‘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.’
