Killian straightened. “Her name was Iona.”
A strange smile spread over the High King’s face, and he shook his head. “No. Her name was not Iona. It was Liona MacPherson.”
Killian didn’t move. There was a low buzzing sound in his ears, and he didn’t know what to believe. He’d expected the High King to dismiss him, to brush him aside. But instead, Rory’s face had turned hard.
“She disappeared a very long time ago. I suppose she altered her name to remain in hiding.”
It was indeed possible, for his mother had never once traveled to visit her family. She had named him MacDubh, refusing to even grant him the knowledge of her tribe’s name. The MacPhersons lived far to the northeast, and he had never been there before.
“Describe what she looked like,” Killian demanded. He wanted to know if Rory was telling the truth.
“She had dark hair, like yours, but her eyes were green. She stood as tall as my shoulder, and she had a small freckle near the corner of her mouth. I was the King of Connacht when I first saw her.”
So it was true. The details were precise, and he was certain the High King was telling the truth. But there came an icy chill over Killian’s spine. “If you remember her so well, then why did she change her name and flee?”
The High King shrugged. “Because I forced her to wed me.”
Married. His mother had married Rory Ó Connor. The blood seemed to rush from Killian’s body, and he stared into Rory’s eyes. There was no denying that he was this man’s son. Theirhair, their height—every feature was the same, save the beard and the slight tinge of gray at the man’s temples. His emotions tangled up in a turmoil of fury and shock.
“What is your name?” the High King asked. “What did she call you?”
“Killian MacDubh,” he answered. For a long moment, he couldn’t speak, could hardly grasp what had happened. He wanted to demand answers, to know why Rory had refused to foster him—why he had never searched for them. In the end, he twisted off the silver ring his mother had given him long ago.
Rory accepted the ring and let out a slow breath. “I gave her this ring when I wed her. Which means you are my son and heir.”
“Get up,” a guard commanded. Taryn’s back was aching, but she moved to her knees. Her hands were bound in front of her, and she struggled to rise. She had not been taken to the mound of hostages, as the High King had commanded. There were only men there, and instead, the captain had confined her below the ground, in a chamber used for slaughtering sheep and cattle. There was still blood in the trench before her, and the frigid stone wall at her back.
“Where are we going?” she asked the guard. Her hands were freezing, and she stumbled as he pushed her forward.
“You will be imprisoned elsewhere,” was all he said.
Elsewhere? She was terrified to think of why. Did it have something to do with her father, or was this still about Carice?
Taryn trudged along the dirt pathway, lowering her head again. She was beginning to realize why her mother had wanted to keep her from Tara. A fresh wave of fear passed over her atthe realization that Maeve had likely entered the gates with her soldiers once she learned that Taryn wasn’t there. And though she was not on good terms with her mother, she could not fault Maeve for trying to protect her.
The guard led her back toward another outbuilding that stood high above the others. From its placement near the banqueting hall, it was well guarded. She searched again for a glimpse of Killian or her father but saw neither one. She trudged up a narrow staircase before the guard opened the door to a tiny chamber and shoved her inside. Taryn struck the wall, barely catching her balance. “You’ll wait here until he comes for you.”
He? Was he referring to Rory Ó Connor? Dear God, she hoped not. But there was one defense she had remaining. With her bound hands, she pulled her hair over one shoulder, revealing the hideous scars on her cheeks. Then she straightened, well aware of the guard’s sudden wince. Good. Perhaps that would be her protection against rape.
He slammed the door shut behind him, leaving her alone. Inside the narrow room, a thin slit served as a window. She moved toward it, trying to see her surroundings. There were soldiers everywhere, leaving nothing unguarded.
Where was Killian? She had not seen a trace of him, and she worried that he was being held prisoner somewhere. Or worse, tortured. Her spirits sank as she was beginning to grasp the hopelessness of her situation. The High King was furious with her for Carice’s disappearance, and he would surely punish her if he believed she was responsible for helping the young woman flee.
Taryn closed her eyes, the unknown fears washing over her. Why had she dared to come here? It had indeed been her own naivete, believing that she could somehow change the High King’s mind.
The door opened, and she spun, her heart beating wildly when she saw Killian standing there. He lowered the latch, and she ran forward, letting him crush her in his arms. He used a blade to slice through her ropes, and she was free to hold him close.
“What happened to you?” she demanded. “Have you seen my father? Does the High King know you are here?”
Killian ignored her queries and leaned in to kiss her. “So many questions.” He kept his nose touched to hers. “And you didn’t listen to me, did you,a mhuírnín? Else, you’d not be confined.”
“I only thought to have a look at the ringfort,” she admitted. “I never imagined there would be so many soldiers here.”
“Rory is raising an army, gathered from all the tribes. He wants them to fight against the Norman invaders.”
She noticed then that his clothing was different. Instead of the rough, dark wool and chain mail, he wore a tunic of fine woven silk and trews befitting a king’s son. Taryn stepped back, noting that he had shaved, and his black hair was combed back.
He had received a welcome from Rory Ó Connor, whereas she had been taken prisoner. She didn’t know what to think of that.
