Chapter Ten
Mairead’s spirits sank as she reached Banslieve. She’d ridden as fast as she could, but when she reached the fortress, her father’s men were already waiting inside. They must have ridden all day and night.
Patrick stood beside his brother Connor, and the moment she entered the gates, she dismounted and ran to them.
‘Mairead—’ he started to say.
‘You have to bring your men to fight,’ she interrupted. ‘We—we found Liam.’ Her words were rushed, for she was out of breath.
Her father paled at her words. ‘Thank God he’s alive.’
She nodded. ‘But we have to hurry. He’s being held captive at the ruined fortress. Fergus ó Phelan sold him to the Normans.’
‘Stay with your aunt Aileen,’ her uncle Connor commanded. ‘We’ll go after him now.’ The men seemed to dismiss her, but she wasn’t about to leave Balor at risk.
‘Balor found Liam and freed him, but they were attacked. Please. You have to protect him.’
Patrick turned to her. ‘By rights, ó Phelan should die for capturing you, Mairead. Along with his traitorous family.’
‘I went willingly,’ she argued. ‘We found Liam because of him. His mother betrayed Fergus to tell us both where Liam was. Balor deserves to live for saving my brother.’
Yet, from the rigid cast to his face, she knew her father wasn’t going to listen. She would have to wait until after they were gone to do anything to help Balor. Frustration and grief made tears spill over her cheeks. ‘Please…go now before they kill Liam.’
Her father’s expression held a blend of pity and determination. He joined the others, followed by his brother Connor and his sons, Dylan and Finn.
Mairead stepped back with her aunt Aileen while they rallied the men and mounted their horses. She gripped her hands together, feeling utterly helpless. But her cousin Finn paused a moment, his wild dark hair falling against his face. ‘Don’t be afraid, Mairead. We’ll save them both.’
Then he rode off, leaving her with her own fear that Balor would die, just as Diarmud had. She swiped at her tears, trying to hold herself together.
After they had gone, Aileen’s hand came down on her shoulder. Her grey hair was bound back into a single braid, and the years had been kind to her, the gentle lines of her smile creasing her face. ‘You care for him, don’t you? This man named Balor.’
Mairead nodded numbly, but it went deeper than that. She didn’t know how or when it had happened, but Balor had laid a quiet assault on her heart. The thought of losing him terrified her. And she promised herself that, if he somehow survived it, she would choose him as her husband.
Her aunt pulled her into an embrace, and the sudden love broke down her defences. Mairead began sobbing, and Aileen held her tightly.
‘I don’t want him to die,’ she wept. ‘It’s my fault he came with me to help Liam. We never should have gone alone.’
‘Come and sit with me,’ Aileen soothed. ‘I’ll make tea, and you’ll tell me all about it.
’ She led her into a small roundhouse with a thatched roof.
The interior was warm from hot stones, and there was a low table with small stools around it.
A pot of water hung near the hearth, and Aileen chose an assortment of dried herbs from a pouch at her waist.
‘Chamomile and mint, I think.’ She sprinkled the herbs into two wooden mugs, and after the water was hot, she poured it in, swirling the herbs around until a pleasant fragrance emanated from the steam.
‘Is Rhiannon here? Or Emla?’ Mairead asked. Her older cousin had been a friend over the years, and their daughter Emla had been like a sister to her.
‘They are visiting family in the south. If you stay for a few days, they should return. Emla will want to see you, I know.’ Aileen gave her a cup of tea and then poured one for herself.
Mairead sipped at the herbal tea, wishing it could calm the unrest in her heart. Her aunt gave a faint smile and remarked, ‘Your father told me that a Norman earl wishes to wed you. And yet, you seem far more concerned about Balor ó Phelan.’
‘Lord Lowell was the man chosen by King John,’ Mairead admitted. ‘But I don’t want to marry him.’ To anyone else, it would seem like an advantageous betrothal. Yet, she had no interest in a man who was quiet, wealthy, and everything her family believed she wanted.
‘Is there a reason why you won’t consider the earl?’ her aunt asked.
There was. But not the one Aileen would guess.
Deep inside, Mairead was becoming aware of another truth. Beneath her sheltered life as a king’s daughter lay a woman who craved rebellion.
She liked being wicked. She liked breaking the rules and defying everyone else’s expectations. A man like Balor—who represented everything her family didn’t want—was exactly what she did want.
She straightened and regarded her aunt. ‘My marriage should not be built upon the will of kings. My father promised I could choose my own husband.’
‘And you’ve chosen Balor?’ her aunt predicted.
She steeled herself. ‘Balor has done nothing wrong. And he doesn’t deserve to die for trying to rescue my brother.’ Though it wasn’t really an answer, she plunged forward and added, ‘Fergus is responsible for this, and he should be the one to face the consequences.’
Aileen finished her tea, her eyes discerning. ‘I imagine he will. But in the meantime, there may be wounded men returning to us tonight. Will you help me gather bandages and healing herbs while we wait?’
‘Of course.’ But a chill slid beneath her skin with the fear that someone she cared about would be hurt. Balor… Liam…or her father.
She could never tell her father of the feelings she held in her heart. If she told him the truth, Patrick would only make Balor leave, or worse. She could only pray that he would survive this night with the help of her father’s men.
As she helped her aunt gather healing herbs and supplies, a plan began to shape within her mind of how to get what she wanted.
And that meant travelling back to Balor to save his life.
* * *
Balor awakened in darkness. His mouth was dry and cracked, and his head had a dull ache. When he reached up, he felt a bandage.
He didn’t know where he was or who had brought him here. But when he tried to sit up, someone caught him by the shoulders and laid him back. ‘Not yet.’ The man spoke in the Norman tongue, but the voice seemed slightly familiar. It was too dark to see him.
‘What happened?’ Balor’s voice came out in a rasp, and the Norman lifted a cup of water to his lips. Balor drank it, grateful to quench his thirst. Whoever this was, he didn’t seem to want him dead, or he’d already be gone.
‘You were surrounded and about to die. We took you here when King John’s men arrived.’
So there had been more than one rescuer.
‘How long have I been here?’
‘A full day and a half,’ he answered.
‘Who are you?’ Balor asked. ‘It’s too dark to see your face.’
‘Gerald of Mowbray,’ the man answered. ‘We met at Laochre, along with my commander, Sir Edward of Baldwin.’ The man lit a brazier, and soon enough, the dim light of the peat fire illuminated the tent.
A tightness caught within him. ‘Why did you follow me here? Were your men the ones who took Liam?’
‘No. We came here for you,’ Gerald said. He left without explanation, and a moment later, Sir Edward entered.
Balor didn’t truly believe him. But there was a reason why these men had saved his life—and a dark uneasiness clenched within him at the thought.
Sir Edward sat beside him, his demeanour cool. ‘Do you know why we came to éireann, Balor ó Phelan?’
Balor struggled to sit up, still trying to hide his dizziness. He suspected they were connected to King John or Liam’s disappearance, though he couldn’t say that. ‘I suppose you’re going to tell me.’
‘If you ask nicely,’ Gerald responded drily.
‘You came for Mairead’s hand in marriage,’ Balor said, even knowing it was false. He wanted to see how they would respond.
‘That’s not—’ Sir Edward started to say. But he fell silent, holding back his words. Which made Balor even more suspicious.
‘What do you know about the Liam MacEgan?’ he interrupted. ‘Is he—’
‘He lives,’ the man answered. ‘The other soldiers took him to King John at Blarnan.’
‘Why?’ He’d thought Fergus had simply sold Liam into captivity. Now it seemed like part of something much larger.
‘The men Fergus paid were the king’s men. I imagine they saw an opportunity to make him a valuable hostage.’
And likely the English king would take advantage, Balor guessed.
Probably by manipulating Patrick into doing his will, even though the King of Laochre had already travelled to see King John and had sworn his loyalty.
Since the king’s men had taken Liam MacEgan, it suggested that John didn’t trust the MacEgans at all.
But there was a hidden opportunity, Balor realized.
If he somehow broke Liam free of the king’s custody and brought him back to Laochre in secret, he could ensure that Liam was crowned as the next Irish king and gain Patrick’s favour.
Since Fergus had been responsible for the capture, he would pay the price for his treason.
Kenneth could become the next chieftain of the ó Phelan clan.
Or you could.
The inner thought startled him. Mairead had asked him before why he didn’t want it. He’d told her that the people would never want someone like him. But the truth was he’d never imagined taking command of his clan. He’d always believed that his people hated him. It still might be true.
And yet, becoming chieftain might give him a chance at wedding Mairead. It wasn’t nearly as influential as being an earl, but it was something.
‘You said that you were fostered at Beaumont,’ Sir Edward began. ‘Is that where you trained to fight in our style?’
Balor didn’t truly understand why the man would ask such a question. ‘It was,’ he answered. ‘I stayed there for seven years.’
‘But you weren’t there as a young child, were you?’ Gerald remarked. ‘Your mother sent you there when you were older.’
How did he know such a thing? And why would he care?