In one swift motion, she seized Deirdre’s golden locks and sliced one of them off. Then her blade moved to Deirdre’s throat.
‘I think it’s time that you confessed to your father, don’t you?’
Deirdre shrieked, but Aileen kept her blade across the deceitful woman’s throat.
‘How dare you touch me? Father!’ she screamed.
Flynn’s blade halted, and Aileen suddenly realised that dozens of soldiers were ready to overpower her. Silence flooded the Great Chamber.
‘Deirdre has something she wishes to confess,’ Aileen said.
A soldier rushed forward, but Aileen pressed her blade until a thin line of blood welled from Deirdre’s throat. ‘Don’t move.’
An archer drew his bow, the arrow aimed at her. By Danu, this no longer seemed like a wise move. She’d meant to force Deirdre to confess her lies. Instead, by threatening the chieftain’s daughter, she had only endangered herself.
A man grasped her forearm from behind, and the blade clattered to the wooden floor. Aileen inhaled sharply at the pain, but the soldier wrenched her away from Deirdre.
To her shock, she saw it was Trahern.
‘We swore to keep this a fair fight,’ he said, ‘and we MacEgans keep our word.’
Before Aileen could speak, Trahern dragged her away from the dais. ‘Do not speak or else they’ll take you. Do you want to spend this eventide wearing manacles about your wrists?’
She shook her head, realising that Trahern had likely saved her life.
In the fighting circle, Connor grasped his left wrist. Torches flickered against the wooden walls, the members of the tribe encircling the pair.
Blood poured from his forearm, and he struggled to stand. Aileen clenched her hands so tightly, her nails dug into her own skin. It was like watching herself dying. She couldn’t bear it.
When Flynn advanced with his blade, Connor’s movements were sluggish. His left hand slipped, but he managed to correct the grip.
The chieftain sidestepped, and all could see Connor’s impending defeat. Trahern’s palms tightened over her shoulders, warning her not to interfere.
But how could they stand there and watch him die? Never had she felt so helpless. Flynn glanced at her, his expression merciless.
Then he raised his sword and struck a final blow.
Connor knew it was coming, but he remained motionless as the steel came down. It was as though time were frozen, the blade lowering with infinite slowness. His brother Patrick reached for his sword hilt, and Aileen buried her face in her hands.
He understood what she’d tried to do by threatening Deirdre. Thank the gods, his brother had stopped her. He did not like to think of Flynn’s punishment, had Aileen succeeded in harming Deirdre.
His gaze moved over the faceless crowd, to his shock, he saw a haunting vision of a young boy. The ethereal face of Whelon stared back, the boy’s eyes studying him. A heartbeat later, the child stood well and whole upon two legs.
Connor closed his eyes, trying to will the image away. Whelon was dead. Connor had watched him die with his own eyes.
Did that mean he was dead?
Whelon shook his head, as if in answer to the unspoken question. Connor’s hand suddenly jerked as if pulled by an invisible force. Flynn’s sword struck him, and his left hand lost its grip. A strange heat warmed his right hand.
Dimly he was aware of the blade cutting into muscle and skin, but his attention remained on Whelon. The boy moved through the sea of people until he stood beside a young girl.
A girl with his own eyes. Rhiannon.
The sight of his daughter infused him with despair and love. He didn’t want her to see him like this. She deserved a father who could give her a handsome dowry. He’d threaten any lad who dared to look at her with anything but respect.
And then his eyes met Flynn’s. Was the chieftain so very different from himself? If any man dared to touch his daughter, he’d kill him.
‘Wait—’ a woman’s voice choked. Aileen stepped forward from the crowd, tears streaming down her face. ‘Please stop. Deirdre wants to wed him.’
