CHAPTER 1
Wicklow Mountains, Ireland, Summer 1234
“Deirdre O’Byrne, will you ride your horse into the ground before the sun’s even up this morning?”
Deirdre laughed at the sound of her younger brother, Conor, hollering with irritation, his own steed five lengths—no, six!—behind her and snorting hard.
Dawn barely streaked the sky as she urged her beloved roan stallion, Tam, into a faster gallop along the well-worn trail between two craggy hills looming above them.
Fresh laughter burst from her when Tam snorted, too, the powerful animal lunging with wild exhilaration that matched her own.
Deirdre loved to ride at sunrise and so did her stallion, Conor’s frustrated shout only his own grousing that she was besting him—again. He rarely beat her at anything: riding, hunting, archery, swimming, and running—aye, she could go on and on about their long-standing rivalry.
She couldn’t beat him at swordplay, though, Conor at twenty-one towering over her in height and as broad-shouldered and powerfully built as their father, Ronan O’Byrne, who was still the most formidable Irish rebel in Éire at the age of fifty-six.
Their indomitable mother, Triona, the most beautiful woman Deirdre had ever seen, no matter her forty-four years, her long coppery curls still as bright as flame with only a few strands of gray. Together their parents made so impressive a pair that harpers spun songs about them to this day, making Deirdre’s heart swell with pride whenever she heard them.
She loved her parents fiercely and her brother, too, as well as her younger sister, Eva, Conor’s twin, who was as gentle and kindhearted a soul as Deirdre had grown up high-spirited and strong-willed—begorra! Was that Conor’s steed thundering closer?
Deirdre threw a glance over her shoulder to see only three lengths between her and Conor. Excitement swept her at his challenge as she whooped for Tam to run harder, faster.
With her midnight curls whipping around her face, she leaned down low against Tam and exulted at the power of his strides, knowing Conor would never catch up with them.
He never had done so before and she was determined that he never would, the thrill of their race so capturing her senses that she even went so far as to close her eyes and breathe in the heady moment?—
“Deirdre, look out!”
Her eyes flew open and she gasped at Conor’s outcry, a doe and two tiny fawns crossing the trail just in front of them.
Without a thought, Deirdre yanked so hard upon the reins that Tam jolted to a stop and reared up, whinnying so shrilly that it sounded to her like a shriek.
Conor’s steed nearly crashed into Tam and reared up as well while Conor’s curses rent the air, both he and Deirdre struggling mightily to calm their startled horses.
Breathless relief filled her to see that the doe and her fawns had skittered safely into the trees, and she uttered a weak laugh at how close she and Tam had come to disaster.
Conor wasn’t laughing, though, his handsome face reddened with anger as he drew his horse alongside Tam to glare at Deirdre.
“You closed your eyes, didn’t you? You weren’t even looking where you were going!”
“Aye, so I did, but what of it? We’re all safe, no harm done. Come on, I’ll race you to the lough!”
She wasn’t surprised that Conor shook his head firmly and gave her a stern look, which always annoyed her. He wasn’t her father after all, but nearly two years younger than her and just as reckless as she often proved to be.
“You’ve no right to censure me, brother.”
“Mayhap not, but what would Father say if I carried you back to the stronghold with shattered limbs or even a broken neck?”
The concern in Conor’s slate gray eyes that so matched their father’s made Deirdre think better of a sharp retort, her brother the spitting image of Ronan from his midnight hair to his lean, strong features.
Aye, she could have been gravely injured…or worse, to have collided with the doe and her youngsters and been thrown from Tam’s back. Swept by a rush of regret for having so alarmed him, she reached out to give his arm a squeeze.
“I promise I will keep my eyes open from now on, Conor—and I’ll ride a wee bit slower. Does that ease you?”
His face relaxing into a grudging grin made her smile back at him, Deirdre glancing upward at the vivid hues of orange and gold streaking the sky.
“Let’s go on to the lough. You know I love the morning sunlight upon the water.”
“Aye, you have a woman’s heart no matter you’ve acted more like a man as long as I can remember—and dressed like one, too.” Conor’s gaze swept her and he shook his head. “A leather jerkin, shirt and trousers, just like Mother used to wear before Father convinced her to wear a maiden’s gown?—”
