Chapter Eleven #3
Rory accepted the ring and let out a slow breath. “I gave her this ring when I wed her. Which means you are my son and heir.”
“Get up,” a guard commanded. Taryn’s back was aching, but she moved to her knees.
Her hands were bound in front of her, and she struggled to rise.
She had not been taken to the mound of hostages, as the High King had commanded.
There were only men there, and instead, the captain had confined her below the ground, in a chamber used for slaughtering sheep and cattle.
There was still blood in the trench before her, and the frigid stone wall at her back.
“Where are we going?” she asked the guard. Her hands were freezing, and she stumbled as he pushed her forward.
“You will be imprisoned elsewhere,” was all he said.
Elsewhere? She was terrified to think of why. Did it have something to do with her father, or was this still about Carice?
Taryn trudged along the dirt pathway, lowering her head again.
She was beginning to realize why her mother had wanted to keep her from Tara.
A fresh wave of fear passed over her at the realization that Maeve had likely entered the gates with her soldiers once she learned that Taryn wasn’t there.
And though she was not on good terms with her mother, she could not fault Maeve for trying to protect her.
The guard led her back toward another outbuilding that stood high above the others.
From its placement near the banqueting hall, it was well guarded.
She searched again for a glimpse of Killian or her father but saw neither one.
She trudged up a narrow staircase before the guard opened the door to a tiny chamber and shoved her inside.
Taryn struck the wall, barely catching her balance.
“You’ll wait here until he comes for you. ”
He? Was he referring to Rory ó Connor? Dear God, she hoped not.
But there was one defense she had remaining.
With her bound hands, she pulled her hair over one shoulder, revealing the hideous scars on her cheeks.
Then she straightened, well aware of the guard’s sudden wince.
Good. Perhaps that would be her protection against rape.
He slammed the door shut behind him, leaving her alone. Inside the narrow room, a thin slit served as a window. She moved toward it, trying to see her surroundings. There were soldiers everywhere, leaving nothing unguarded.
Where was Killian? She had not seen a trace of him, and she worried that he was being held prisoner somewhere.
Or worse, tortured. Her spirits sank as she was beginning to grasp the hopelessness of her situation.
The High King was furious with her for Carice’s disappearance, and he would surely punish her if he believed she was responsible for helping the young woman flee.
Taryn closed her eyes, the unknown fears washing over her. Why had she dared to come here? It had indeed been her own naivete, believing that she could somehow change the High King’s mind.
The door opened, and she spun, her heart beating wildly when she saw Killian standing there. He lowered the latch, and she ran forward, letting him crush her in his arms. He used a blade to slice through her ropes, and she was free to hold him close.
“What happened to you?” she demanded. “Have you seen my father? Does the High King know you are here?”
Killian ignored her queries and leaned in to kiss her. “So many questions.” He kept his nose touched to hers. “And you didn’t listen to me, did you, a mhuírnín? Else, you’d not be confined.”
“I only thought to have a look at the ringfort,” she admitted. “I never imagined there would be so many soldiers here.”
“Rory is raising an army, gathered from all the tribes. He wants them to fight against the Norman invaders.”
She noticed then that his clothing was different. Instead of the rough, dark wool and chain mail, he wore a tunic of fine woven silk and trews befitting a king’s son. Taryn stepped back, noting that he had shaved, and his black hair was combed back.
He had received a welcome from Rory ó Connor, whereas she had been taken prisoner. She didn’t know what to think of that.
“Tell me what has happened to you,” she urged. “I suppose the King was glad to see you, if your new clothes were a gift.”
There was a trace of unrest upon Killian’s face, but he nodded. “Rory did not know what had become of me. My mother fled when she was with child and remained in hiding for the rest of her life.”
Taryn sensed that there was more he wasn’t telling her.
His expression was unsettled, and he was clearly keeping information from her.
Though the King might be glad to see his bastard son again, she rather doubted that he would treat Killian so well.
Certainly, he would not clothe him in finery or treat him as a lost son. Unless...
Understanding dawned within her, and Taryn straightened. “You are his legitimate son, aren’t you?”
He made no denial. “It seems my mother wed Rory when he was King of Connacht. It was an arrangement to ally their lands, but she did not want the marriage. Instead, she turned her back on her family and sought help from Brodie Faoilin.”
It should have been welcome news to learn that Killian had a true birthright now. But instead of being happy for him, she felt a sense of loss. The High King’s son would not be allowed to choose a bride for himself. He would have to make a political marriage, one that furthered the alliances.
He certainly could never wed a traitor’s daughter.
She tried to push back the hurt, but it rose up inside her.
Somehow, within the past few days, she had seriously begun to consider marrying Killian.
Though she’d known their lives were not meant to be joined together, she had been happy with him.
He had made her feel beautiful, and her heart had fallen hard.
Now it seemed he had been raised up to an unreachable place—whereas she had fallen low because of her father’s misdeeds.
“As the High King’s son, you now have what you always wanted. The land and the chance to be a leader of men. I am happy for you.” She tried to brave a smile, but he seemed to guess her uncertainty.
“Not everything I want,” he admitted. His hands moved into her hair, and she felt a pang of longing. When he kissed her, she opened to him, feeling as if their last moments were slipping away.
“Rory blames me for Carice’s disappearance,” she confessed, breaking the kiss. “I am being kept prisoner because I would not reveal where she was.”
“So I heard. I was there when you were brought to him.” Killian drew her close for a moment. It reminded her of the nights they’d spent together and the way he had brought her to pleasure, again and again, and she wound her arms around his neck.
“I will intervene on your behalf,” he promised.
She knew not if he was speaking of her fate or her father’s, but she was grateful for it. And yet, the moment he walked away, he would become more deeply entwined in the High King’s affairs.
“Thank you,” she murmured.
His eyes were silver, and though there was very little light within the chamber, she saw the look of longing on his face. She wanted so badly to have a last stolen moment with him.
“You will stay here until I have arranged for your release,” he told her. “It will be safer.” He stepped back, but before he could walk toward the door, she moved before him.
“Don’t go yet,” she whispered. She took his hands in hers and brought them to her waist. “Please.”
His eyes darkened, and he leaned against her lips. “What are you wanting, a mhuírnín?”
She didn’t know what to say without sounding desperate. “I don’t wish to be a prisoner here. And I know that once you leave me, everything will be different between us.”
It already is, she thought to herself. He belonged at Tara. He had a father who was grateful to find him alive and a place of his own. Whereas she was seen as only a traitor’s daughter.
“You won’t be a prisoner,” he promised. “But it’s not safe for you outside this chamber.”
She knew that. And yet, it troubled her to be left behind. “After this day, I don’t suppose we can be together anymore,” she admitted.
His hands moved up her back, and he rested his forehead upon hers. “Is that what you’ve decided?”
“You won’t want someone like me anymore. Not if you are the High King’s son.”
“As the High King’s son, I can have any woman I desire. And you are the only one I want.”
“Why?” she whispered.
“Because you never saw a fuidir. Only a man.”
I love you. She held the thought inside herself as she threaded her hands through his hair and kissed him with the force of her emotion.
Though she wanted to believe that he wanted her as well, she knew too well how complicated political alliances could be.
It was rare that a man could wed the woman he wanted.
“I will ask Rory to let me take Ossoria in your father’s place,” he said. He did not mention the execution, but she prayed that there was still hope to save Devlin’s life.
“Imbolc is tomorrow,” she whispered. “There’s hardly any time left.” Not only for her father, but also for them. She rested her cheek against his chest, holding him tight. “I don’t know what else we can do.”
“Trust in me,” he said, framing her face. “I will need to spend time with the High King. If I get closer to my father, I may learn what can be done to save Devlin.”
She understood the unspoken words. He could not be seen with her for a time. He would have to distance himself to uncover the truth. “Do what you must, then.”
He didn’t let go of her. “There’s something you should know, Taryn.” He kissed her mouth again. “If it comes down to choosing your life or Devlin’s...I won’t be choosing his.”
She gave a nod, but inside, her feelings were breaking apart.
“No matter what happens, I need to see him.” Surely then, she would see the truth in Devlin’s face.
Surely her mother had lied about what had happened.
Maeve’s claim, that he had been responsible for her scarring, seemed impossibly untrue.
“I will do what I can,” Killian promised. “But I need time to get close to Rory. He’ll be watching both of us. He may be glad that I am here, but he does not trust me. He’ll be wanting me to prove my loyalty to him.”
Killian touched her scarred cheek and helped her straighten her gown. “I must go now. There are guards posted outside this door. They will tell Rory every time I come to see you.”
Though it pained her, she whispered, “Then you should stay away.”
He brushed a kiss upon her cheek. “I’m not wanting to leave you at all, a mhuírnín.”
Neither did she, but she understood the game they were playing. One wrong move, and lives could be lost.
“Be safe,” she whispered, “and come to me when you can.” She suppressed the desire to tell him of her feelings for him. If anything happened to Killian, she didn’t know if she could bear it.
“I won’t fail you in this,” he swore. He kissed her one last time, and despite his reassurance, she couldn’t help but worry.
And when he left her at last, she felt the walls closing in, her time slipping away.