But worse was the thought of watching her pair off with another man.The dark sense of possession brewed within him, along with the desire to shred apart any man who dared to look at her.
Inside the Great Chamber, rows of trestle tables filled the room, loaded with platters of bread, fish, roasted meat of all kinds, and honey cakes.Fresh flowers were everywhere,and Norman soldiers gathered with the Irish for the feasting.
At first, Balor stayed near the back of the Great Chamber, far away from his brother or Fergus.The chieftain would want to be as close as possible to the MacEgans, and Balor didn’t want to be anywhere near them.
He decided to join one of the tables filled with Norman soldiers.They paid him little heed, but one passed him a wooden goblet filled with ale.He drank and kept to himself, but two other Normans sat down beside him.
‘Who do you think she’ll choose?’the man asked.
Balor hadn’t expected them to speak to him, but he shrugged and switched into their language.‘Probably the man King John chose for her.Whoever has the most wealth and power.’
His companion laughed.‘I suppose that’s true enough.’He eyed Balor’s clothing and added, ‘You speak the Norman language well.’
‘I was fostered in England,’ he said, draining the cup.‘With Lord William Fleming de Beaumont.’
‘Were you?’the soldier said.He exchanged a glance with the older Norman soldier.‘I am Gerald of Mowbray.’
‘Balor Ó Phelan,’ he answered.He noticed that the older Norman was staring at him now, his gaze piercing.‘Is something wrong?’
But Gerald shrugged.‘Not at all.’
‘Did you know Lord Beaumont well?’the older man asked.
Balor shook his head.‘Only from a distance.My mother sent me to England, and I was fostered with a dozen others.’
The older one turned thoughtful and nodded.‘I did know the earl.He’s a good man.I suppose you learned to fight among his men.’
He couldn’t deny it.Beaumont’s captain had forced all of them to train, night and day, until Balor was confident he could fight back against anyone.‘Well enough,’ he answered.
Gerald motioned to the serving girl to bring them both more ale.‘And do you think you have a chance of winning the Lady Mairead’s heart, Ó Phelan?’He nodded towards the king’s daughter, who was sitting with her family upon the dais.Mairead wore aléineand overdress of deep green while a golden necklace set with green stones encircled her throat.Not emeralds, but he guessed they were polished marble stones from Connemara.Above her forehead, she wore her hair in a complex, braided coronet, letting the rest fall freely below her shoulders in soft waves.
‘I’ve no chance at all.’Balor reached for the bread and tore off a large piece.He kept his expression and tone neutral, acting as if he had no interest in the king’s daughter.Even if he was fully conscious of every move she made.
‘Then why are you here?’
He shrugged.‘For the food?’Though it was an honest answer, the men around him began to laugh, and they raised their glass to him.
‘I like you, Ó Phelan,’ Gerald said, slapping him on the back.
It was strange to be welcomed among them, and a rise of uneasiness came over him.‘What of you?’he asked.‘Do any of you think you have a chance at winning the hand of an Irish noblewoman?’
Gerald shook his head.‘Not at all.We’re here by the king’s command.Well,someof us are.’He glanced at the older man.‘Others are here for their own purpose.’
Balor wanted to ask what he meant but held back.He would gain more information if he remained silent.Witha light shrug, he lifted his glass and said, ‘Then enjoy the food.Sláinte.’
While they ate, he started to count how many Normans were among them.Without armour, it was difficult to tell, but he listened to their conversations.It really did seem that the king was trying to infiltrate the MacEgan forces under the guise of sending men to court Mairead.
The feasting continued before several of the tables were cleared back to make space for dancing.Lady Mairead joined with several of her cousins, and Balor watched as she moved among her suitors.Her smile was genuine, and she moved like someone who had been surrounded by beauty all her life.
But then the men around him rose to their feet.‘Come on, Ó Phelan.You’re coming with us,’ Gerald said.
It would cause a greater problem if he protested, but soon enough, he realized they only meant to surround the dancers and watch.He tried to drift back behind them, but Gerald laughed and said, ‘Oh, no.We’ll see if another maiden chooses one of us.We have wagers on who’s going to dance with you.’
‘No one,’ he started to say.
But their merriment had drawn attention, including the Ó Phelan chieftain’s.Fergus stood from his seat at the table, his gaze furious.He strode towards Balor, murder in his eyes.‘You shouldn’t be here.Get out.’
Balor ignored the chieftain, as if he hadn’t spoken at all.Instead, he calmly took his place among the Norman soldiers at the edge of the dancing, his gaze fixed upon Mairead.Her expression paled when she saw him there.
