The Warrior's Touch (19 page)

‘Wait for me,’ he urged. ‘Remain with my brothers.’

She drew back, drinking in the sight of him. On the morrow, the fight would begin. And she might lose him.

The icy fist of fear strangled her. Never could she remain behind, not while his life hung in the balance. But she feigned acceptance, his mouth kissing hers one last time.

After he said farewell to his brothers, Aileen watched as he and Trahern began their solitary walk toward the fortress. She turned to Patrick. ‘I can’t remain here. I can’t stay idle while he faces his enemy.’

Patrick stilled her with a hand. ‘All of us will be there for him. We MacEgans stand by one another in times of need.’

‘How?’

‘There are ways. Leave it to me.’ His expression softened to gentleness. ‘He loves you.’

She shook her head. ‘If he did, he’d abandon this fight.’

‘Connor may be many things, but he is not a coward.’

‘Were you telling the truth when you said he could win?’

Patrick’s eyes turned heavy, and she saw the doubt within them. ‘A man can create miracles, when he has something to fight for,’ he hedged.

Or someone
, Aileen thought. Inspiration struck, and she turned to Bevan. ‘I’ve a favour to ask of you. Can you help me?’

When he listened to her proposition, Bevan frowned. ‘I do not know if this is a wise idea.’

‘Trust me,’ Aileen insisted.

Bevan sent a silent look toward Patrick, who nodded. ‘Do it.’

Within moments, Bevan had mounted his horse, riding swiftly back to Laochre. When he had gone, Aileen asked, ‘Is there aught else we can do for Connor?’

Patrick squeezed her shoulder. ‘Pray.’

Flynn Ó Banníon handed Connor a goblet of mead. Connor accepted it, his eyes locked upon the man he intended to kill.

‘Circumstances have changed since you last joined us for a meal,’ Flynn began. A trace of irony lined his eyes. ‘I look forward to the fight tomorrow.’

‘As do I.’

The food tasted dry in his mouth, the familiar surroundings taunting him. Once, he had called this Great Chamber home. The soldiers had been like brothers to him. Since his arrival, none save Niall had greeted him. Their silence damned them, for they had given their loyalty to Ó Banníon.

He had shed blood alongside them, fighting against the Norman armies, but it meant nothing. The word of their overlord meant more than his.

‘You were like a son to me,’ Flynn mused idly. ‘The best fighter of all. And I wanted to kill you that day.’

‘You believed her lies.’

Flynn’s face darkened. ‘My daughter has never lied. You were not there the morning when she came to me, weeping. You stole her virtue, and nothing can replace that. No man will have a woman who has lost her purity.’

Connor doubted if Deirdre was a virgin. The scheming
cailín
wanted one thing only—himself as a husband. But he’d refused.

‘I was glad that you asked for this fight.’ Flynn’s eyes glittered with hatred. ‘A simple fine is not enough to repay me for her loss. Your life will meet the price.’

‘Or yours,’ Connor said.

At the far end of the Great Chamber, a woman approached. Dressed in an emerald overdress and a saffron
léine
, Deirdre Ó Banníon walked gracefully toward their table, past the rows of soldiers and shields. With golden hair and green eyes to match her gown, she appeared like an exquisite being, one of the
sibh
. And a more treacherous woman he’d never met.

‘Father.’ She greeted him with a kiss upon the cheek. Her face flushed at the sight of Connor. ‘So you intend to fight one another still?’

She sat beside Flynn, her eyes wide with mock-innocence. Connor looked away. He could hardly stand to look at her.

‘On the morrow,’ Flynn replied. ‘At dusk.’

Deirdre’s hand moved to her heart. She clutched at Flynn’s palm, begging, ‘Father, do not do this. The matter is finished.’

‘It is far from finished,’ Connor said. He rose to his feet, ignoring the breach of manners. ‘Until tomorrow.’

He turned his back on the chieftain and moved past the line of soldiers.

‘Wait!’ Deirdre’s voice called. Connor stilled, but did not face her. ‘We have a chamber prepared for you. A servant will take you there.’

A manservant inclined his head, and Connor followed. Courtesy dictated that he thank them for their hospitality, but he could not bring himself to do it. Instead, the servant led him above stairs to a small chamber.

He declined the offer of a bath, and sank into a chair across from the fire. When he’d seen Deirdre, all the rage had returned without warning. Were she a man, he’d have killed her for her lies.

Instead, her father would die. He tried to gain comfort from it, but revenge would not fill the emptiness gathering inside him. He thought of Aileen, of loving her beside the stream last eve. Of her unwillingness to leave him.

Belenus, he’d fallen in love with her. He wanted to wake beside her, to grant her more children. He wanted to watch Rhiannon grow into womanhood and choose a strong husband for her.

His heart grew hollow. Everything rested on this fight.

‘T
ell Flynn Ó Banníon that King Patrick of Laochre has come to bear witness to today’s battle,’ Patrick said to the guards at the fortress gate. ‘We are the brothers of Connor MacEgan. Do not deny us entrance.’

The guards did not look surprised to see them.

‘My orders are to bring you to the Great Chamber,’ one said, lowering his battle axe. ‘Our chieftain is expecting you.’

He bade them enter, and Aileen stood behind the brothers, her eyes studying the bailey. It was not as clean as Laochre. Odours permeated the courtyard, the scent of rotting decay mingling with unwashed bodies. She sensed illness, and her gaze snapped towards a man coughing.

They entered the Great Chamber, where trestle tables had been pushed back to reveal a fighting circle. Benches lined the area, and servants removed the rushes from the earthen floor. It was hours yet before twilight. Aileen’s stomach twisted with foreboding.

Flynn Ó Banníon strode in from a corridor, his expression masked. ‘King Patrick.’ He lightly raised a knee in deference to his rank. ‘I am honoured that you grace us with your presence.’

Patrick stared at Flynn Ó Banníon, his gaze threatening. ‘I am here to ensure that this is a fair fight.’

‘The fight was your brother’s doing.’

‘So it was,’ Patrick acknowledged, ‘and we will not interfere.’

Flynn’s gaze turned toward Aileen. ‘And why has the healer of Banslieve come? A dead man has no need of one to tend his wounds.’

‘Why must there be death?’ Aileen asked. Though her voice remained soft, she let the chieftain see her discontent. ‘Blood will satisfy honour.’

Flynn Ó Banníon laughed. ‘Spoken like a woman.’ With an eye toward the MacEgans, he added, ‘Connor will not stop until one of us is dead. And I do not intend for it to be me.’

Aileen caught sight of a woman staring at her. Dressed in a silken overdress of sapphire, the golden-haired maiden shot her a look of malevolence. It was the woman she’d seen kissing Connor at the
aenach
. Deirdre Ó Banníon, she guessed.

As Deirdre glided toward Aileen, men watched her with longing. Aileen shook her head in disgust. Could they not see the woman for what she truly was? Or did they see her as the chieftain’s daughter, a woman who might advance their own stature?

When Deirdre reached them, she offered a sugary smile to her father. ‘Father, I did not know we had more visitors.’

‘The MacEgans have come to witness the fight this eve.’

Deirdre extended her hands to Patrick. ‘I welcome you to our home.’ Signalling a servant, she added, ‘Would you care for a cup of mead or some refreshments?’

Patrick glanced at his brothers, as if making a silent decision. Then, ‘We accept your offer of hospitality.’

The brilliant smile across Deirdre’s face was genuine. ‘Please sit down and I will see to it.’ Then she turned to Aileen. ‘My ladies are above stairs. If you would like to rest and join us after the meal, you may.’

Aileen’s suspicions rose. Still, she might learn more from Deirdre than from remaining with the men. ‘Thank you.’

Servants brought a light repast of roasted mutton, bread, cheese and salmon. Ewan stuffed himself, attacking the food as though he had not eaten in a fortnight.

‘Slow down, lad,’ Trahern advised. ‘The food won’t be running away from you.’

‘I remember when I could eat as he does,’ Patrick remarked. ‘Let him be, Trahern. He needs more muscle if he’s to be one of our warriors.’ Ewan’s ears turned pink at the praise, and Aileen could see the young man’s pride at the words.

Although she could not fault the food or drink, Aileen only picked at the bread. Her insides clenched with fear, and it hurt knowing that she could not see Connor. Even so, he had asked her not to come. Her presence was a distraction and not a welcome one.

‘Come,’ Deirdre bade her, beckoning toward a narrow staircase.

Aileen tried to behave as though nothing were amiss, but it was difficult to forget she was among the enemy. Were it not for Deirdre, none of this would have happened. Her anger rose higher, indignant that a woman’s lies could bring forth a man’s death.

When they reached the chamber, Deirdre dismissed her ladies. Aileen crossed her arms, unsure of Deirdre’s purpose.

‘Please, sit down. I have seen you before, but we’ve not met.’

‘I am Aileen Ó Duinne, once the healer of our tribe.’

‘And I am Deirdre Ó Banníon, daughter of Flynn Ó Banníon.’ Though the words were a mere greeting, Aileen felt as though each had drawn a verbal sword.

She chose a chair carefully, all instincts alerted. What did Deirdre want from her?

She folded her hands and sat across from Aileen. Her pale face revealed a great deal of pain, all pretense of hospitality gone.

‘I don’t want him to die,’ she said gently. ‘That was not what I intended at all.’

‘Your lies caused him to suffer.’ Aileen refused to offer any mercy or pity. ‘If you confess the truth, we could both stop this battle.’

‘Neither of us can, and you know it. Both of them are too proud.’

‘If there is naught either of us can do, why did you wish to speak to me?’

Deirdre smoothed her skirts, her gaze stopping upon Aileen’s travel-stained gown. Aileen grew conscious of her own worn appearance. She should have brought another
léine
, but at the time her only thoughts were of Connor.

‘You are his woman, aren’t you?’

‘I am.’

At the admission, Deirdre’s eyes hardened. ‘I can see that you are in love with him. What I wish to know is, if you could save his life by giving him up, would you do it?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘My father listens to me. I can bargain with him on Connor’s behalf.’

‘You said that neither of us could stop the fight.’

‘And that is true. But when Connor loses, I can beg for his life. My father will grant that to me.’

‘You seem overly confident that Flynn Ó Banníon will win.’ Aileen bristled. She leaned forward. ‘What is it you want from Connor?’

‘I want him to be my husband. If he weds me, he may one day take my father’s place as the chieftain.’

Her stomach sank, for this was what Connor had dreamed of. A fortress of his own, people of his own. Given the chance to possess it, would he not seize the opportunity?

But then, she knew he hated Deirdre. Aileen shook her head. ‘It will never happen. If your father defeats him, the men will not respect him.’

Deirdre shrugged. ‘They will see it as though his wounds have not healed. He fought among them, and they know his prowess in battle.’ A smile laced with desire passed over Deirdre’s face. ‘He will make a good leader.’

‘He would. But not of your tribe.’

Deirdre shrugged. ‘I will ask my father, and we shall see if Connor chooses to wed me.’ With her head held high, Deirdre swept from the room.

Aileen sat down in a chair, her spirits sinking. Right now, she wished she had her daughter to hold, to feel the slender arms around her waist. She missed Rhiannon and regretted that she hadn’t told her about Connor sooner. Tonight her father might die, before she’d ever known him.

After the servant had left, she buried her face in her hands. Deidre’s suggestion burned within her mind. Could she give Connor up if it meant saving his life?

No. Deirdre had planted these seeds of doubt, hoping to win Connor for herself. But never would she hold Connor’s heart. Aileen took a deep breath and folded her hands. She didn’t know if Connor loved her, but she was confident that he would not want Deirdre as his bride.

The only way to stop the fight and save Connor was to force Deirdre to admit the truth.

‘You weren’t supposed to come,’ Connor warned his brothers.

‘And when would we start listening to your bidding?’ Patrick retorted. His expression changed to one of brotherly support. ‘We would not abandon you during the time when you need us most.’

‘This is my battle to fight.’

‘So it is. But Ó Banníon is not a man who fights fairly. We will be there to ensure it goes well.’

‘And if he kills me?’ He did not mince words, knowing that death was a real possibility.

‘That, we will not allow. If you wish to keep your honour, brother, you must win. Else we will interfere.’

‘Don’t. This is why I did not want you here.’ A sudden unease gripped him. ‘Where is Aileen?’

‘She is with Deirdre, among the women.’

His rage exploded. ‘Have you lost your wits? The woman is not to be trusted. And you let Aileen go with her?’

‘I should be more worried about Deirdre, were I you,’ Patrick said. ‘Aileen can hold her own.’ His eyes saw through him. ‘You have feelings for her.’

Connor gave the barest nod of acknowledgment. Little good it did him. He could offer Aileen nothing, not even the strength of his family name. He didn’t deserve happiness with her, not unless he succeeded in defeating his enemy.

‘What will you do?’ Trahern asked.

‘I have to win this fight.’ Connor suppressed his own doubts of the outcome. ‘She deserves a man who can keep her safe. If I prove myself today, I’ll be worthy of her.’ The smallest part of him believed that there was a chance of it. He knew Flynn, knew the way the warrior moved and fought. In his visions, he pictured the man falling beneath his sword.

‘It is time to arm yourself,’ Trahern reminded him. Connor extended his hands and his brothers helped him don a leather corselet. The light armour would protect him from minor slashes, but not fatal wounds. Around his shins he bound leather greaves to protect his lower legs.

Trahern handed him the round wooden shield, and Patrick unsheathed a sword. Connor recognised it as his own weapon, the sword stolen from him by the Ó Banníon.

‘Where did you get this?’

‘I ordered Flynn to return it to you. A man should have his own sword in a battle such as this.’ Patrick plucked a hair from his head and the blade severed it. ‘Is it sharp enough for you?’

Connor’s mouth moved as if to smile, but a deeper emotion caught him. He would shed his life’s blood for these men, his brothers. Sheathing the sword, he gripped his eldest brother’s arms. ‘My thanks.’

Patrick embraced him, thumping his back. Trahern and Ewan also gripped him. Tears shone in Ewan’s eyes, but he valiantly held them in check.

‘Where is Bevan?’ He had not seen his older brother since they had broken camp.

‘He went to retrieve something you left behind,’ Patrick commented, but would not offer anything further.

When at last he was ready for the fight, his brothers left him alone with his thoughts. He centred his focus, forcing himself to imagine ways of bringing Flynn Ó Banníon down. His honour, his dreams rested on this fight.

And he meant to win.

The door opened, and Connor’s hand reached for his sword hilt. Deirdre Ó Banníon entered.

‘Stay away from me, Deirdre,’ Connor warned.

‘I came to apologise,’ she said. ‘For everything.’ She trembled, her eyes misting prettily.

He rather thought she resembled a viper, winding her way toward him.

‘I’ve no wish to hear any more lies from your lips.’

‘You used to like my lips.’

He tightened his hold upon his temper. ‘If I kissed you once, it meant nothing.’

‘That wasn’t what it seemed like to me.’

She placed her palms upon his corselet, tracing the leather. ‘Forgive me, Connor.’

Her hands moved to his, and she raised his right hand, staring at the malformed fingers. ‘I tried to stop him.’

‘You stood by and watched them crush my hands.’

‘No! I begged him not to do it. But he would not see reason.’

Connor jerked his hands away. ‘I want nothing to do with you, Deirdre. Be gone from me.’

Her face flushed scarlet. ‘You don’t know what you’re doing, Connor.’ Eyes blazing, she smirked. ‘Even if you win, you’ve lost. Our men will kill you where you stand. And your brothers.’

He strode across the room, grasping her arm.

‘You’re bruising me.’

Throwing the door open, he pushed her into the corridor. ‘You never did listen well.’

She rubbed her arm. ‘And you never understood how much I could give you. All of this land, this tribe, would be yours.’ The glint of anger transformed her pretty face into ugliness. ‘Wouldn’t it be a shame if an accident were to happen during the fight?’

‘Don’t threaten me.’ He started to close the door, but her next words stopped him.

‘I could never threaten you,’ she said. ‘But if you were to wed me, this battle would end. And nothing would happen to Aileen Ó Duinne.’

‘What have you done to her?’ he demanded, shoving her against the wall. ‘If you’ve laid a hand on her, I’ll—’

‘You’ll kill me? Do it, and my father will slaughter her and your brothers. You may watch it happen before he kills you.’ She laughed, a shrill sound that infuriated him. ‘Release me.’

He did, and she rubbed her shoulder. ‘I admire your strength, Connor. But you would be wise not to touch me again. Not until I ask you to.’

‘Don’t touch Aileen,’ he warned. Every fibre of him raged at the thought of any harm coming to her. ‘And you should go and say farewell to your father. Today is the last day you’ll be seeing him alive.’