Chapter Four #3
She could hardly believe what he’d said.
Why would Devlin have any desire to force Rory from his throne?
“I don’t understand. That doesn’t seem like something he would do.
” Her father had a strong will, and there were certainly times he’d disagreed with the High King. But why would he go to such lengths?
Now it made sense why he had been taken prisoner and sentenced to die. But she found it difficult to reconcile the man she’d known all her life to one who had greater ambitions.
“Men often want to raise themselves up to a different life,” he responded.
And there was truth in that, Taryn supposed. Killian MacDubh undoubtedly wanted more than the destiny Fate had given to him.
The higher they climbed, the more sunlight they saw. Near the topmost floors, there were treasures set in piles. Taryn spied two silver chalices and a jeweled bishop’s crozier, along with fine linens. At the top of the tower, she saw six iron bells hanging in a cluster.
Her legs ached, and when at last they reached the top, Killian helped her through the opening. The wind was harsh, blowing from all sides, and she wasn’t certain she liked being this high up. It was dizzying, seeing the trees so far below.
In the distance, she could see the glint of metal armor. Her mother’s army was indeed close. Taryn huddled with her knees drawn up. “Can they see us up here?”
Killian shook his head. “Not if you stay seated.” He pushed down the hinged wooden door that covered the opening. It sealed them off from the rest of the tower, removing all light from inside. At least now, it was more difficult for anyone to see, even if they did search the tower.
Taryn shielded her eyes against the sun and saw Carice’s litter and the High King’s men journeying further to the east. “Will the MacEgan warrior save your sister, do you think?”
He shrugged. “If he doesn’t, then I will get her out before she reaches Tara.”
Guilt slid over her, and she knew that he resented being here with her. Especially when he’d wanted to guard Carice.
“Why didn’t you leave with her?” she asked. “Surely your sister would have trusted you to bring her to safety.”
He turned and faced her. In his dark gray eyes, she saw a bleakness. “I don’t know if it matters anymore. She’s grown so ill, I doubt if she’ll survive the journey.”
Though Killian was naught but a stranger to her, she understood his pain. Without a word, she reached for his hand and took it in hers. His palm was warm, and his fingers curled around hers. It was only a small comfort, but she wanted to give him what sympathy she could.
He sat beside her in silence and admitted, “Carice was the only good thing that ever happened to me. And she doesn’t deserve the life she was given.”
There were no words that would ease his grief. Taryn had witnessed the depth of Carice’s illness and knew he was right. It would take a miracle to save the young woman’s life now. She kept her hand in Killian’s, offering him solace in the only way she knew how.
For a while, he held her hand and Taryn grew self-conscious of the sudden warmth between them.
She knew she ought to pull away—and yet, she felt a tightness welling up in her throat.
Killian hadn’t recoiled in disgust, though her hands were as scarred as her face.
He didn’t seem to mind it at all, and she struggled to ignore the yearning that rose inside her.
Her cheeks flushed, and she closed her eyes to push back the wayward thoughts. Instead, she remembered the last time a man had touched her hands, on the morning of her betrothal.
She had dressed so carefully, as if it were her wedding day.
Her hair was pulled back in intricate braids woven with flowers, while the rest hung against her cheeks and down her back.
She had worn her best purple gown and a jeweled torque around her throat, while her hands were covered with gloves.
Her heart quaked within her chest as she descended the stairs to join the man who had agreed to become her husband.
Lucas ó Rourke was the younger son of a chieftain who lived near the western coast, and when she’d glimpsed his handsome face from her window, she’d felt both hopeful and terrified.
Aye, she knew it was the promise of her kingdom that had attracted him here. And because he lived so far away, he would not know of her appearance. She had taken great care to hide her scars beneath her hair, and she hoped he would find her acceptable.
But as she drew closer to the Great Chamber, she heard the sound of arguing.
“I want to see her before I agree to the betrothal,” Lucas was saying to her father.
Taryn’s pulse quickened, for the tone of his voice held a note of warning.
Although it was to be expected, her instincts went on alert.
Quietly, she entered the chamber, hoping he would be pleased by what he saw.
Her father beckoned for her to come forward and made the introductions.
Lucas ó Rourke studied her for a moment, but he didn’t smile. Instead, he strode forward and stood before her. “Were you hoping to deceive me?”
Her heart sank as he pulled back her hair, revealing the scarred flesh.
To Devlin he added, “Did you think I would not know what you were trying to do? All of your servants spoke of how happy they were that their mistress would finally be married after what happened to her. But I do not want a deformed bride.”
Taryn stared back at him, disbelieving what she’d heard.
Deformed? It was not as if she had been born this way.
Why would he say such a thing? She couldn’t bring herself to speak or move when he removed her gloves, showing the scarred, reddened knuckles.
He gripped her hands to stare at them before he released them with disgust.
“I am not deformed,” she heard herself say. “I was hurt in an attack.”
But Lucas was already shaking his head. “I will not sign this betrothal. I do not want any sons of mine to bear those markings.”
She could hardly believe what he was saying. “You must truly be empty-headed if you believe that any of my children would be scarred.”
“Be silent, Taryn,” her mother warned. Maeve held up a hand and said, “We could lower her bride price, if needed.” She sent a pleading look toward her husband, and Taryn was stunned that she would even consider it.
Did her mother truly believe she was so desperate for a husband that she would accept this man? She didn’t want a man like Lucas as her husband. Not if he viewed her as some sort of misshapen woman.
“I am sorry your journey brought you this far,” she said to Lucas, “but I do not wish to wed you, either.” She straightened and turned to leave, locking her hands together to hide the trembling.
Behind her, she overheard her mother arguing for Lucas to stay, while her father sided with her.
“Surely we can come to an understanding,” Maeve was arguing.
“There is no need for Taryn to wed a man who does not want her,” Devlin countered. “Other men may not mind her appearance, or she can always remain here, with us.”
Taryn paused on the stairs, listening to them.
“I want her gone from here,” Maeve insisted. “Far away from this place.”
“You only say that because you know she prefers my company to yours. She knows that I have taken good care of her and will always do so.”
It had meant a great deal to her, knowing that her father wanted her to be happy. After Lucas had departed, the rift between her and her mother only widened. Maeve tried to control her even more, never leaving her alone, always following her.
Even now, she feared that Maeve would find them and force her to return.
It was less than an hour before soldiers surrounded the chapel. Killian heard the voices of the men as they gathered around the outbuildings, searching each one. And sure enough, he saw them climbing up the ladder to the round tower.
“They’re going to find us,” Taryn whispered. “You should have destroyed the ladder.”
“If I’d done that, they would have known we were hiding in here.
The priest would have no reason to do such a thing.
” He’d thought of lifting the ladder away but had decided that the ten sets of stairs might be a better deterrent.
It was difficult to climb the stairs wearing heavy armor, and the soldiers might give up after six or seven floors.
He motioned for the Lady Taryn to join him, sitting atop the hinged opening that led to the topmost floor.
Their combined weight would keep it closed.
“And what if they find us here? I don’t want to be taken back.”
There was fear in her voice, and he covered her mouth with his hand, needing her to be silent.
Below them, he heard the soldiers searching.
They were coming closer, and he saw the fear rising in Taryn’s face.
She closed her eyes, and it made him wonder why she was so fearful of being caught.
Was it her need to save her father? Or was she trying to save herself?
He wasn’t certain. But she buried her face against his chest, as if to blot out the terror. He stroked her hair back, soothing her in silence.
Without warning, a blade pierced the seam of the trap door. Taryn clamped her hands over her mouth to muffle any sound, remaining frozen in place. Killian unsheathed a dagger of his own and was poised, waiting for the inevitable attack.
But there came nothing. Only the shouts of the men as they retreated back down the stairs. He only breathed easier when he heard the sound of the horses retreating. They had eluded capture for now...but he could not say for how long.
Taryn sat with her knees drawn up, her black hair shielding her face. When she shivered against the wind, he reached for her hand.
“They’re gone,” he said at last, when he was certain of their safety. “We can go back inside.”
She moved away from the door. “It’s g-getting colder.”
And it was. The air held the biting chill that warned of snow. Killian held open the trap door and Taryn climbed down inside the round tower. It had grown dark, and it took a moment for his eyes to adjust. She huddled against the wall, and her cloak was doing little to warm her.
“I wish we had a fire,” she admitted. So did he, but there was nothing here that they could burn. In silent answer, he moved beside her. His shoulder rested against hers, as a means of offering her body heat.
She startled him when she leaned her face against him, huddling closer. It was strange to think that a noblewoman would want to be closer to a man like him. She drew the edge of his brat over both of them, to offer more heat.
“There,” she said. “That’s better.”
With her body pressed close, he inhaled the delicate scent of her skin. Never in his life could he imagine that a lady would seek to touch him. Though he knew she was only wanting to keep warm, it bothered him for her to be so near.
Killian moved away from her and gave her the brat to wear over the cloak. “You can keep that. I’ve no need of it.” Then he leaned against the opposite wall, pretending as if none of it mattered.
He was cold, but he didn’t want this woman to rely on him for anything. Sleeping beside her would only bring temptation too close. The only thing he’d agreed to do was bring her to Tara. Beyond that, their lives were too different.
He drew his knees up and leaned back, closing his eyes, though he wasn’t tired at all. It was a means of avoiding her. Silence filled up the space between them, but after a few moments, he heard her approaching with quiet footsteps.
Then she lowered the woolen brat across his torso, saying, “I understand why you don’t want to be close to me. But you don’t have to freeze.”
The wool held the heat from her body, enclosing him with her scent. Though she spoke in a calm tone, he suspected that he’d hurt her feelings. And that hadn’t been his intent at all.
“I said you could keep it,” he told her. “You need it more than I do.”
“Why do I make you so angry?” she whispered. “What have I done to you in all this time?”
She didn’t see it, did she? He removed the brat and said, “Would you treat your guard in this way? Would you sleep beside him?”
Taryn gave no answer at all, as if she’d suddenly realized what he meant.
“I am no different from Pól, a soldier assigned to protect you. I’m your hired sword, nothing more.”
“You are nothing like a hired sword, Killian MacDubh,” was her reply. “As you said before, you are no one’s servant. And never will be.”
Her words startled him, for he’d never expected a lady to treat him with respect. No one, save Carice, had ever viewed him in that way.
“Keep the brat,“ he told her. “We won’t travel this night, in case we’re caught in the snow. Try to sleep, and we will go to Laochre in the morning.”
He was beginning to wonder if his sister had another reason for sending him to guard Taryn. Matchmaking was not something Carice had ever done, but he wouldn’t put it past her.