Chapter Fourteen
The hoarse battle cry that ripped from his throat was born of grief and fury.
Killian gripped his sword, giving himself over to the madness.
Inside, he was hollow, unable to believe what he was seeing.
The woman who had given herself freely, breathing life into his frozen heart, was lying on the ground.
Her black hair shielded her face, and he knew not if her heart was still beating.
A thousand emotions tore through him—fury that she’d been harmed, guilt that he hadn’t saved her in time.
..and heart-stopping fear. She had given herself to him, teaching him what it meant to love.
He had never known what it was to need someone, to feel as if she made up the other half of his tortured soul.
With Taryn, he was a whole man, someone of worth.
And Fate taunted him with the knowledge that he’d been unable to save her.
Sprawled across her was the body of Devlin, covered in arrows. Her father had given himself over to shield her, but Killian could not tell if the man’s sacrifice had held any worth.
He moved Devlin off Taryn and saw that her complexion was snow white.
Blood had soaked the bodice of her gown.
Killian pulled her into his lap and examined the arrow wound.
Thank the gods, the arrow had only pierced her shoulder.
It did not seem life-threatening in any way, and he was able to breathe again.
A low moan sounded from her, and Killian murmured, “It’s all right, a chroí. I have you now. You’re safe.”
Darkness enveloped her, and Taryn smelled the metallic tang of blood mingled with Killian’s scent. Her shoulder burned with a vicious pain, but she thought she heard her father’s voice.
“Taryn, forgive me,” he whispered in a hoarse voice. “For I cannot forgive myself. I never should have set the dogs on you.”
Anguish welled up inside her, for she hadn’t wanted it to be true. She’d wanted to believe that her father was a noble man, incapable of such horror. Instead, he was the man her mother had said he was.
Taryn couldn’t speak, and she struggled to open her eyes.
Killian held her in his embrace while her father lay on the ground beside her.
At least a dozen arrows had pierced him, and she had no doubt that he was going to die.
Every breath was a struggle, and she realized that the blood upon her hands was his.
Dear God.
Her father had thrown himself in front of her, taking the arrows that would have killed her. Grief swelled up within her at the knowledge that, in spite of what he had done to her, he had loved her enough to sacrifice himself.
Her mother, Maeve, stood nearby, her hands covering her mouth. At the sight of her, Taryn saw a woman who had let her hatred and bitterness consume her over the years. Devlin’s thoughtless act had scarred her mother, just as surely as Taryn bore the physical evidence of her father’s rage.
She had every right to turn her back on Devlin, hating him for the way he had caused her disfigurement. But what good would that do? Nothing could change the past.
Weariness slid over her, and she decided that she would not take the path Maeve had chosen. Instead, she looked over at her father and granted absolution. “I forgive you,” she murmured.
He was coughing hard, and his gaze drifted to something behind her. Taryn turned and saw her mother approaching. Maeve walked slowly towards them, her hands gripped together.
“I let my ambitions lead me,” her father whispered. “I wanted a greater position in éireann. But all of that is lost to me now.” Lifting his gaze to Maeve, he added in the faintest voice, “I am sorry. Not only for endangering Ossoria, but for what I did to our daughter.”
Her mother didn’t speak, but closed the distance and knelt beside her husband. While there might not be forgiveness between them, there was peace. “You saved her life today, Devlin. It is enough for me.”
Taryn fought to remain conscious, though a rushing noise filled her ears.
“I do love you, Taryn,” Devlin said, his voice growing fainter. “And you are beautiful to me. Now and always.”
He gave a last shuddering breath, and she saw the moment the life faded from his eyes. She wept for the loss, but in his death, there was redemption. In the end, she chose to remember the man who had tried to atone for his sins—not the one who had made a terrible mistake.
Killian held her close while she grieved, and she took comfort in his embrace. In his arms, she felt safe and beloved. Gently, he lifted her to stand, but she faced her mother. “I know you were only trying to protect me.”
Maeve nodded, her eyes filled with tears. “You are, and always have been, my beloved daughter.”
With her uninjured arm, Taryn reached out to her mother and squeezed her hand.
Then she walked back with Killian, leaning against him.
Her mind was tangled with uncertain emotion, regret and sorrow foremost. But despite what had happened this day, she took strength from Killian.
His expression was rigid, though he remained gentle in guiding her toward his chamber.
“Are you all right?” she asked.
“No.” He stopped a moment, reaching out to the blood-soaked wound. “You were hurt this day, and I blame myself for it.”
Behind his stony expression, she saw overwhelming regret and fear. But she knew her wound was not a mortal one. Instead, she reached up to touch his cheek. His hand covered hers, as if he needed her touch upon him. “I would give my life for yours, Taryn.”
“I am glad you did not have to,” she whispered, rising up to kiss him. He took her mouth hard, like a man who needed to convince himself that she was alive. “Take me home,” she pleaded.
“Where?” he prompted, resting his forehead against hers.
She managed a weak smile. “Home is wherever you are.”
Hours later, Killian stood before the Ard-Righ, awaiting an audience with his father.
Taryn was resting, after the healer had helped remove the arrow and had tended her wound.
Despite knowing that she would fully recover, he had hated seeing her suffer.
Right now, all he wanted to do was take her back to Ossoria to heal.
Instead, he had to face the High King’s displeasure.
“You disobeyed my orders,” Rory said in a stony voice. He reached for a goblet of wine while a servant tended a minor wound upon his arm. “You were commanded to kill Devlin Connelly.”
“I disobeyed because there was a greater threat,” Killian shot back. “You would be dead, had I not lifted my blade.” He took a step forward and crossed his arms. “I should think that would prove my loyalty.”
His words lingered between them like a gauntlet. Rory stared at him for a moment, before a faint smile broke through. “Indeed. And for that reason, I will forgive your transgression. The traitor is dead now. But we have not discussed what to do about his daughter.”
“Lady Taryn had nothing to do with Devlin’s actions,” Killian reassured his father. “Already she has sworn her loyalty to you.”
Rory’s gaze narrowed. “She has said so, but I cannot let her return to Ossoria without one of my own men in command there.”
“I will govern Ossoria on your behalf,” Killian said quietly. Though he suspected his father had been speaking of another ally, he had the man’s attention now.
“Why should you be given a kingdom?” Rory demanded.
“Because my mother stole my birthright before I was born,” he answered. “I was given the life of a slave, instead of the life I was meant to have.”
“And you think I will simply hand over a kingdom to a son I hardly know?” The older man looked indignant. “Especially after you were involved in my bride’s disappearance?”
At that, Killian stiffened. He sensed that these questions were yet another test, a means of proving his worth. And yet, he no longer cared.
He met his father’s gaze and said, “I think we both know that Carice was not a suitable bride for you. Not only was she young enough to be your daughter, but she was too sick to be the Queen of éireann. When I last saw her, she was dying.” It was not entirely the truth, for his sister had seemed slightly better among the MacEgans. But he would not reveal this to Rory.
His father’s mouth tightened and he gave a single nod. “So be it. Brodie Faoilin is still searching for her. If she is alive, we will find her.” He paused a moment. “Is it your wish to return to Carrickmeath? Or would you rather take your rightful place here?”
My place is with Taryn, he wanted to say. Instead, he answered, “I have no ties to Carrickmeath. But I have claimed the Lady Taryn as my own. I intend to wed her, and I will see to it that Ossoria prospers.”
Rory would have none of it. “The Queen and her daughter will remain here as my hostages. I want neither of them to have any claim upon the kingdom.” He refilled his goblet of wine and continued, “Lady Taryn is unworthy of the High King’s son.
And although I am not opposed to you governing Ossoria on my behalf, I would prefer that you choose a bride whose allegiance is unquestioned. ”
“I do not question her loyalty at all,” Killian said. “And the people will want their lady to remain.”
“If you wish to claim her for your own fuidir, I have no objection,” the High King said. “But the daughter of a traitor will never be a queen.”
Killian stood his ground. “Queen or not, she will be my wife.”
“And if I demand that you leave Tara and deny you as my legitimate son?” The High King rose from the table, the anger glittering in his eyes.
“I would give up everything for her,” Killian answered, with no hesitation.
The moment he spoke the words, he knew they were true.
For this stubborn woman had laid siege to his heart until he could not imagine living without her.
He approached his father and asked quietly, “Was there no woman you ever loved enough that you would do anything to possess her?”