just how much he meant to her.
He was bold, rebellious, and fierce—a man who stole her breath with the slightest touch. Someone who wouldn’t hesitate to stand up to her overprotective father.
Someone who would sacrifice himself for her freedom.
The tears streamed down her face as she rode through the meadows. Mairead vowed to herself that, if he survived this, she was going to fight for Balor.
Because maybe if she did, there was a chance they could have the future that wasn’t promised.
* * *
Balor was fairly certain he was going to die. He was outnumbered by at least twelve men, and Liam MacEgan was far too weak to fight. But at least Mairead had escaped. He could console himself with that.
His sword clashed with theirs, the steel ringing against steel. He moved from one to the next, spinning and fighting back as he relied on his instincts and years of Norman training.
Memories of the past collided with present, and as he fought back, the years seemed to fall away. He remembered the fighter he’d been when he’d first arrived in England at Beaumont. Like Marcas, he’d been helpless at first. Unbalanced and weak—but rage had fueled his fighting.
He’d been furious at being sent away from éireann. As far as he was concerned, he never wanted to see his family again.
But he’d kept his mother’s ring. He didn’t know why he’d ignored her demand that he deliver it to the Norman lord. It was meant to be payment for his fostering…and yet, it was the only thing he had left of Orla.
He’d always considered it a punishment to be sent away, and he’d been so angry with her.
But maybe…his mother had been trying to help him.
He’d finally had enough food to eat and a warm place to sleep.
He’d joined another group of boys, letting everyone believe he was with them.
And later, the captain of the guards had allowed Balor to work in the stables and care for the horses, in return for training.
Lord Beaumont hadn’t seemed to mind. He’d allowed Balor to stay with his other foster sons. And he’d been grateful to the nobleman for the gift of instruction and learning to read and write.
When they’d begun training him, Balor had been knocked to the ground more than once, and the other boys had laughed at him.
But he’d used their scorn to motivate him, to push past the resentment of his low birth to become stronger.
Month after month, he’d trained for hours each day, determined to become a warrior of strength.
And somehow, he’d caught the eye of the earl.
Lord Beaumont had been dismissive of the boys at first, occasionally watching them train.
But one morning, after Balor had defeated all the others, he’d glanced up at the battlements, and the earl had given him a slight nod of approval with a faint smile.
No one had ever acknowledged him like that before—as if the man was proud of him.
Balor had been ashamed that a single gesture had meant so much.
But from that day forward, he’d poured himself into training, learning everything he could.
The others stopped laughing at him and had grudgingly given him their respect.
They’d treated him as a leader, despite his desire to remain in the shadows.
Sometimes he wished he’d taken the time to befriend the other boys. But the idea of reaching out to anyone put him at the risk of being mocked. And so he’d kept to himself, embracing a life of being alone.
Even then, a few of the soldiers had offered him words of encouragement during training. He’d become stronger, the warrior he’d always wanted to be.
And he’d kept the ring until the very last day.
Before he’d departed England, he’d left his mother’s silver ring upon the earl’s carved wooden table within his chambers.
He didn’t really know why, but somehow it felt like he was releasing the fear he’d felt as a boy, embracing the man he’d become. Letting go of the past.
And now, as his sword grew heavy and he faced his final moments of life, regrets slid over him.
He wished he’d had the chance to say farewell to Kenneth.
But more than anything else, he wished he’d told Mairead what she’d meant to him.
Never in his life had anyone touched him willingly, offering affection or pleasure.
She didn’t even know how much he’d savoured each moment with her.
She’d said she loved him. And he hadn’t said it back when he’d had the chance, a regret he would carry with him until his last breath. It had seemed unthinkable that she could ever give her heart to him.
He wasn’t worthy of a king’s daughter. But she was worth dying for.
With renewed strength, Balor fought back, using his blade, his fists, and a stolen shield. He shifted the fighting away from Liam, ignoring the slash that cut through his cloak and skimmed his side. Blood flowed, but Balor paid it no heed at all. He would defend the tánaiste, for Mairead’s sake.
Yet, as the soldiers closed in on him, hope began to dim. Balor concentrated on the memory of Mairead’s smile and her kiss. He remembered her hands upon his skin and how it had felt to touch her.
Though his arms ached, he kept fighting. He’d slain several men, wounding others to keep them away from Liam. But as his strength began to wane, he heard the sounds of approaching horses. Was it the MacEgans, arriving at last?
No, it was far too soon for that.
When he saw the gleam of Norman armour and six more soldiers mounted on horseback, his spirits deflated.
He defended himself from the soldier in front of him, but pain exploded in the back of his head, dropping him to his knees.
Balor tasted blood in his mouth, and dizziness made the world sway while he braced himself for the killing blow.
And when the sword descended towards him, he saw nothing more.