Warrior of Ice. Michelle WillinghamЧитать онлайн книгу.
mother, Queen Maeve, had insisted that the remaining soldiers stay behind to guard their province, and they were all too glad to obey.
Taryn refused to leave Devlin there to die. It wasn’t fair and it wasn’t right. Someone had to save him. And though she wasn’t strong enough to lead men into battle, she could find a warrior who was.
A sudden rise of nerves caught in her stomach, for she had never left Ossoria before. For so many years, she had remained hidden away, so that no one would look upon her scarred face. Her father had warned that others would scorn her for the physical imperfections if she dared to leave. But now, she had no alternative. Given the choice between facing a jeering crowd and saving his life, she would set aside her fear and risk everything.
Her mother opened the door to Taryn’s chamber, staring at the open trunk of Taryn’s belongings. Inside lay not only fine gowns, but a box filled with gold pieces, silver chalices, and a small bag of pearls.
‘You cannot save him, Taryn,’ Maeve said. ‘You saw what happened to the last group of soldiers who went to the High King.’
‘If you were in his place, would you want us to go about our lives, not even trying to bring you home?’ she countered. ‘He’s my father, not a traitor.’
She was certain of that. Devlin had answered a summons, only to be taken by the King’s men and bound in chains. And whatever the reason, Taryn intended to bring him home. ‘I will not turn my back on him.’
Her mother was silent, her expression tight. Around her throat she wore a gold torque set with rubies, while her long red hair fell to her waist. ‘I know you believe Devlin was a good father. He tried very hard to make you think well of him.’ Her voice was calm, but it held the unmistakable edge of loathing.
Taryn tensed, for she’d known that her parents’ marriage had never been a happy one. Her mother had miscarried many children over the years, and it shadowed her moods at all times. She controlled every moment of each day and kept the servants at her beck and call. Those who disobeyed were punished for any infraction.
Maeve sighed and paced across the room. ‘I am sorry, but you cannot go to Tara. And you may not send more of my soldiers on Devlin’s behalf.’
My soldiers? Taryn bristled at that. As if she’d already given up on her husband?
‘They are still Father’s men, too,’ Taryn corrected.
But Maeve’s face turned cool. She walked to stand at the window and said, ‘I have not, nor will I, give permission for you to take soldiers against King Rory. Every last man of them would be killed, including yourself. And I am not a woman who sends others to die needlessly.’
Not even for your husband? Taryn wanted to ask, but didn’t.
‘I do not intend to take an army,’ she told Maeve quietly. ‘I go only to plead for Father’s life. Surely there is no harm in appealing to King Rory. I am no threat to the High King.’
‘You will not leave,’ Maeve said. ‘And that is final.’ Her gaze swept over Taryn. ‘The Ard-Righ will not listen to anything you have to say.’ She reached out to touch Taryn’s scarred cheek. ‘And unlike other women, you cannot use your looks to win his attention, I fear.’ Her mother’s touch burned into her skin like a brand.
Taryn knew she would never be beautiful, and she would bear the disfigurement of her face and hands forever. But to hear it from her mother was a blow she hadn’t expected. She stepped backwards, lowering her gaze to the floor. ‘I do not want King Rory’s attention.’
Far from it. She knew she had a face that made men shudder, and she was too tall. Her hair was black instead of her mother’s fiery colour. They shared the same eyes, however. More than once, Taryn had wished that she did not have to see those icy blue eyes staring back at her in a reflection.
Sometimes she wished that her mother had been taken captive, instead of her father. Maeve never seemed to care about anyone but herself. And it hurt to imagine Devlin in chains, suffering torture.
Taryn closed the trunk and stood. ‘I do not understand why I may not take a small escort when I speak with the High King. Two or three men are harmless.’ More than that, she could see no reason why her mother would care what risks she took. ‘If I fail, there is nothing lost.’
‘Nothing, save your life,’ Maeve countered. She continued staring out the window, and at last she said, ‘A messenger came this morn. Devlin is to be executed on the eve of Imbolc.’ With that, she turned back. ‘I do not think you want to witness your father’s death. And if you go, the Ard-Righ will force you to watch.’
Horror wrenched her stomach at the thought. Taryn gripped her hands together tightly, wishing she could control the trembling. ‘And you’ll do nothing to stop it.’
‘I will not interfere with the High King’s justice, for I value my own life.’ Maeve moved closer, cupping Taryn’s chin. ‘Just as I value yours. Devlin is gone, and there is nothing more to be done.’
The Queen’s face held traces of regret. ‘I can read your thoughts, my daughter. You plan to slip away and try to save Devlin. But I will not let you endanger yourself or others. Your father is not the man you think he is.’ She paused a moment, as if she wanted to say something more, but then held her silence.
Taryn said nothing, not at all believing her mother. Devlin was a quiet, wise leader whom the people respected. Her blood ran cold at the thought of her father’s death. Their small province would fall into chaos, for Maeve would rule with an iron hand. Devlin had brought peace and prosperity among them, but it would not last beneath her mother’s commands.
She swallowed hard, her stomach churning at the prospect of facing the High King. But face him she must, if it meant saving Devlin’s life. Imbolc was only a few weeks away.
‘May I go now?’ she asked her mother. There was little time left, and she wanted to leave Ossoria at dawn. She dared not travel with more than a single guard, and it would be difficult to find anyone who would go with her, if she asked it of him.
‘To your chamber, yes,’ Maeve answered. ‘But nowhere else. And, Taryn, if you do attempt to leave against my orders, my soldiers will bring you back. Be assured of it.’
Taryn said nothing, but curtsied to her mother before leaving. An uneasy fear gathered in her stomach, for she suspected her mother would punish any servants who dared to accompany her.
Once she reached the hallway, she leaned back against the stone wall, terrified of the next few weeks. It would take at least a sennight to reach Tara, and even then, she needed men to defend her. Not an army—but enough fighters to help her rescue Devlin, if King Rory would not listen.
Who would agree to such a task? She didn’t know how to hire mercenaries, and if she asked a neighbouring chieftain or king, they would never consider allying against the High King.
She needed leverage, something King Rory wanted.
You cannot use your looks to win 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