‘Don’t start a fight,’ Seorse warned. ‘Take shelter in the tower if you must, but don’t cause more trouble. I’ll bring you food later.’
Killian gave a thin smile. ‘Do you think I care about causing trouble?’ He enjoyed fighting, and he’d earned his place among the men as one of the best warriors. Beneath his fur-lined tunic, he wore chain-mail armour that he’d taken from a dead Norse invader during a raid. He had no sword of his own, but he knew how to use his fists and had broken a few bones over the years. Every time he won a match or bested a clansman, it was a thorn in Brian’s side.
Seorse dropped his voice low. ‘Why are you here, Killian?’
‘Carice sent for me.’
His friend shook his head. ‘She’s worse today. I don’t think she can leave her chamber. She was sick most of the night, and she can hardly eat anything.’
A tightness filled up Killian’s chest. It bothered him to see her starving to death before his eyes, unable to tolerate any food at all. The healer had ordered Carice to eat only bread and the plainest of foods, to keep her stomach calm. But nothing seemed to work. ‘Take me to her.’
‘I cannot, and you know this. Brian ordered me to escort you outside.’
He wasn’t about to leave—not yet. But as he moved towards the entrance, he glanced behind him and saw a hint of motion near the stairs. Brian’s attention was elsewhere, so Killian hastened up the spiral steps. Seorse sent him a warning look, but his silent message was clear. He would not let Brian know that Killian was still here.
Carice was struggling to walk down the stairs. Her skin was the colour of snow, and she held on to her maid’s shoulder, touching the opposite wall for support. Instantly, Killian went to the stairs and offered his arm. ‘Do you need help, my lady?’
‘Call me that again, and I shall bloody your nose, Killian.’ Her dark brown hair was bound back from her face, and her blue eyes held warmth. She was far too thin, and he could see the bones in her wrists. But her spirit was as fiery as ever.
‘You should not have left your room, Carice.’ He moved up the spiral stairs, and she gestured for her maid to go.
‘I’ll sit here a moment and talk with you,’ she said. ‘Then you can carry me back to bed afterwards.’
‘You’re too ill,’ he argued. ‘You need to go back now.’
She shook her head and raised a hand. ‘Let me speak. This is important.’
He climbed a few more of the stairs to reach her side. Carice sat down, steadying herself. ‘Father shouldn’t treat you this way. You are my brother, and always have been, even if we do not share the same parents.’ She reached out her hand and squeezed his palm. In so many ways, she reminded him of his mother. Gentle and strong-willed, she’d made it her task to take care of him. ‘You deserve a better life than this, Killian. It was wrong of me to ask you to stay.’
He didn’t deny it, but he knew that once he left, he would never return to Carrickmeath. ‘One day I’ll go. Perhaps when you are married and are no longer fighting my battles for me.’
She drew back, her face serious. ‘I’m not going to marry anyone, Killian. This winter is my last. I may not live until the summer.’
Uneasiness passed over him, for her proclamation wasn’t a jest. Each season grew harder on her, and it was only a matter of time before she lost her fragile grasp on life. Though her body was weak, her inner strength rivalled a warrior queen’s.
‘Father doesn’t believe me. He thinks I’m going to get well and wed the High King, becoming Queen of Éireann. But he is wrong. And so I have taken matters into my own hands.’
‘What do you mean?’ She wasn’t planning to take her own life, was she?
‘I will not marry Rory Ó Connor,’ she said. ‘I have made arrangements to leave this place.’ Her face softened, and she admitted, ‘Father has been delaying my journey to Tara for my marriage. He’s told the High King of my illness, but soon enough, the King’s men will come for me. And I will not have my last moments be shadowed by marriage to such a man.’ She reached out and smoothed his hair. ‘I know Rory is your father, but I am glad you are nothing like him.’
‘I will never be like him.’ The stories of the High King’s ruthless actions were well known. Rory had plundered and burned the lands of Strabane and Derry, even ordering his own brother to be blinded, in order to seize possession of the throne. It was one of many reasons why no one dared to stand against him.
‘In one way, you will.’ Carice’s hand rested upon his cheek. ‘You have the blood of the High King within your veins. You are destined to rule over your own lands.’
While he wanted to believe that, he didn’t know if he would ever overcome his low birth. Men respected his fighting skills and his strategies, but he needed far more than that to win a place for himself.
‘I am a bastard,’ he pointed out, ‘and the Ard-Righ will never acknowledge me as his son.’ It was well known that the High King had sired dozens of bastard children, and he had little interest in them. Brian had travelled to visit Rory, hoping to receive compensation for Killian’s fostering, but the King had been away, and his retainers had refused to grant anything. During those years, Rory had been King of Connacht, before he became High King of Éireann.
‘That could change,’ she argued. ‘And I know you will fight for the life you want. Just as I will fight for the death I want.’
The words were chilling, for Carice was the one good part of his life. Her quiet spirit and kindness had helped him to push back his hatred of Brian. Without her, there was no one to fight for.
‘Carice, don’t,’ he said, not wanting to speak of it. ‘You cannot give up.’
She ignored him and continued. ‘I have asked the MacEgan tribe for help. Someone will come and take me to our holdings in the west. I ask that you help me to leave. Do not let Father’s men stop me.’ Though her face remained strong, he caught the rise of tears in her eyes. ‘If I stay, I will have to marry the High King. And I do not wish to endure that wedding night.’
She took a slow breath, her hands trembling. ‘Help me escape, Killian. You’re strong enough to fight this battle.’
He bowed his head, knowing that it was peace she wanted. And so he gave a vow he knew he could keep. ‘I swear, on my life, that I will never let you wed King Rory.’
Her shoulders lowered with relief, and she touched his hair, resting her forehead against his. ‘Thank you. I cannot say when I will leave, but one day soon, I will be gone. I know Father’s men will search for me, but keep them searching to the north instead. Tell them I went to visit friends, if you wish. The MacEgans will protect me with other false stories, if needed.’
‘So be it.’
She leaned against the wall, and he suspected she had not the strength to return to her bed. ‘You are the brother of my heart, Killian, no matter what my father says. I pray that one day you realise how worthy you are.’
He reached out to lift her into his arms. ‘I’m taking you back to your chamber. Rest, and trust that I will keep you safe.’
* * *
Taryn Connelly had never rescued a captive before.
She knew nothing at all about how to infiltrate the High King’s fortress at Tara and steal a prisoner away, but her father’s time was running out. If she didn’t organise soldiers to save him, his life would be forfeit. But finding warriors was proving to be a problem.
Her father, King Devlin, had been a good man and a strong ruler. But the last group of men who had gone to rescue her father had all been returned