Chapter Twelve #2
When they reached the pier, her father helped her out of the boat while one of their men tied up the vessel. They walked along the path leading up the hillside, and it wasn’t long before they were greeted by a few men with horses.
‘King Patrick, you must hurry,’ one of the men said as he dismounted. ‘The brehons and chiefs held a gathering, and they have brought out the stone chair to choose a new king.’
‘What of Liam?’ Patrick asked. ‘Is he here?’
The soldier’s face turned grim. ‘We have not seen him. But Fergus ó Phelan is attempting to claim the throne for himself.’
‘I won’t allow that. Not while I am still the king.’ Patrick mounted his horse before he turned to them. ‘No one will take my throne before I willingly give it up.’ He squared his shoulders and leaned in to urge his horse faster.
Mairead followed behind, but worry rooted within her. Where were Liam and Balor? They had left earlier, so they should already be here. But if no one had seen her brother, what did that mean? The knot of worry tightened inside, threatening to choke her.
As they approached Laochre, the sun rose higher in the sky, but the air held a bitter coldness.
The moment her father reached the gates, the soldiers raised a knee as a gesture of respect.
They stepped aside to let him ride through, and Mairead followed.
She held back from her father and saw that the stone chair had indeed been brought to the center of the inner bailey.
A crowd of MacEgans had gathered in the inner bailey, but she did not see her family among them, which only intensified her fear.
Fergus ó Phelan stood at the top of the stairs, and when the chieftain spied them, his mouth curved in a smile. Orla stood behind her husband. She wore a grim expression on her face, revealing the hatred she felt towards Fergus.
‘Patrick,’ the chieftain greeted him. ‘We didn’t expect to see you so soon.’
‘That much is clear, Fergus,’ her father answered. ‘I believe it’s time you returned to Dunmalus.’
Dread gripped Mairead’s stomach as Patrick approached the chieftain alone. Everything within her tensed, and she scanned the soldiers, searching for Balor. What if…he and Liam hadn’t escaped? What if something had happened to them?
The environment within Laochre was charged with fear, and she didn’t know who was truly in command. Why weren’t her father’s men attacking Fergus?
Mairead discreetly dismounted her horse and slipped back towards the stone inner wall while everyone else was distracted.
Her heart thundered in her chest, and right now she didn’t trust anyone.
She kept her back to the wall, moving slowly to the first guard tower.
The MacEgan soldiers rested their hands on their swords, as if to protect her, when she passed by them.
But as she drew close to the second tower entrance, her back pressed against the wall and a strong arm pulled her inside. Before she could make a sound, she saw Balor’s face in the darkness. He wore chainmail armour and was alive and whole.
Mairead threw herself into his arms and gripped him hard, a sob escaping her. ‘You’re here.’ Her heart flooded with relief and love as he returned the embrace. She hadn’t known how much she’d needed to see him until now.
There was tension in his bearing, even as he stroked her hair back. ‘I’m here.’ He slowly released her from the embrace and asked quietly, ‘Where is your…husband?’
So that was the reason for his hesitancy. She reached out to touch his cheek as she faced him. ‘I didn’t marry the earl. Alanna did.’ Her voice broke, but there was not time to tell him all the words caught inside her.
In the darkness, he covered her hand with his own. Against her mouth, he murmured, ‘Thank God.’ Then he kissed her, and his mouth was a healing balm, soothing the pain of the past two days. She yielded to him, holding his body close to hers.
‘I’m glad you didn’t wed him,’ Balor said. ‘Because I want you to marry me when this is over.’
‘Yes,’ she whispered. ‘No matter what happens.’
His mouth descended on hers again, claiming another reckless kiss as she held him in the darkness. Balor’s tongue slid against hers, and the familiar aching need stole her breath and weakened her knees. She wanted this man, craved his touch on her bare skin.
With reluctance, he broke off the kiss, his arms still around her waist. ‘Stay here, where it’s safe,’ he warned. ‘This isn’t finished yet.’
‘My brother—’ she started to ask.
‘Liam took Adriana and your mother to Rionallís, along with his children. He’s gathering forces with his uncle and will bring back more soldiers.’
A tremulous smile broke over her with relief. But then he stepped back and raised his hood. ‘Stay alive, Mairead.’
Her emotions brimmed over with thankfulness, even as she feared what would happen now. Though she understood he needed to confront Fergus to set aside the shadows of his past, she didn’t know what dangers lay ahead.
She stepped to the edge of the tower entrance to listen. The chieftain was still speaking to her father, but her attention was fully focused on Balor.
‘I have been chosen as the new King of Laochre,’ Fergus continued. ‘The brehons have spoken.’
There was an icy rage upon her father’s face. ‘I have not surrendered my crown,’ Patrick argued. ‘And you are not the king, Fergus.’ To his men, he ordered, ‘Escort him outside the castle gates.’
The captain of the MacEgan soldiers unsheathed his sword and strode forward to obey the order, determination lining his face. But before he reached the stairs, an arrow struck him in the back.
The captain crumpled to the ground, and several women screamed, huddling against the rest of the crowd.
Mairead bit back her own cry and sank back against the wall, her pulse pounding with terror.
Enemies surrounded them everywhere, and now she understood why the soldiers were hesitant to intervene.
If ó Phelan archers had taken command of the parapets, more would die if they dared defend the MacEgans.
‘Do you see what happens to those who defy me?’ Fergus said. He began walking down the stairs, towards the stone chair.
She pressed her knuckles to her mouth, her gaze searching for Balor. But instead of moving within the crowd towards Fergus, he disappeared into one of the towers. She knew, then, what he was doing—removing the threat of the archers.
Fergus was speaking again, but she paid him no heed, instead watching the cloaked figure as Balor moved across the parapets. Just as another archer took aim to release another arrow, Balor shoved him over the edge. The man’s body hit the ground, bleeding out.
Cries of shock broke out in the crowd before they realized the dead man was the archer who had shot the captain. A second archer crumpled upon the parapets in silence, his bow falling. The third dropped his weapons and fled.
Balor’s swift vengeance had had made its mark, unsettling the ó Phelans. He’d earned his reputation as the Demon of éireann.
But she didn’t fear him. This was the man who had travelled with her for days, across land and sea, to keep her safe. The same man she’d held in her arms while he’d stared at her as if she was the reason his heart kept beating.
And the man she had welcomed into her body, joining with him until her pleasure took her under, drowning her in the feeling of his skin against hers.
She loved Balor more than she’d ever thought possible. Mairead unsheathed her own blade and emerged from the shadows. She would fight to be with him, no matter the cost. And she began walking towards her father.
The crowd grew restless, now that the seeds of chaos had been sown. Fergus was trying to call out orders, but no one was listening.
Instead, Balor crossed through the crowd as he forged a path towards Fergus. ‘You will never be King of Laochre or any king of mine.’ His voice was strong and clear, breaking through the noise of the crowd. He unsheathed a sword with his right hand, keeping his shield in his left.
* * *
Balor was buying time, trying to distract Fergus while Liam had gone to Rionallís to gather forces. But it left him alone to defend Patrick’s crown with the remainder of the MacEgan men. And with the ó Phelans closing in, he didn’t know how much time they had left before reinforcements arrived.
The unrest of the MacEgan crowd was what they needed now, to weaken Fergus and distract the ó Phelans.
‘You will never wear a crown,’ he told Fergus. ‘Not when the rightful king is standing before you. You should leave now while you’re still breathing.’
When he risked a look back at King Patrick, he found Mairead standing beside her father.
Sunlight illuminated her face, and she wore a dark cloak and a rose-colored gown. Her dark hair was braided back, the wind sliding the loose strands against her cheeks.
An ache caught inside him at the sight of her, along with a fierce burst of hope. He could see the worry in her expression, but he wasn’t afraid—he had a reason to fight. She had defied her family for their sake. And that realization was a flame igniting his sense of purpose.
King Patrick stared back at him, as if taking his measure. Then the MacEgan soldiers gathered around their king in silent defence. Balor knew what that meant—they would not intervene in this fight. But he intended to face the chieftain and end Fergus’s reign once and for all.
He kept his sword steady, circling the chieftain. Waiting for the first strike.
Fergus slashed his own blade downward, and their swords rang out in the stillness. Balor blocked the strikes with his shield, just as he slashed with his own blade.
‘Why would you believe you can win this fight, Balor?’ Fergus taunted. ‘My men will defend me and cut you down.’
Two ó Phelans charged up the stairs, but Balor’s blade flowed like water, cutting through flesh and bone as he moved. Bodies slumped to the ground, but it was a familiar dance with death. And one he intended to win.
Fergus had always been a strong fighter, ruthless in his methods.
He didn’t seem to care about the fallen men but swung his sword again.
As steel clashed against steel, Balor remembered the frightened boy he’d once been, years ago.
That boy was gone now, honed by Norman training from the man who was his true father—the man who had once shown pride in Balor’s skills.
‘You’ll never win,’ Fergus taunted. With a glance at the people surrounding them, he added, ‘No one will fight for you. You’re nothing but a bastard no one wanted.’
The words were meant to be another slice at his pride. But the word bastard no longer stung, as it once had. Lord Beaumont had sent men to find him and bring him back. And now Balor had a possible future to offer Mairead. Even if she was the only person who ever wanted him, it would be enough.
More of the ó Phelans closed in, their forces locked together with spears while the MacEgans remained to guard Patrick and Mairead.
And when he saw the resolution on their faces, he suddenly understood that Fergus intended for him to continue fighting his own kinsmen, killing them while everyone watched.
‘This isn’t your fight,’ he warned the ó Phelan men. ‘Stay back.’ Several understood and obeyed.
‘Balor!’
Mairead’s voice was a sharp warning. And before he could react, he felt the iron kiss of a spear against the back of his neck.