Chapter Thirteen
His sword bit through flesh and bone, and Killian slashed down the assassin who had come up behind the High King. The blade fell from the soldier’s hand, the man staring back at Rory with sightless eyes.
He had moved on instinct, seeing the flash of the sword behind his father. He’d suspected that the Normans were here among them, waiting for the right moment to attack. And just as he’d predicted, other men charged forward, their weapons drawn.
“Stay down!” he commanded Taryn, moving in front of her. He gave the sword back to Rory and seized another from one of the guards. The fighting broke loose all around them, and Rory ó Connor struck down another assailant.
Devlin lay upon the ground, still breathing, but motionless so as not to attract attention.
Killian didn’t know where all the men had come from, but it was clear that their intent was to overthrow the Ard-Righ.
They must have hidden themselves among the fuidir for months now, to escape anyone’s notice.
His mind blurred with the haze of battle, and he swung his sword hard, the blade clanging against metal.
More soldiers arrived on horseback, and it was difficult to tell which men were enemies or allies.
Though outwardly, it might appear that he was defending the High King, the truth was, he was fighting for Taryn. He would let no man threaten her.
Though he knew he should force Taryn to go into hiding, he suspected there could be more men lying in wait. But if he kept her with him, the danger would be even greater. He had to get her away from the fighting and fast. If he helped her escape to her mother’s camp, that would be the safest place.
Luck was on his side, for he saw Maeve and her men across the terrain. The Queen was riding toward them, surrounded by her own guards.
He guided Taryn to stand by the stone chair. “You need to reach your mother and her men. She will get you to safety. I will protect you along the way, but we have to go now.”
Her eyes welled up with unshed tears. “Were you going to kill my father?”
He gripped her hand and met her gaze. “I would never do anything to hurt you, a mhuírnín.”
She gave a slight nod, squeezing his hand in return.
Though her fear had not diminished, it did seem that she believed him.
“Promise me you’ll be careful,” she murmured.
Her long black hair was windblown, her blue eyes sharp with worry.
Both of them knew that his chances of survival were slim, for he was well outnumbered.
“I have a reason to live,” he insisted. “And someone to fight for.”
She nodded and said, “I love you, Killian.”
The words were an invisible embrace, encircling his spirit. He kissed her roughly, and then Maeve drew her horse to a stop nearby. The fighting had shifted in another direction, and Killian saw an opening to bring Taryn to the Queen.
“Keep close to me,” he commanded, guiding her toward the outskirts. She gripped his hand, and her fingers were icy cold from fear.
But the moment they were nearly there, four men charged forward, their weapons drawn.
“Killian!” Taryn called out in warning, and he released her hand, unsheathing his dagger.
“You have to go. Now!” he ordered, and she obeyed without question. He lost sight of her, forced to concentrate on the men surrounding him. Let her reach Maeve safely, he prayed silently.
His heartbeat thundered in his ears, his body responding from years of training.
Time slowed down to a fragile breath of air, and he no longer heard the sounds of battle.
He had become frozen, his soul lost, as his blade twisted within men’s flesh.
He moved like a shadow, his sword weaving a path through the enemy.
Some of the MacEgan soldiers came to his aid, and with their help, Killian defeated the Normans. His muscles ached, but he forged on, searching for a glimpse of Taryn. He needed to see that she was safe, but there was no sign of her among the people.
Perhaps that meant she was with the Queen, out of harm’s way. And yet, he could not let go of the suspicion that something had happened to her. The thought was a dark torment, eating away at his patience.
You were never meant to be with her, his conscience taunted.
He didn’t want to believe that. For whatever had begun between them had evolved into emotions he’d never before encountered. Taryn had treated him as her equal from the moment they had met. And in his eyes, there was no woman more beautiful.
He fought alongside the MacEgan soldiers and Rory’s men, hacking a path toward the edge of the soldiers. Somehow, in the midst of the fighting, he saw that Devlin Connelly was gone.
So be it. There was naught he could do, and what mattered now was surviving and protecting Taryn.
He slashed his way through the men, fighting alongside the others, until he reached the outer perimeter. And the sight of the woman before him nearly stopped his breath.
Queen Maeve lay unconscious upon the ground, her red hair tangled over her face. And there was no sign of Taryn.
Killian hurried forward, his pulse racing. When he reached her side, he shook her gently. Maeve moaned, and when her eyes opened, he demanded, “Where is your daughter?”
The woman was pale, blinking with confusion. “I don’t know. I fell from my horse, and I have not seen her.”
He helped her rise to her feet and brought her to one of her men, directing him to bring her to safety. In the meantime, he searched the grounds for a sign of Taryn. The Norman army had begun a retreat, and dozens of bodies littered the grass.
An uneasy feeling wrenched within his gut, mingling with guilt. He never should have sent her off alone. Killian hurried through the crowds of soldiers, forcing a path through the fighting. The sound of a woman’s scream cut through the violence, and he saw Taryn standing with a blade in her hand.
Two men were closing in on her, and one held a spear in his hand. The other was trying to come up behind Taryn, and he seized her hair, jerking it backwards.
Killian lifted his own sword, prepared to strike down the man, when suddenly he spied Devlin. The man was watching his daughter, but he did nothing to help her. Damn him for it.
With his sword raised, Killian hurried forward, intending to disarm her attacker.
But instead, Taryn lunged with her blade.
The knife slashed against the man’s throat, but it wasn’t enough to bring him down.
Instead, he seized her wrist and squeezed hard enough for her to cry out in pain.
The knife fell from her grip, leaving her defenseless.
“Let her go,” Killian said, raising his sword toward the man with the spear.
“Put down your weapon,” the assailant answered. “Or I will kill her.”
Killian met Taryn’s gaze, but did not lower the sword. “You are outnumbered by our men.”
“And I have something you want.” He gripped Taryn’s hair roughly, forcing her to her knees. “Give yourself over as my hostage, and I might let her go.”
Killian didn’t move at first. It was entirely possible that the soldier would kill Taryn the moment he dropped his weapons. He shifted his gaze toward Devlin and asked, “Are you planning to abandon your daughter, after all she did for you? Or will you fight and help me save her?”
Taryn was struggling against the man’s grip, but to no avail. And although Killian knew he could win this battle, the risk was grave. He had to move swiftly and shield her from harm.
And still, Devlin refused to defend his daughter. Likely the man had intended to escape in the midst of the battle, while the Normans tried to overthrow the Ard-Righ. Instead, the High King’s men had driven them back.
Killian heard the shouts of the King’s men, and a split second later, an arrow struck the ground beside him. Son of Lugh, but he hadn’t seen the archers. He froze and glanced behind him. Half a dozen of the High King’s men had their bows drawn, aimed at the Norman soldiers surrounding Taryn.
If they loosed an arrow, they might strike her instead. But from the grim look upon the soldiers’ faces, he realized that it didn’t matter to them. They saw Taryn as a traitor and a threat.
“Don’t shoot!” Killian ordered.
But it was too late. He ran to Taryn, intending to shield her from the arrows with his own body...but Devlin reached her first. Time stilled when Killian saw the first arrow pierce her skin. Blood flowed from the wound, and she slumped forward to the ground.