Connor doubted if Deirdre was a virgin. The schemingcailínwanted 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 saffronléine, 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 thesibh. 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.
Chapter 20
‘Tell 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 theaenach. Deirdre Ó Banníon, she guessed.
