Flynn’s eyes narrowed in disbelief until another voice called, ‘She speaks the truth, Father.’
Deirdre rose from her chair upon the dais. ‘I think all of us have seen enough. Connor has been well punished for his dishonour. But I want him still.’
The arrogance from Deirdre’s voice infuriated Connor. How could she even think he would consider wedding her?
But Aileen’s words reached deep inside him and pressed their thorns into his heart. ‘Cease this battle, and let them wed.’ To Deirdre she added, ‘I won’t stand in your way.’
‘Is this what you want?’ Connor asked in disbelief. Was she so convinced of his loss that she would walk away from him?
‘I want you to live,’ she whispered. ‘And that will be enough.’
He wanted to go to her, to wipe the tears from her cheeks. Instead, his right hand tightened upon the hilt of his sword. Though his left hand was now useless, it was as though a strange power filled him.
‘It isn’t enough for me,’ he said, and swung his sword toward Flynn.
By God, if it took the last bit of his strength, he would win this battle. His daughter and Aileen were looking on, and he would honour them.
From deep within, he pulled the last of his strength. He ignored the slashes Flynn struck, but focused upon disarming the man who had once been his sword master.
His feet moved forward, never retreating, pushing toward the victory he could taste. With a bone-shattering blow, he lunged forward and Flynn’s sword went flying. The blade struck the earthen floor with a dull thud.
It lay out of Flynn’s reach. Connor lowered the point of his sword to Flynn’s throat.
‘Don’t—’ Deirdre cried out. She tried to run toward them, but Trahern restrained her. ‘Let go of me, son of a cur!’
Resignation lined Flynn’s face. He stared at Connor with death’s promise in his eyes. ‘Do it quickly.’
Connor had dreamed of this moment, of sinking his sword into Flynn’s heart. But then Rhiannon’s terrified cry jerked him away from revenge. The young girl’s face was frozen with fear.
He stared back at his enemy. Flynn deserved to die, for turning his men against him, for betraying him.
For believing his daughter’s words.
Connor raised his glance to Deirdre. Horrified, she shook her head. ‘No.’
‘Do you want him to die without knowing the truth?’ he asked, pressing the blade into Flynn’s throat.
Scarlet rage transformed Deirdre’s face. ‘No, I don’t want him to die,’ she snapped. ‘You are nothing but an ignorant barbarian. I don’t know why I ever thought I wanted to wed you.’
‘So be it,’ Connor said, lifting his sword as if to strike a killing blow.
‘Stop!’ Deirdre begged. She closed her eyes, fully aware that Connor held the power to end her father’s life. In a broken voice, she admitted, ‘Connor never touched me. I wanted him to, but he clung to his foolish honour.’
Regret and sadness clouded Flynn’s face. He lifted his gaze to Connor. ‘It seems I owe you an apology.’ The shame of his daughter’s admission weakened his voice.
Connor lowered his blade and opened his arms to Rhiannon. She stepped forward, hesitant, but went to his side. He put his good arm around her shoulder, sending up a silent prayer of thanks.
‘A man will go to great lengths for his daughter.’ Weariness moved over him, his body aching. He cleaned his blade and sheathed it. ‘I would ask for peace between us.’
Connor offered his hand to Flynn. The chieftain rose to his feet, gripping his arm for support. The motion sent another wave of pain through him, and he grew aware Aileen needed to tend his wounds.
‘I have another proposition for you, MacEgan,’ Flynn said.
‘And what is that?’
‘I owe you the fulleraic, a body price for injuries done to you. But instead of silver, would you not prefer arathof your own?’
The offer filled him with such hope, he wondered if he had misheard Flynn. ‘I would, yes.’
