Warrior of Ice. Michelle WillinghamЧитать онлайн книгу.
pride. Taryn’s skin tightened, her body flushing at his intense stare. She tried to look away, but every part of her was strangely attuned to him. Her body had grown sensitive, and the coldness of his face caught her breath.
Like a fallen angel, his features were darkly handsome. Though he didn’t bruise her skin with his grip, he was letting her know who was in command. And it wasn’t her.
‘I’ve never met anyone of noble blood whose word could be trusted.’ He pressed the coin back into her hand, as if to say he wanted nothing she could give.
His words infuriated her. She had done nothing to warrant such distrust, and it was insulting. ‘You don’t even know me, Killian MacDubh. I am a woman who keeps her promises.’
‘Are you?’ he asked softly. ‘The first words you spoke were lies and deceptions. Why should I believe you?’
Her face flushed at the memory of how she’d told the soldiers she was Carice. From the shielded expression on his face, she realised that Killian was a man who trusted no one, save himself. No matter what vows she made, he would not believe them.
‘Then perhaps I won’t help your sister after all,’ she countered. ‘I’ll confess to the soldiers who I really am, and your father can take her to Tara to be wedded to the High King. I’ll find other soldiers to save my father.’
She started to move away, but he caught her waist, trapping her against the wooden horse stall. ‘Don’t.’
His hard body was pressed against hers, and she was completely at his mercy. Though he was likely meaning to intimidate her, instead, it felt like an embrace. Her body softened against his hardness, and she found herself spellbound by his iron eyes. The fierceness of his expression was of a warrior bent upon gaining her surrender. He kept her wrists pinned with his hands against the wall. But instead of feeling trapped, her traitorous mind imagined what it would be like to be claimed by this man.
She suspected that Killian would only take what he wanted, never giving anything of himself. And though it should have frightened her, she wondered if there was any warmth at all behind his heart of ice.
‘You will do nothing to harm Carice. Not ever.’ Though his words were spoken softly, the threat was not lost upon her. ‘Not in word or in deed.’
Taryn stared back at him, facing him without fear. ‘I will do whatever I must to free my father. We can be allies and help one another...or we can be enemies. The choice is yours.’
Killian awakened in a pile of straw with three dogs sleeping near him and Harold’s furry face nudging his. It was so cold, he could see a layer of ice upon the water trough. He stretched, feeling stiff and sore from the sleepless night, while the cat rubbed against his side.
Taryn’s threat, to reveal everything to the High King’s men, had infuriated him. For whether or not he wanted to admit it, he did need her assistance. One of the MacEgans might help Carice to escape, but without Taryn to disguise herself and buy a few more hours of time, the soldiers would pursue his sister.
What the Lady wanted in return was far too great a price. He had no desire to get entangled with her father’s fate, nor did he want to lay eyes upon Rory Ó Connor. He remembered all too well what had happened when Brian had returned from Connacht, fifteen years ago.
The chieftain had stared at him with loathing. ‘Come here, boy.’
Killian had obeyed, keeping his back straight. He’d hardly slept last night, dreaming that he would be sent to live at Connacht with the King. He imagined a life where he had a pallet to sleep upon instead of a pile of straw in the stables. Would he finally go to live with his true father? Would Rory be proud of him? He was six years old, and he was growing stronger each day. He might be one of the finest warriors in Éireann one day, if he worked hard.
‘He doesn’t want you,’ Brian said. ‘He has sired over a dozen bastards, and he doesn’t want another.’ The chieftain spat at his feet. ‘That’s all you’re worth to him.’
A coldness seized up in his chest, the hope shattering. He’d wanted so badly to live with someone who wanted him, now that his mother was dead. He twisted the silver ring on his thumb, so afraid of what would happen now.
‘Did...did you see him?’ Mayhap there had been a mistake.
‘No,’ Brian answered. ‘He was organising a raid on Munster.’
‘Then it might have been a mistake.’ Killian brightened at that. If his father was waging war on Munster, he might not want a son right now. But later...
‘There was no mistake.’ Brian sent him a scathing look. ‘His men gave him the message, but Rory offered nothing at all for you. Were I not a merciful man, I’d turn you out.’ He crossed his arms and regarded Killian. ‘As it is, I will let you live in the stables and tend the horses. Unless you’d rather go out on your own?’
* * *
Killian had been too frightened to understand any of what had happened, but he’d obeyed. At least at Carrickmeath, he had food and shelter. It was better than starving to death, and he’d been too young to survive alone.
But now, he would have his freedom. Once he saw Carice to safety.
The wolfhound beside him stretched and trotted over to him, resting his head upon Killian’s knee. He rubbed the dog’s ears, still thinking about Lady Taryn. She had silver and wealth beyond his dreams—but what he truly wanted was land and kinsmen who would look upon him with respect. And that was something that could never be bought—it had to be earned.
The voice of temptation lured him closer, reminding him that Taryn could grant him everything he wanted. All he had to do was risk his life for her father.
Likely the man was already dead. The High King resented the other provincial kings, particularly those who did not revere him. Though Killian didn’t know what Devlin’s crimes were, the odds of saving him were nearly impossible.
The dilemma weighed down upon him, for in a matter of hours, everything had changed. He would protect Carice, aye. But beyond that, once she was safe? What then?
Taryn’s words dug into his pride. Will you return here and live among men who treat you like the dirt they walk upon?
That was what bothered him most. Never had he been given the chance to fight for the life he wanted. This woman held the power to change everything—all he had to do was risk his life for a stranger.
He didn’t know what to think of this turn of events. Nor did he know what to think of Taryn Connelly. She was acutely conscious of her scarred face, but she was not a woman to hide herself away from the world. She’d faced him down, fighting for the life of the father she loved. Just as he was fighting for Carice.
They were more alike than he’d wanted to admit.
When he’d lost his temper and had pressed her back against the wall, he’d never expected the sudden interest that had flared up within him. He’d meant to intimidate her, to make her understand that he would allow no one to threaten his sister. Instead, he’d been fully aware of the lines of her body and the softness that had pressed back against him.
Her eyes had widened, as if she didn’t know what to do. He’d expected her to pull back in revulsion, but instead, she’d studied him as if she could see past his anger. As if she saw the man he wanted to be instead of the man he was. Never had any woman looked at him in that way. Most wanted a hasty tumble in the dark, but nothing more than that.
The wolfhound placed his paw upon Killian’s knee, offering despondent eyes. ‘You’re right,’ he admitted to the dog. ‘I wasn’t thinking. I shouldn’t have given in to my temper.’