He sat beside her in silence and admitted, “Carice was the only good thing that ever happened to me. And she doesn’t deserve the life she was given.”
There were no words that would ease his grief. Taryn had witnessed the depth of Carice’s illness and knew he was right. It would take a miracle to save the young woman’s life now. She kept her hand in Killian’s, offering him solace in the only way she knew how.
For a while, he held her hand and Taryn grew self-conscious of the sudden warmth between them. She knew she ought to pull away—and yet, she felt a tightness welling up in her throat. Killian hadn’t recoiled in disgust, though her hands were as scarred as her face. He didn’t seem to mind it at all, and she struggled to ignore the yearning that rose inside her.
Her cheeks flushed, and she closed her eyes to push back the wayward thoughts. Instead, she remembered the last time a man had touched her hands, on the morning of her betrothal.
She had dressed so carefully, as if it were her wedding day. Her hair was pulled back in intricate braids woven with flowers, while the rest hung against her cheeks and down her back. She had worn her best purple gown and a jeweled torque around her throat, while her hands were covered with gloves. Her heart quaked within her chest as she descended the stairs to join the man who had agreed to become her husband.
Lucas Ó Rourke was the younger son of a chieftain who lived near the western coast, and when she’d glimpsed his handsome face from her window, she’d felt both hopeful and terrified.
Aye, she knew it was the promise of her kingdom that had attracted him here. And because he lived so far away, he would not know of her appearance. She had taken great care to hide her scars beneath her hair, and she hoped he would find her acceptable.
But as she drew closer to the Great Chamber, she heard the sound of arguing.
“I want to see her before I agree to the betrothal,” Lucas was saying to her father. Taryn’s pulse quickened, for the tone of hisvoice held a note of warning. Although it was to be expected, her instincts went on alert. Quietly, she entered the chamber, hoping he would be pleased by what he saw. Her father beckoned for her to come forward and made the introductions.
Lucas Ó Rourke studied her for a moment, but he didn’t smile. Instead, he strode forward and stood before her. “Were you hoping to deceive me?”
Her heart sank as he pulled back her hair, revealing the scarred flesh. To Devlin he added, “Did you think I would not know what you were trying to do? All of your servants spoke of how happy they were that their mistress would finally be married after what happened to her. But I do not want a deformed bride.”
Taryn stared back at him, disbelieving what she’d heard. Deformed? It was not as if she had been born this way. Why would he say such a thing? She couldn’t bring herself to speak or move when he removed her gloves, showing the scarred, reddened knuckles. He gripped her hands to stare at them before he released them with disgust.
“I am not deformed,” she heard herself say. “I was hurt in an attack.”
But Lucas was already shaking his head. “I will not sign this betrothal. I do not want any sons of mine to bear those markings.”
She could hardly believe what he was saying. “You must truly be empty-headed if you believe that any of my children would be scarred.”
“Be silent, Taryn,” her mother warned. Maeve held up a hand and said, “We could lower her bride price, if needed.” She sent a pleading look toward her husband, and Taryn was stunned that she would even consider it.
Did her mother truly believe she was so desperate for a husband that she would accept this man? She didn’t want aman like Lucas as her husband. Not if he viewed her as some sort of misshapen woman.
“I am sorry your journey brought you this far,” she said to Lucas, “but I do not wish to wed you, either.” She straightened and turned to leave, locking her hands together to hide the trembling.
Behind her, she overheard her mother arguing for Lucas to stay, while her father sided with her.
“Surely we can come to an understanding,” Maeve was arguing.
“There is no need for Taryn to wed a man who does not want her,” Devlin countered. “Other men may not mind her appearance, or she can always remain here, with us.”
Taryn paused on the stairs, listening to them.
“I want her gone from here,” Maeve insisted. “Far away from this place.”
“You only say that because you know she prefers my company to yours. She knows that I have taken good care of her and will always do so.”
It had meant a great deal to her, knowing that her father wanted her to be happy. After Lucas had departed, the rift between her and her mother only widened. Maeve tried to control her even more, never leaving her alone, always following her.
Even now, she feared that Maeve would find them and force her to return.
It was less than an hour before soldiers surrounded the chapel. Killian heard the voices of the men as they gathered around theoutbuildings, searching each one. And sure enough, he saw them climbing up the ladder to the round tower.
“They’re going to find us,” Taryn whispered. “You should have destroyed the ladder.”
“If I’d done that, they would have known we were hiding in here. The priest would have no reason to do such a thing.” He’d thought of lifting the ladder away but had decided that the ten sets of stairs might be a better deterrent. It was difficult to climb the stairs wearing heavy armor, and the soldiers might give up after six or seven floors. He motioned for the Lady Taryn to join him, sitting atop the hinged opening that led to the topmost floor. Their combined weight would keep it closed.
“And what if they find us here? I don’t want to be taken back.”
