Darren sent him a sly look. “If you move swiftly, they might accuse her of killing her husband. And then you’ll be free.”
The man’s utter lack of emotion revealed that all he cared about was ending the life of Rory Ó Connor. Nothing else mattered to him, and it didn’t concern him if Carice was harmed in the attempt.
Raine held fast to his silence, for if he dared to voice his true feelings, he would strike Darren down. And if he laid a hand upon his commander, the man would try to kill him. He forced himself to remain cold as frost, to hold back his temper and concentrate on protecting Carice from this marriage.
She had accused him of becoming a murderer.
It’s what you are,his inner voice reminded him.You will never be forgiven for your past sins. But do this, and your sisters will be free.
Would they? He was beginning to have his doubts. Darren had said it was possible, but that meant nothing without the king’s approval.
They began the walk back toward the camp, but Raine wasn’t listening to his commander’s instructions. Something about him hiding among Brodie Faoilin’s men and then separating himself after the wedding.
His mind sharpened as he thought of stealing the bride from her own wedding and running away with her. Carice didn’t want to wed the High King, and he’d shattered her hopes when he’d brought her here. But it wasn’t over yet. He could change everything. The only remaining question was the fate of his sisters. He didn’t know where they were now, but he intended to find out.
They reached the Norman camp, and he stopped Darren, needing those answers. “Where are Nicole and Elise now?”
Impatience crossed over the knight’s face. “They are not my concern. Your orders are to end Rory Ó Connor’s reign. If you succeed in this, you may gain King Henry’s favor, and ask him yourself.”
“Are they even alive?” he prompted.
Darren moved forward swiftly, unsheathing his dagger. “You have your orders, and you must obey them if you want to live.” The man’s voice grew agitated, filled with distrust.
“The High King’s men may kill me during the attempt,” he pointed out.
“Have you changed your mind?” Sir Darren demanded. “Tell me now if you intend to disobey orders, and I promise you, your sisters will pay the price for your cowardice. I can easily find someone else to complete the task. Rory Ó Connor will not live beyond another night.”
Raine gave no reaction, and no longer did he care. It was becoming more and more clear that he was meant to be nothing more than a killer. The Normans would do naught to protect him, and even if he succeeded, the king might punish him as an example.
He believed that with all his being. Instead of killing Rory Ó Connor, his time was better spent in trying to help Carice escape. He should have listened to her when she’d pleaded with him to take her west. But it wasn’t too late—at least, not yet.
All he had to do was keep her from the wedding.
They rode through the gates of Tara the next morning. Her father led the way, and Carice followed behind him. She wore an emerald gown heavily embroidered with gold thread, and her father had given her golden rings and a ruby-studded torque for her throat. The tangible signs of wealth proclaimed her status, but the heavy jewelry only felt like chains to bind her to an unwanted marriage.
She could not run any longer. Instead, she planned to speak privately with the High King and seek an end to the betrothal. Perhaps he would listen, if she could make him see reason.
Raine had disguised himself as one of her father’s men, and the Norman commander had done the same. Though she kept her posture straight, inwardly, she was terrified. She knew his true purpose here, and it bothered her deeply that he intended to go through with this. When she glanced behind at him, his face was masked like stone.
Inside the grounds of Tara, she searched for a glimpse of her brother Killian or Lady Taryn. Surely if they were here, they would come to greet her, but there was no sign of either of them. A grain of worry took hold inside her, and she hoped that they were all right.
The Rath-na-Rígh was a large fortification with two walls surrounding the structure and a deep ditch running between them. Several outbuildings were set up within the space, with hearth fires and armed soldiers everywhere. Carice didn’t understand what had happened, but the tension within the Ard-Righ’s fortress was palpable. The men were pacing, some with their hands resting upon the hilts of their weapons, while others stared at her with open suspicion.
“Why are they staring at us?” she murmured to her father.
“I don’t know. But I suspect there was an attack. Perhaps it involved Lady Taryn’s father.”
She hoped not. But the absence of Killian and Lady Taryn only heightened her anxiety. Carice continued riding through the grounds until they reached the banqueting hall. Raine helped her dismount from her horse, his touch gentle upon her waist. He squeezed her hands slightly, as if to reassure her, but she could not stop her fears. He kept back a slight distance and gave her horse over to one of the other men while he walked behind her. He was to act as her personal guard, it seemed.
Brodie led her inside while Raine continued to shadow her. She felt his presence, and with every step, Carice worried for his sake. She wanted to beg Raine to abandon this task and leave Tara. But he wouldn’t. He had sworn to do anything to free his sisters, and that meant obeying his orders. And God help her, she didn’t want him to die.
The Ard-Righ was waiting for them at the far end of the banqueting hall. The High King was nearly the same age as her father, with dark hair tinted gray, a beard edging his jawline, and silver eyes that were the same asKillian’s. Rory Ó Connor didn’t rise from his place, nor did he seem interested in her at all. Instead, he appeared annoyed with her father. “I see you found my lost bride.”
The High King’s gaze flickered over Carice for a moment, but there was no welcome in his eyes—only a cold resentment. She resisted the urge to take a step backward.
“I am glad to present you with my daughter, Carice Faoilin,” Brodie said, holding her hand and nudging her forward. “She has been ill as of late, but now she is prepared to become your bride as we agreed.”
Carice wanted to argue, but knew that a public disagreement would not serve her purpose. It was better not to draw any attention yet.
