Her cheeks flushed at the memory, and Taryn played with the strands of her hair, wondering if she ought to reveal everything to the Queen. In the end, she decided Isabel would learn the truth anyway.
“He refused when he saw me.” Taryn pulled back her hair, revealing the scars upon both cheeks. She expected the Queen to flinch at the sight of her marred skin, but Isabel only met her gaze evenly—unlike Lucas.
“He told my father he could never wed a deformed woman like me,” she continued.
A flare of anger darkened Isabel’s face. “And what did your father say?”
She only shrugged. “What could he say? I cannot change my face.” And although Devlin had ended the betrothal on her behalf, he had taken her out for a walk later that night, offering consolation.
It had been twilight, and the snow had begun to descend, coating the black branches with a layer of frosted white. Their footsteps had crunched upon the layer of ice and leaves, and the stillness had brought a sense of peace, soothing away her anger and sadness. The light was fading, the sun piercing through the trees like an ethereal halo.
“It’s so peaceful,” she said to her father. Somehow he had sensed that she needed a moment like this, after Lucas had spurned her.
He took her gloved hand, and they walked for a time without speaking. Then at last he stopped at the edge of the woods. “You need not let this trouble you. I have had many offers for your hand in marriage. Some men already know of your scars and are willing to overlook them.”
Taryn turned to face him. “I don’t want a husband who merely tolerates me.” The truth was, she wanted a marriage far stronger than the one shared by her parents. It was clear that Maeve loathed Devlin, but the Queen had nowhere else to go. And for some reason, Devlin had not set her aside as his wife. Taryn still didn’t understand why they continued to live as husband and wife.
“I will not force you to wed one of them,” Devlin acknowledged, “but you must wed another king. Or, at the very least, a chieftain. If I have no son to claim Ossoria, then your sons will fight for that honor.”
She didn’t ask what would happen if she did not bear a son. Instead, she tried to dream of a future where a man would not judge her by what he saw.
“I suppose my bride price wasn’t low enough for Lucas to overlook my scars,” Taryn said to the Queen.
“I believe I might have hit him for that,” Isabel offered. “Certainly a man who would say such a thing would deserve it.”
Taryn brightened a little. It felt good to have a woman sympathize with her. “He did deserve to be struck down, aye. But I told him I would not marry him.” Since then, she’d hidden herself away, refusing to consider other suitors, despite her mother’s attempts to arrange a marriage. She didn’t want to admit to anyone how much Lucas had hurt her feelings. It was easier to pretend to be a strong woman, to behave as if she didn’t care.
But she did. And she’d spent the past year learning how to become a good queen. It was easier to involve herself in the lives of others than to face her own bleak prospects.
“It sounds as if you are well rid of him.” Though her face held curiosity, Isabel did not ask how Taryn had been scarred. “My husband may be able to help, after you return from Tara,” she offered. “Several of his brothers are unwed. Although they do not have lands of their own, if it is your wish to wed one of them and stay in Ossoria, it is a possibility.”
Taryn suspected the Queen’s offer was born out of courtesy, nothing more. She knew, too well, that men judged what they saw, not the person she was. But she gave the expected response, “Perhaps.”
She did want a husband and children of her own, one day. But it was hard to let go of the hurt feelings from Lucas’s rejection. She had never forgotten the distaste in his expression when he’d viewed her scars.
“You don’t want to wed one of the MacEgan men, do you?” the Queen predicted. “I can see it in your face.”
Taryn shook her head. “Oh, it isn’t that. If they look anything like your husband, they will be handsome men.”
“Of course they are,” Isabel agreed. “And men like Trahern or Connor are beloved by all the women.”
“Which is why they would never even look at a woman like me,” Taryn reminded her. Though she supposed it sounded like self-pity, in her mind, it was the truth. She knew she could find a husband who wanted to rule at her side. But she wanted more than that, and pride kept her from lowering her standards.
Isabel tucked her son into his pallet upon the floor, then turned to face her. “The MacEgan men see beyond a woman’s appearance, Taryn. Despite my Norman ancestry, my husband grew to love me for the woman I am. A man who sees your true self is one worth keeping.” She offered her a warm smile. “Why don’t you stay with us a little longer and meet them?”
“I cannot stay for long,” she said, though the offer lifted her spirits. “I want to make sure Killian’s sister arrives safely. Then I must go on to Tara.”
The Queen’s smile widened. “Killian is a handsome warrior, isn’t he? My ladies all have their eyes upon him.” She tilted her head and asked, “But why is it that you traveled withhimtoward Tara and not your father’s men? Were you running away?”
The woman’s intuition was sharper than Taryn had guessed. “My mother did not want me to plead for the King’s life,” she admitted. “In truth, she forbade me to go. I came to seek your help, and Killian agreed to escort me here.”
The Queen walked toward the window, as if she was deep in thought. Taryn waited for the woman to speak, but when Isabel remained silent, she voiced another question. “How do you know Killian?” He had told her he was little more than a slave among the Faoilin tribe. Why, then, would he be so familiar with the MacEgans?
“He spent several summers training with our men.” The Queen added, “The women were heartbroken to see him go.”
Strangely, there was a twinge of discontent at the thought of women offering themselves to Killian. He must have enjoyed their attentions, and truly, why should she care? Yet Taryn remembered, too well, what it was like to kiss him. It had startled her, stealing the very breath from her lungs.
“I imagine he left because of his sister, Carice,” Taryn guessed. “She’s been very ill.”
