other soldiers joined in on the fighting, trying to force him out. Even the High King’s men stood from their benches, surrounding Killian. All, save two men, whose expressions held anger and displeasure at the disturbance.
Instead of surrendering, Killian remained in place. A moment later, he was no longer standing there. Never in her life had she seen any man move so fast. A fist swung towards his jaw, but he dodged the blow and it collided with another man’s face.
He was indeed like a shadow, here for a fleeting second, and gone the next.
The drunken men continued to fight, but Killian somehow managed to move away from them. When anyone tried to hit him, he spun and shoved them off balance. It soon became clear that he was defending himself, not provoking more fighting. But when one soldier’s fist connected with Killian’s jaw, it turned violent. Killian struck back, beating the man bloody, until his opponent backed off. It was an unmistakable silent message sent to the others. At last, he threw a dark glower at Brian and strode towards the back of the hall, as if he didn’t want to waste words on the chieftain.
Taryn hurried from her hiding place and followed him outside. The rain had stopped, but the air was moist and smelled of damp earth. Within the inner bailey, she glimpsed her guard, Pól, and she sent him a nod, thankful that he’d made it safely inside. She raised her hand in recognition, intending to speak with him later.
Killian continued towards the stables, and she hurried to keep up with him. Her footing slipped a time or two, but eventually she reached the outer door.
For a moment, Taryn rested her hand upon the outbuilding, taking the time to push back the unreasonable fears. The horses would be enclosed within the stalls, she told herself. If she kept her distance, no harm would come to her. Though it was foolish to be afraid of horses, a darker memory lingered on the edges of awareness.
It was your fault that Christopher died, came the voice of her conscience. She closed her eyes, wanting so badly to push back the grief. But against her will, she saw her brother’s lifeless body in her vision, her heart still hurting for the loss.
She’d been a young girl, only four years old. Christopher was twelve and was home from his fostering, visiting for Yuletide. She’d idolised him and had followed him around everywhere, wanting so badly to be near him. Her brother had an easy smile and he’d never seemed to mind her attention. Sometimes he would swing her up on his shoulders, letting her feel as tall as a grown woman.
Sweet Jesu, she had loved him.
But one morning, she had run through the courtyard, eager to bid him farewell before he went off hunting with their father. She hadn’t paid any heed to where she was going, and Christopher’s horse had reared up without warning, throwing him off. Her brother’s head had struck a stone, and he had never awakened again.
The bitter guilt had remained with her all these years, for it had been her fault.
Taryn took a tentative step inside the stable and was relieved to see that all of the animals remained still and quiet with only an occasional nicker. Killian stood on the far end, resting both palms against a stall. Tension lined his shoulders, and she suddenly questioned her decision to follow him.
‘You were supposed to stay with Carice,’ he told her.
In his voice, she sensed the caged frustration. But even so, she wanted to understand what had happened in the Great Chamber. ‘Why did the chieftain refuse to let you speak?’
He didn’t turn around, and his knuckles tightened against the wood. ‘Brian wishes that I had never been born. He’s hated me since I took my first breath.’
‘Why? What threat could you possibly pose to him?’
He faced her, and in his grey eyes, she saw a man of ice. There was no pain, no emotion at all. Only a frozen mask of indifference.
‘I’m a bastard, Lady Taryn. I was not born a member of the tribe, and I’m not worth even the dirt beneath his feet. Why would he speak to me?’ Killian studied her with a mocking smile. ‘Brian wants naught to do with me. He wanted me hidden from everyone, like a secret meant to be forgotten.’ He spread out his hands, gesturing towards the stable. ‘Look around you, Lady Taryn. This is my home. I sleep here, among the horses and dogs.’
She didn’t like that at all. A man’s worth had nothing to do with his birthright.
‘You are not to blame for your mother’s choices.’
‘A choice?’ He looked incredulous at her words. ‘My mother had no choice at all. She was with child when she fled the High King. Brian took her in, but we were both treated as fuidir.’ He shrugged as if it meant nothing. Still, it bothered Taryn to see a man so mistreated, merely from circumstances of birth.
‘Why did she leave the High King?’
He sent her a disbelieving glance. ‘It’s more likely that she never wanted to be with a man like him. She wouldn’t speak of Rory, though everyone knows I am his son.’
‘Does he know about you? That is, did you ever go to see him?’ Though it was quite a distance to Tara, she couldn’t imagine that he’d remained here.
‘No. Brian told him about me, but Rory cared nothing about my existence. I had no desire to meet him, based on my mother’s experience.’
She suspected there was more that he hadn’t revealed. In his eyes, she saw the hard resentment of a man who hated his life. Most of the fuidir she’d encountered were not as proud as this man. But Killian seemed unwilling to accept a fate such as this, and she could not blame him.
‘If this is not the life you want, you could leave,’ she suggested.
He said nothing, and she realised that she did have something to offer this man. A home where he would not be treated as a slave. ‘If you free my father, you could come and live among our people at Ossoria. You would have a place with us.’
The doubt upon his face made it clear that he did not believe her. ‘I intend to see my sister to safety. That is the only reason I am escorting you to Tara—to help her escape. After that, I will go my own way.’
She wasn’t ready to give up so soon. Not when there was a chance he could save her father’s life.
Yet, there was so much bitterness locked away in Killian, it was festering deep inside. Despite the High King’s reputation, there was a blood bond between them, of father and son. There might be a way for him to gain Rory’s favour.
‘And after Carice is safe? What then?’ she pressed. ‘Will you return here and live among men who treat you like the dirt they walk upon?’
Rage flashed in his eyes and she knew she had struck upon his weakness—pride. This was a man who had the demeanour of a king, though he was trapped in the life of a slave.
‘My decisions are my own.’ He took a step towards her, letting his height intimidate her. But she refused to back down—not when she believed he had the power to save her father. This man had single-handedly fought back against the chieftain’s strongest men, proving that he could overcome the odds. When she looked upon his face, she saw a man of determination, a man of courage.
He reached down and caught her wrist. ‘Don’t think I’m unaware of what you’re doing, a
