his attention, her mother had said. And Taryn knew that all too well. The very idea of offering herself was impossible, for men did not want a scarred bride—they only wanted her kingdom. Most behaved as if they didn’t see her, or they turned their backs to avoid her presence. Her stomach twisted at the unwanted memories. Although no one dared to mock her openly, it was easier to hide herself away from others, pretending as if she was unaware of their revulsion.
She forced back her thoughts, still wondering how to save her father’s life. She’d heard Devlin speak of the betrothal between King Rory and Carice Faoilin. The young woman was rumoured to be the most beautiful woman in Éireann—a perfect bride for the High King. But Taryn doubted if any woman alive would want to be wedded to such a cruel man.
Then, again, it was unlikely that Carice had a choice.
A union between the High King and the Faoilin tribe would be a powerful one, giving the King more influence in the southern territories. Rory Ó Connor needed strong armies and alliances that would protect Éireann, since the Norman invaders were gaining a stronger foothold. War was brewing, and they knew not who would win.
Would the King listen to a plea from his bride? Taryn wondered if she could convince Carice to let her travel with her as a companion. Though she had never met the young woman, perhaps she could visit Carrickmeath and seek help on her father’s behalf.
Inwardly, Taryn worried whether pearls or gold would be enough to gain their assistance. She had little else to offer in exchange for Devlin’s rescue. And now that her mother had forbidden her to take soldiers as escorts, she could not travel in a wagon. It meant she could only bring wealth she could carry. Even then, she might not gain the help she needed.
An idea began to form as she thought about Carice Faoilin. Perhaps a distraction was what was needed. Carice had not yet married the High King...but what if Taryn accompanied her to the wedding? A celebration would offer the strongest diversion yet, where hundreds of wedding guests would attend, offering the perfect chance to rescue her father in secret.
She didn’t need an army—only a small group of well-trained men to slip past the guards.
And she knew exactly where she would find them.
* * *
The overcast sky darkened as the afternoon stretched into evening. Taryn huddled within her fur-lined cloak while the damp conditions turned into frost. Her guard, Pól, accompanied her, carrying the small bundle containing a bag of jewels and silver, as well as a second gown. She’d had to leave almost everything behind, since they hadn’t taken a horse. Pól had protested, saying that it would take far too long to travel on foot.
Taryn had argued back that she wanted to disappear quietly. The truth was, horses terrified her. Her heart sickened at the memory of her older brother’s death, and never would she forget that terrible day when he had died after being thrown from his horse. She had tried to avoid riding ever since.
No, if she could not travel in a wagon, she would walk. It wasn’t that far to Carrickmeath—less than a day’s journey on foot. And without a horse, it was more difficult for her mother’s soldiers to track them.
She was so tired, her feet were numb. She’d been walking since the middle of last night, in order to get past her mother’s guards. Her hair was sodden from the earlier rain, hanging across her shoulders against her blue woollen gown. Weariness cloaked her, but she could not stop this journey. Her mother would send men to bring her back, and she had to put as much distance as possible between them. Once she reached the safety of Brian Faoilin’s ring fort, she could stop.
* * *
After another hour of walking, she spied a fortress in the distance. It was a wooden structure atop a hillside with a deep trench surrounding it. Sharpened stakes were set at even intervals all around it, with a wicker fence to keep out invaders.
Thank goodness. She would beg hospitality with the Faoilin tribe for this night, and gain their protection, if possible. But when she drew nearer, she spied two dozen soldiers approaching the fortress, their commanders on horseback. They were riding towards the gates with spears clenched in their fists, and it was clear that they had not come for an amicable visit. One carried the High King’s banner, and they looked as if they were waiting for the right moment to attack.
Why would the High King’s men wage a battle here? Were they here to lay siege upon the fortress? Or had the Faoilin chieftain betrayed the High King? Whatever the reason, Taryn was not about to intrude. At least, not until she knew why they were here.
She slowed her pace and exchanged a look with her escort. ‘I think we should wait before approaching the ring fort.’
‘I agree, my lady.’
Taryn motioned for Pól to follow her into a grove of trees. The wind whipped at her cloak, freezing her skin. Even worse, the rain started up once more, mixed with ice. Taryn hurried towards the oaks, taking shelter beneath a large tree. She had no idea what to do now or how long she should wait. The last thing she wanted was to sleep out in the open. At night, it would begin snowing, and the ground would harden into ice. It was dangerous to sleep in the midst of such treacherous weather.
‘What should we do?’ she asked Pól.
The older man rested his hand upon his sword, shrugging. ‘We’ll have to wait until they’ve left. Or at least until they’ve gone inside.’
Taryn despised waiting. She much preferred to take action and hope for a good outcome. Yet she knew better than to act on impulse and endanger their lives. The wooden gates remained closed, and four men stood within a guard tower, overlooking the entrance. For a time, the High King’s soldiers remained in front of the gates, and she could not tell what was happening. Eyeing the men, she wondered how they would respond if she approached.
‘We cannot wait all night,’ she mused aloud. ‘We have to find out why they’re here.’
Her guard shrugged. ‘Whatever the reason, I would not be asking them, my lady. I can build a fire and a shelter for you in the meantime.’
The older man had insisted upon accompanying her to Tara, and she was grateful for his loyalty. But he wasn’t the strongest escort, and she questioned his ability to defend her. He could wield a sword, but his hands suffered aches and pains during damp weather. Pól was nothing like Brian Faoilin’s men, who were among the strongest fighters in Éireann, second only to the MacEgans.
Taryn exhaled, her breath forming clouds in the air. Somehow, she needed to ally herself with Carice Faoilin. The High King’s bride was her safest means of getting close to Tara.
She started pacing, worried about why these soldiers were here. Would they allow her to approach the fortress? Likely if the Faoilin tribe kept their gates closed, then there was a reason for it.
‘Do you want me to move in closer to learn more about why they’ve come?’ Pól asked. ‘So long as I leave my weapons with you, no one would suspect me.’
It was a dangerous risk, but one they needed to take. They had to get inside the fortress and seek shelter for the night.
‘Yes, you should go,’ she ordered the guard. ‘Return when you know what’s happening.’
Pól bowed in agreement before he walked towards the main road. Then he adjusted his gait to add a slight limp, making it seem that he was a harmless old man.
With every moment she was alone, Taryn’s apprehensions increased. What if Pól didn’t return? She couldn’t remain here alone. Yet, if she approached the High King’s men, they might harm her. She knew she wasn’t beautiful, but as a woman, there was still a strong risk. Then, too, if she appealed to Lady Carice, there was still the chance that the young woman would refuse to let her join her ladies—even if Taryn confessed her reasons. The more she dwelled upon her rash decision, the more unlikely it seemed that she would succeed.
You cannot give up, she told herself. No one else would save her father.
And so, she continued to wait.