Balor took aim with his bow and shot the first man in the back, dropping him into the water.Mairead cried out in alarm, but the second man took his blade and brought it to her throat, making it impossible for Balor to shoot.
‘If you release your arrow, she dies.’The Norman held her against him as the tide began pulling them farther away.Within seconds, the distance between them grew even more as the water pushed them back.
Balor didn’t lower his weapon but waited for the right moment.All he needed was a clear shot, and the man was dead.
Mairead paled, her hands clenched in her skirts.Her gaze met his, and she blurted out, ‘Please help me.’
The moment she spoke, her attacker struck Mairead across the face, bloodying her lip.She sank against him, and Balor released the arrow.
It grazed the soldier’s cheek, leaving a line of blood as the man seized the oars, pulling hard against the water while Mairead lay slack against him.
And Balor didn’t know if it was possible to swim fast enough to catch up to them.
* * *
It was the hardest thing Mairead had ever done, pretending to be unconscious and weak.Within her sleeve, she held a blade, waiting for the right opportunity to strike.Outside the boat, she heard more fighting before a man cursed and a splashing noise struck the water.
Then the boat rocked as another man climbed inside.Her heart pounded as she wondered if it was the Irishman.She prayed it was.
She’d already recognized him as the same fighter she’d watched on the night Alanna had told her fortune.But it also seemed as if she’d seen this man before, though she didn’t know where.How had he known that she and Velaria had left Laochre?Had he been awake and followed them?She couldn’t help but be grateful for it.
The waiting was agonizing, not knowing whether theIrishman had come to rescue her.At last, she felt a hand reaching for her, and Mairead jerked at the unwanted touch, opening her eyes.
But the Irishman was gone, leaving her with two Norman captors.Dismay flooded through her when she realized she would have to break free of them and make her own escape.Her father and uncles had trained her to fight back, though she’d done a poor job of it earlier.But at least now she had a weapon they knew nothing about.
‘You’re a pretty one,’ the bearded man said in the Norman tongue.‘I’ll enjoy tasting you.’
She’d cut out his tongue if he dared try such a thing.They probably didn’t realize she understood their language.And that might be an advantage.They might speak freely, thinking she wouldn’t know their words.
‘Stabfaidh mé thú,’she shot back in Irish, threatening to gut them.
The second man remained stone-faced.‘Hold her down.’She wanted to spit in his face, but she forced herself to keep her struggles to a minimum, just enough to make them believe they’d won.
Don’t show your strength, she warned herself.Wait for the right moment.
She wished she weren’t wearing aléineand overdress.Although the rose-colored silk was one of her favourites, it was better suited to her father’s court than trying to run away.The skirts were far too long.Her mood darkened at the thought of what would happen to her now.Terror lanced what was left of her courage, even as she tried to remain cool and collected.
‘We could give her to King John, after we’ve finished with her,’ the first soldier said.He inched her gown higher,baring her legs.‘He’ll enjoy this one in his bed when he arrives with his armies.’
Her blood chilled at the mention of the King of England.John had been named Lord of Ireland, but he’d mostly left them in peace.Why would he be returning now?
But all thoughts of the king fled when the first man tried to jerk her legs apart.Mairead struggled against him and let out a loud scream.While he was distracted, she gripped her blade behind her skirts, knowing she would have to wield it against these men.
Time seemed to go motionless, and her heart pounded.There was no choice except to fight back.She’d never wanted to kill a man, but if she didn’t strike hard, he fully intended to violate her.And she refused to be his victim.
Her teeth were chattering with panic, and tears of rage slid down her cheeks.But before she could stab her attacker, the boat suddenly rocked violently.The man lost his balance and fell forward, just as the Irishman emerged from the sea, dripping wet.
He wasted no time in slicing his blade across her attacker’s throat.The look in his dark blue eyes held intensity and a silent vow.He’d swum this far and would stop at nothing to defend her.
Something inside her warmed to the thought, and for a moment, she could only stare at him in shock.His features were handsome, but in a rough, unkempt way.His fierce jaw outlined a face that intrigued her.He wasn’t like the polished noblemen her father had chosen as suitors in the past.Blue eyes of pure rebellion stared back at her and dark, wet hair hung against his nape.
Her thoughts scattered when the other Norman soldier withdrew his blade and slashed at the Irishman.Mairead backed away, still keeping the blade in her hand.The Normanstruck out while the boat swayed dangerously.She questioned whether to let them fight—or should she intervene?Her question was answered when the Norman’s blade sliced the Irishman’s forearm.
‘Is that all you can do?’he taunted the Norman soldier.He beckoned to his enemy, as if he relished the idea of a fight.
But the smug expression on the soldier’s face made it seem as if he was only toying with his opponent.The Irishman slashed his own blade, and the Norman blocked the blow—just before he slid his own dagger between them.
In that vicious fragment of the fight, Mairead feared the worst.Her champion was going to lose, and after he did, this Norman would punish her.She couldn’t let that happen.Her stomach roiled with terror and nausea, but she had to act now.Raw instinct and her father’s training flooded through her as she stabbed her own blade into the side of the Norman’s exposed neck.As her blade cut through flesh, she remembered her father’s warning never to pierce it from the back, for fear of the knife striking against bone.
