Chapter Thirteen #3
They reached the Norman camp, and he stopped Darren, needing those answers. “Where are Nicole and Elise now?”
Impatience crossed over the knight’s face. “They are not my concern. Your orders are to end Rory ó Connor’s reign. If you succeed in this, you may gain King Henry’s favor, and ask him yourself.”
“Are they even alive?” he prompted.
Darren moved forward swiftly, unsheathing his dagger. “You have your orders, and you must obey them if you want to live.” The man’s voice grew agitated, filled with distrust.
“The High King’s men may kill me during the attempt,” he pointed out.
“Have you changed your mind?” Sir Darren demanded. “Tell me now if you intend to disobey orders, and I promise you, your sisters will pay the price for your cowardice. I can easily find someone else to complete the task. Rory ó Connor will not live beyond another night.”
Raine gave no reaction, and no longer did he care. It was becoming more and more clear that he was meant to be nothing more than a killer. The Normans would do naught to protect him, and even if he succeeded, the king might punish him as an example.
He believed that with all his being. Instead of killing Rory ó Connor, his time was better spent in trying to help Carice escape. He should have listened to her when she’d pleaded with him to take her west. But it wasn’t too late—at least, not yet.
All he had to do was keep her from the wedding.
They rode through the gates of Tara the next morning.
Her father led the way, and Carice followed behind him.
She wore an emerald gown heavily embroidered with gold thread, and her father had given her golden rings and a ruby-studded torque for her throat.
The tangible signs of wealth proclaimed her status, but the heavy jewelry only felt like chains to bind her to an unwanted marriage.
She could not run any longer. Instead, she planned to speak privately with the High King and seek an end to the betrothal. Perhaps he would listen, if she could make him see reason.
Raine had disguised himself as one of her father’s men, and the Norman commander had done the same.
Though she kept her posture straight, inwardly, she was terrified.
She knew his true purpose here, and it bothered her deeply that he intended to go through with this.
When she glanced behind at him, his face was masked like stone.
Inside the grounds of Tara, she searched for a glimpse of her brother Killian or Lady Taryn. Surely if they were here, they would come to greet her, but there was no sign of either of them. A grain of worry took hold inside her, and she hoped that they were all right.
The Rath-na-Rígh was a large fortification with two walls surrounding the structure and a deep ditch running between them.
Several outbuildings were set up within the space, with hearth fires and armed soldiers everywhere.
Carice didn’t understand what had happened, but the tension within the Ard-Righ’s fortress was palpable.
The men were pacing, some with their hands resting upon the hilts of their weapons, while others stared at her with open suspicion.
“Why are they staring at us?” she murmured to her father.
“I don’t know. But I suspect there was an attack. Perhaps it involved Lady Taryn’s father.”
She hoped not. But the absence of Killian and Lady Taryn only heightened her anxiety.
Carice continued riding through the grounds until they reached the banqueting hall.
Raine helped her dismount from her horse, his touch gentle upon her waist. He squeezed her hands slightly, as if to reassure her, but she could not stop her fears.
He kept back a slight distance and gave her horse over to one of the other men while he walked behind her.
He was to act as her personal guard, it seemed.
Brodie led her inside while Raine continued to shadow her.
She felt his presence, and with every step, Carice worried for his sake.
She wanted to beg Raine to abandon this task and leave Tara.
But he wouldn’t. He had sworn to do anything to free his sisters, and that meant obeying his orders.
And God help her, she didn’t want him to die.
The Ard-Righ was waiting for them at the far end of the banqueting hall.
The High King was nearly the same age as her father, with dark hair tinted gray, a beard edging his jawline, and silver eyes that were the same as Killian’s.
Rory ó Connor didn’t rise from his place, nor did he seem interested in her at all.
Instead, he appeared annoyed with her father. “I see you found my lost bride.”
The High King’s gaze flickered over Carice for a moment, but there was no welcome in his eyes—only a cold resentment. She resisted the urge to take a step backward.
“I am glad to present you with my daughter, Carice Faoilin,” Brodie said, holding her hand and nudging her forward. “She has been ill as of late, but now she is prepared to become your bride as we agreed.”
Carice wanted to argue, but knew that a public disagreement would not serve her purpose. It was better not to draw any attention yet.
The king’s expression didn’t shift at all. “That is not what Killian told me.” He turned back to Brodie. “He claimed that Carice wanted no part of this marriage.”
She felt a sudden thread of hope. So her brother had intervened on her behalf.
Her father blanched. “That isn’t true at all. She was simply unable to travel. Why you would believe his lies is simply—”
“You dare to call my son a liar?” The High King moved forward, his gaze sharpened upon Brodie. “I understand that you treated Killian like a slave, all these years.”
Carice resisted the urge to smile. For the first time, she found herself approving of the High King. At least he honored her brother in the manner he deserved.
Her father’s face turned crimson, and blurted out, “Killian was one of your bastard sons, yes, but I never mistreated him.”
Carice crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow at her father. Now those were the true lies. He’d forced her brother to sleep in the stables among the dogs.
“Killian is not a bastard,” Rory corrected. “He is my legitimate son.”
Her smile widened, and she beamed at the Ard-Righ, even as she delighted in her father’s discomfort. Brodie deserved it for his mistreatment of Killian. But even more wonderful was recognizing that her brother now had the High King’s support. “Where is Killian now?”
Rory ó Connor sent her a sharp look. “You ought to keep a respectful silence, Lady Carice, about a conversation that does not concern you.”
His response irritated her, for he was treating her like a recalcitrant child.
Even so, she bit back her annoyance, since she needed his cooperation in ending the betrothal.
Carice murmured, “Forgive me, Your Grace.” She lowered her head in deference and added, “I was merely concerned for Killian, since we were friends as children. I thought of him as my brother.”
The Ard-Righ sent her an annoyed look. “Killian has returned to Ossoria with the Lady Taryn, to bury her father.”
Carice touched her fingertips to her lips. Taryn had hoped to save her father’s life, and she didn’t dare ask what had happened. But clearly something had gone very wrong.
“Killian will return to Tara within a few days,” the High King finished. “You may see him then.”
If I am still here, she thought. But Carice inclined her head in a nod of acknowledgment. “Thank you, Your Grace.”
The Ard-Righ signaled for one of his servants to come forward. “Take my bride back to our chambers. I will speak to her there later.”
“And what of the wedding, Your Grace?” Brodie asked. “Should I send Carice’s ladies to help prepare her?”
“I have not yet decided whether she will become my queen. That is for me to determine, after I speak with her. But you may send her belongings.”
Carice breathed a little easier, for it did not seem that Rory was eager to wed her either. It might be her saving grace, a means of avoiding this union.
She picked up the hem of her gown, walking toward the waiting servant. And when she took one last look at Raine, his expression was unreadable. For all she knew, he might be ready to bury his sword in the Ard-Righ’s heart.
Don’t do this, she pleaded in silence. But he would not meet her gaze.
When the servant led her inside the king’s private chambers, Carice sat down and stared at the wall. God help her, she didn’t know what to do now. The Ard-Righ would decide whether or not to move forward with the marriage. She prayed he would change his mind.
If not, she could make herself physically ill, but it would only delay the inevitable.
Publicly refusing the High King was unthinkable—he would never tolerate such defiance.
She knew the stories of Rory’s cruelty. He had ordered his own brother blinded in order to seize the throne of Connacht—and she couldn’t imagine what he would do to her if she denied him.
Her hands were shaking, and she heard the sound of movement behind her. Undoubtedly it was her ladies and a few servants who were bringing her belongings. But then she noticed the heavier sound of a man’s footsteps. When she turned around, she saw the Norman commander, Sir Darren.
Though he was not wearing the chainmail and conical helm she was accustomed to seeing, he still moved like a soldier instead of a servant. He set down the tray he’d been holding, that contained wine and two silver goblets. The hardened glint in his eyes warned her to be careful of what she said.
“You think to dissuade Raine from his duty, but it will not happen.” He crossed his arms and regarded her. “You might have been a diversion for him, but he cannot forget where his loyalties lie.”
“If that were true, you would not waste time speaking with me,” Carice countered. “And I hope that he is reconsidering this task. It isn’t right.”