Chapter Eleven #4
The tánaiste gave a nod. ‘I’ll do whatever I must to get home again.’ He leaned back against the wall. ‘I need to see my wife and the children.’ After a pause, he said, ‘I owe you my life, ó Phelan. I would have been dead if you hadn’t found me that night.’
‘It’s lucky I did,’ Balor admitted.
After a slight pause, the tánaiste asked, ‘Why did you travel all this way to help me?’
‘Because your sister asked me to,’ he answered honestly. The truth was he would have done anything Mairead wanted. There didn’t need to be any other reason.
‘You care for her, don’t you?’
He nodded. ‘I do, aye. But it doesn’t matter. Your father would never allow us to marry.’ His words exposed the bitterness he felt, and he didn’t care. For it didn’t matter. One way or the other, Mairead would make her choice. And so would he, by bringing her brother home to claim his throne.
Liam seemed to consider the answer. Then he asked, ‘What reward do you want for saving my life?’
There was only one thing he wanted, but Balor said, ‘What I want is something you cannot give.’
He wanted Mairead as his wife. He wanted to give her children, to hear their laughter in their home. And he wanted to love her.
‘I am sorry,’ Liam said solemnly. ‘If it means anything at all, I will ensure that my father knows all that you’ve done for me and my family.’
Balor thought about it again and said, ‘There is something else. If it’s within your power to grant this, I want Fergus removed as chieftain. Especially after what he did to you.’
‘Oh, he will be removed, rest assured.’ Liam’s voice held a quiet threat. ‘Were you hoping to take his place?’
Balor shook his head. ‘My half brother should replace him. If Kenneth becomes chieftain, it’s enough for me.’
‘What about you?’ Liam asked. ‘Where will you go?’
‘I am going back to England.’
There had been a time when he never would have considered returning to Beaumont, even though he’d learned how to fight there.
But he no longer belonged in éireann. The thought of staying here, where every familiar place evoked memories of Mairead, wasn’t possible anymore. Better to begin anew somewhere else.
Liam cast a sidelong look at him. ‘Why England?’
Balor hesitated, wondering whether to tell him the truth. In the end, he admitted, ‘Because I am the bastard son of a Norman lord. He sent two of his men to bring me back—they are the soldiers helping us tonight. I’ve been offered a home there.’
‘What of your family here?’
Balor shrugged. ‘No one will miss the Demon of éireann.’
The tánaiste regarded him with a long look. ‘I am grateful for your help, ó Phelan. And I will do what I can. Whether that means helping your brother or helping you.’ After a pause, he asked, ‘Who is your father?’
‘William Fleming de Beaumont.’
Liam’s expression turned interested. ‘You’re Beaumont’s bastard son? Our family is on good terms with him.’
Before he could say anything further, Sir Edward and Gerald arrived. Both wore chainmail armour with conical helms and swords at their waist. The older knight said quietly, ‘It’s time. Walk to the main gate and take your positions. Hurry.’
‘Won’t they ask questions about who we are?’ Liam asked.
‘I told them King John’s men would guard the gate, so they don’t need to recognize you. You’ll stay for a time, and when Gerald and I approach, you’ll go through the gates while we take your places. No one will question it.’
Balor set aside his chains, but he couldn’t stop the wariness or the sense of danger that kept his gaze fixed upon the spiral stairs in the distance. Liam, too, shadowed the wall as they joined the Norman soldiers.
Abruptly, torches flared at the end of the hall, and they froze in place as soldiers emerged in the darkness.
Balor couldn’t tell how many men were descending the stairs—possibly four.
He recognized one of them as a guard who had kept watch over them yestereve and today.
The man immediately unsheathed his weapon and regarded them. ‘Trying to escape, are you?’
Sir Edward and Gerald unsheathed their weapons, stepping forward. Balor inwardly cursed that he had only the small blade Mairead had given him. It would have to be enough until he could disarm one of them.
Balor lunged forward and slashed his blade, drawing blood. The fighting blurred around him, but he released his frustration and rage. Every emotion brimming within him descended into this fight. He wasn’t going to let these be his last moments. Not while he was still breathing.
He charged forward, dodging a blow while Gerald blocked a strike meant for him.
Balor seized his assailant’s shield, barely in time to defend another slice towards his head. But he used the wooden shield as its own weapon, swinging it hard until the soldier crashed to the ground. Sir Edward was struggling, and Balor ignored the protests of his body, reaching for a sword.
This was more than a fight to live—it was a fight against those who despised him, against those who would keep him from the future he wanted with Mairead at his side.
He unleashed himself, guarding Liam and Sir Edward while Gerald fought alongside him. And when the soldiers lay wounded or dead on the ground, Balor kept his weapon drawn, blood spilling over the blade.
‘Put the survivors in chains,’ Liam advised.
‘We’ll take care of it,’ Sir Edward vowed. ‘You need to go now before anyone else arrives.’
Footsteps approached, and Balor led Liam up the ladder, keeping his hand upon his stolen sword.
Darkness cloaked the keep with only a few torches set in iron sconces.
Liam stumbled slightly, and ahead of them, Balor spied King Patrick.
The man’s eyes widened as he recognized his son.
But a heartbeat later, Patrick took a step towards them, drawing the dagger at his waist.
The world seemed to shift slightly, and Balor sensed the subtle threat. Time stilled, and he seized Liam, pulling him out of the way just as the king threw his blade.
The weapon struck its mark—in the heart of the soldier who had slipped behind them, his own weapon raised to cut them down. The man fell backwards towards the shadowed tower where he had stood poised to strike.
Gods above, the king had just saved their lives.
Balor raised a knee in silent deference, and Patrick met their gaze for a moment, giving his own nod as they approached the gates.
But as he took his place to guard the castle, Balor glanced towards the battlements. And there, he saw Mairead speaking softly to Lord Lowell. Behind her stood her cousin, Alanna.
Jealousy settled in Balor’s gut as he watched over the woman who had captured his own heart and claimed it for her own. From her intent conversation and bearing, he watched as she took the earl’s hand.
She didn’t at all look like a woman who intended to walk away from a marriage of duty. He pushed aside the angry hurt and told himself it was only what he deserved. It didn’t matter what choice she’d made.
That choice wasn’t him. And he simply had to live with it.