‘I don’t want to believe it.But if they are a threat to us, what should I do?’His palm rested against her waist as they spun in a slow circle, and she grew fully aware of the heat of his touch.
His blue eyes were staring at her with undisguised longing.And his face was so close to hers, she wanted to reach up and touch the rough stubble on his cheeks.God help her, she wanted to feel his mouth against hers again, claiming a kiss she shouldn’t want so badly.Her body grew restless, feeling those strong arms around her while he moved her amid the others, taking command.
Balor was dangerous, tempting her towards reckless decisions.
‘Don’t do anything yet,’ he advised.‘Keep your ears open and tell your father what you hear.’
It was good advice, so she nodded.The dance ended, and he raised her palm to his lips, offering a faint smile.
Oh, he was far too handsome to leave her unaffected.Even after Balor returned among the others, her skin yearned for his hands upon her.She wanted him to kiss her again and sensed that it wouldn’t be gentle at all.
Balor Ó Phelan was a temptation she didn’t need right now.But when she glanced back to where he’d been standing, he was already gone.
Her brother, Liam, was standing beside their mother when she returned, along with her uncle Ewan.All were clearly awaiting an explanation from her.She was going to have to tell them the truth about the rescue, if for no other reason than to save Balor from their wrath.
When she started with a smile, Liam met her gaze and declared, ‘Absolutely not.’
She feigned innocence while she considered what to say.‘What do you mean?’
He raised an eyebrow.‘I mean you’ll not wed Balor Ó Phelan.I don’t care what he’s said to you or—’
‘He rescued me from the Norman attack,’ she interrupted.
All of them fell silent as they absorbed this new information.She was careful to keep her expression composed.
‘Balor is the man who guarded me and brought me back to Ennisleigh,’ she finished.‘I owe him my life.The least I can do is offer him food and dancing.’
Before she could walk away, her brother caught her hand and held it.Liam’s stare turned discerning.‘Be careful, Mairead.I saw the way he was looking at you.’
‘You’re wrong.He’s not here as a suitor, and I know I could never marry him.’Although they were the words everyone expected her to say—and she saw their visible relief—a pang of regret settled in her gut.
She had no illusions that any of her suitors were here for love.They wanted political alliances, and although most were kind, they cared nothing about her.
But Balor had been different from the moment she’d met him.He’d saved her during the attack, and he’d shown a bravery she hadn’t seen in most men.
In their few stolen moments together, she’d sensed something happening between them.Balor had made her feel alive again, even if it was only raw attraction.After she’d lost Diarmud, she’d been living in a blurred world where life went on around her, and she’d had to pretend she had gotten over the loss of her first love.Even though she hadn’t.
It wasn’t wise to let her bruised heart fall for the wrong man again.Better to lose Balor now by pretending their stolen moments didn’t matter.And she would deny the rise of interest she’d felt in his arms.
When Lord Lowell smiled at her and approached to offer a dance, Mairead told herself that she would give the earl a true chance at winning her heart.He had been kind enough—surely, she could learn to care for him.
If he was the match the king and her father had chosen—and if this marriage would please King John and protect her family—she saw no choice but to fulfil her duty.
Letting Balor go was the safe choice, the one that would protect him.
Even if it broke her heart.
* * *
It was dawn when Balor awaited Marcas at the barbican gate.He wasn’t entirely certain whether the lad would arrive, but the only people walking around were the guards.If Marcas wanted privacy to practice, then he would have it.
Balor’s sleep had been troubled last night.He’d dreamed of Mairead, of her being captured by more Normans while he was unable to save her.He’d awakened in a restless panic, his body sweaty and his heart pounding.
He reminded himself of all the reasons why it shouldn’t matter.She would choose a husband, marry, and bear noble children like hundreds of women before her.Her life was her own.
But last night, he’d seen the troubled look on her face when she’d danced with the earl.It was the look of resignation, not hope.And he didn’t know what that meant.
‘Good morn to you,’ a voice called out.He turned around and saw Marcas hurrying forward.The boy wore a tunic that was slightly too big for him with a colc sword at his waist.The weapon was short, but it still hung below his knees.
