Ravenmarked (The Taurin Chronicles) (15 page)

Her face paled. He relished the pain of his touch on her fresh skin. “You’re hurting me.”

“If you don’t want it to hurt more, you’ll do exactly what I tell you.”

***

Kill them, raven. Rake them open.

Connor threw off his blanket and sat up, his breath coming in gasps. He clutched at his chest with one hand.
Not now—don’t call me now. I can’t—

You must bring justice.

He squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head, trying to clear the vision of blood and death the Morrag planted in his mind. It only grew more vivid. He stood and pulled his boots on.

Mairead stirred and propped herself on one elbow. “Connor?”

He picked up his sword. “I’m going out.”

Her hair shimmered in the faint moonlight that lit the oiled skins covering the windows. “Going to see your maid?”

“I don’t know. I need air.” He tucked his daggers in his boots. “Do you have your dagger?”

She sat up all the way. “Yes. Why? Am I in danger?”

“I’ve got to check something. Keep it with you just in case.”

He left the room and crept down the stairs, following where the ache led. He stopped in the empty common room. Keely’s soft cry drifted to him. He drew a dagger and walked through the inn to a small room. “Keely?” He pushed on the partially open door.

She sat in a linen shift on a little cot, her face in her hands. She wiped her tears in a frantic swipe and stood when he entered. “Don’t—” she started, tense, and then relaxed. “’Tis you. I—I thought ye were—” Her wrists were bruised, and the skin exposed by her shift was red and raw.

Kill them, raven.

The screams of dying men and the sobs of a frightened girl . . .
He shook his head. “Are you well?”

“Some men aren’t so gentle as others.”

The ache flared again. Blood stained the thin mat on her cot. “Did he rape you?”

She shook her head. “I agreed to it, and he paid me well for what he took.” Her voice dropped. “’Twas magic. ’Twas more than just a man.” She closed her eyes and her face paled. “It’s not important. ’Tis well. I can go home now. But Connor—” She hesitated, bit her lip, dropped her voice, and stepped closer to him. “Go. Wake the lady and be gone before first light. He knows ye, lad. He’s looking for ye and the lady.”

Connor’s stomach lurched. “Who was he?”

She dropped her voice further. “I canna tell ye. I canna risk him comin’ back. Please lad—go.”

“Take this.” He turned his dagger around and let her take it. “This blade is as sharp as I can make it.”

Her face paled, but she nodded. “I thank ye.”

He returned to his room. Mairead sat on the bed, fully dressed with a dagger in hand. She stood. “What is it?”

“We need to go. Now.”

They both put on their cloaks and packs and went to the stables. Connor saddled the horses and led them out. They mounted and walked out of the village, tense and alert.

When they had passed the village boundaries, Connor motioned her to run, and they set the horses at a gallop. After a few miles, he reined in, and she pulled up next to him. “What happened?”

“The maid said someone was looking for us.”

Mairead’s face paled in the moonlight that peeked through the churning clouds. “Who?”

“I don’t know, but whoever he was, he terrified Keely. She said he was more than a man. He had some kind of magic.”

“Do you think it was the same man who sent the soldiers?”

“Probably.”

“How do we fight an enemy we can’t see?”

“Carefully.” He sat still and listened. “I don’t think anyone followed us, but I want to be sure we’re safe. We’ll ride tonight and rest in the morning if we can find a safe place.” They nudged the horses into a brisk walk.

When morning dawned, Connor found a quiet clearing far enough from the road that no one would see them or the horses. He and Mairead both dismounted. “That wasn’t much of a rest. I’d hoped you could get a good night’s sleep,” he said.

She shook her head and yawned. “I’m all right. If I can doze now, I’ll be able to ride again soon.” She pulled her blanket out of her pack, found a dry patch of ground, and curled up in her blanket and cloak. “Wake me when you’re ready to keep riding.”

“I will.” He untied his own blanket and sat down next to her. “Can I tell you something?”

“Yes.”

“When you reached for my dagger that day, I should have seen that. You were quick. You caught me off-guard.”

She opened her eyes. “Why do you tell me this?”

“It’s something you can use to your advantage. Men don’t expect women to wield daggers. Especially women like you.”

“Women like me?”

“Highborn women. You can use that.”

She closed her eyes. “I’ll remember that.”

He resisted the temptation to stroke her hair.
She is meant to be a queen.

Chapter Twelve

When history writes my story,

I want it known that I would only change one thing:

I should have married Maeve.

— Journal of Duke Culain Mac Niall, b. 5926, d. 5987

She was a pretty girl, if young. Fine brown hair that fell in wispy curls to her hips framed a heart-shaped face, and her lips were sweetly plump. She had fair skin, light blue eyes, and a trim figure.
She would be prettier if she weren’t so terrified,
Braedan thought. “Do you fear me, Lady Aislinn?”

Red-rimmed eyes darted around the room, and her hands worried at a kerchief as she fidgeted before the Raven Throne. “Y-your m-majesty, m-my husband, Daron—” She gasped a sob.

“I promised you my protection until your father comes to retrieve you. You have nothing to fear.”

She nodded, but she sobbed again. Ronan Kerry stood behind her. Braedan motioned him forward. “You did tell her she had nothing to fear, didn’t you?” he asked in a low voice.

“I did, but she may not have believed me.”

“Did something happen on the way to Torlach?”

“Not that I’m aware of.”

I don’t trust you.
“I will speak with the Lady Aislinn alone. You have my leave.” Ronan bowed and retreated from the audience hall.

Braedan descended the dais to Aislinn’s side and took her arm. She flinched. “I assure you, Lady Aislinn, I have no intention of harming you.” He escorted her to one of the benches in the hall and seated her. He motioned a servant forward. “Bring bread and cheese. And wine.” The servant inclined his head and left the hall.

Braedan sat next to Aislinn. “My lady, I am sorry for your grief.”

Her eyes jerked up to his. “Sorry? But you ordered—” She closed her eyes. “I saw him. At the Noble Gate.”

Braedan grimaced.
I told Ronan to take it down.
“Your husband stood in my way of taking this throne. I had no choice but to remove him.”

“You could have exiled him.”

“And give you time to bear him a child? Another challenge to the throne?”

She gasped a sob. “You would kill a child, too?”

Would I?
“Surely you must see the necessity.”

She twisted the kerchief. “We were only wed six months. I barely knew him. He was kind enough, but . . . .” She took a deep breath. “What will you do with me?”

“As I said, you are free to return to your father. Until he arrives, the castle is your home. You are no prisoner.”

“Why not send me home with an escort?”

She’s shrewd.
“I need to speak with your father.”

“About what, sire?”

“Do you presume to know your father’s business?”

She lowered her eyes. “F-forgive me, s-sire. I have always been too bold.”

Bold, true. But curious as well.
“Your father has not yet sworn his allegiance to me.”

The wine arrived. Aislinn took a goblet, sipped, and lowered it to her lap. “You keep me hostage, majesty.”

“You misunderstand. I offer you and your father the opportunity to swear fealty before someone misunderstands his hesitation as rebellion.”

Aislinn nodded. “I am young, but I know politics. I know what my father will expect and what he will offer.”

“And what is that?”

She sipped again. “My father had no love for your father or for Daron, but he saw the advantage of allying House Seannan with House Mac Corin. We are a small house, and not as wealthy as some, but we are one of the original thirteen seats of Taura. My father will offer you my hand and hope that you provide him with favors to restore our holdings to wealth.”

Braedan folded his arms. “You must see that I cannot take you as wife now, my lady. Any child you conceive now would be assumed to be Daron’s.”

“I understand, but I do not believe I carry Daron’s child.” Her face colored. “He didn’t bed me often.” She took a steadying breath. “I’m young and healthy, though. I could give you many sons if I had the chance.”

He hid a smile.
Bold and shrewd, and not afraid to speak truth. I could do worse.
“How old are you, my lady?”

“Sixteen, sire.”

A child. She’s a child.
He motioned to a maid and then took Aislinn’s hand and stood with her. “I thank you for your honesty and boldness, Lady Aislinn. The maid will show you to a room where you’ll have every comfort.”

Braedan made his way to Igraine’s chambers. Igraine looked up from a scroll when he entered the room. “Majesty. What can I do for you?”

As usual, the sight of her made him catch his breath.
She really is exquisite. And she doesn’t even stand when I enter the room. She makes it clear that I’ve interrupted her. How rare a woman this is.
He sat across from her. “My cousin’s wife—the Lady Aislinn. Do you know of her?”

“Aye. The guards spoke of her. She was to arrive today, wasn’t she?”

“She’s here. Igraine, I need a favor.”

She folded her hands in her lap. “A favor. Kings don’t ask for favors.”

“This one does. This is outside the realm of your duties.”

“What is it?”

“This girl is only sixteen, and she’s terrified. I’ve tried to reassure her that I mean her no harm, but she still fears me.”

“I can’t imagine why she’s so terrified. You’ve only murdered her husband, seized her home, and brought her here under heavy guard.”

He grimaced. “Will you go to her? Reassure her?”

She tipped her head to one side. “Reassure her.” She leaned forward. “Tell me what you really want, Braedan.”

He shifted in his seat. “She doesn’t seem entirely guileless.”

Igraine grinned. “You think she is playing you.”

“Perhaps.”
And who better to uncover her guile than the other woman who plays me so shamelessly?
“She says her father will offer me her hand, but I can’t unless—”

“—unless you know she is not with child.”

He inclined his head. “She was forthcoming about her father’s ambitions. He wishes his house to return to its former glory, so I understand why he would offer her hand. Still, she’s so young, and I hesitate to ally myself with a small house when—”

“—you might make a better match with a wealthier house.”

He sighed. “I have to wed, and soon. There’s no question of that. The crown has little money, and I’d prefer to ally myself with a wealthy house. There is Kiern in the north—Duke Mac Rian’s holdings. It used to be wealthy and could be again. Olwyn Mac Rian is shrewd, even if her father is a dolt.” He stopped, considering how to continue.

She waited. “Yes?”

He hesitated. “Do I tell you the truth, Igraine? I fear you would use it against me.”

“It depends on what it is.”

“At least you’re honest.” He leaned forward in his seat. “I wish to wed with affection. I knew Olwyn before my exile, and she promised to turn into a cruel, conniving woman. And the Lady Aislinn is pretty and bright, but a child. There are other noble ladies, but I long for more than just an expedient alliance.”
I want more than my mother got from my father.

Igraine’s eyes softened at the edges. “I’d not realized you’d developed such maturity.”

“I’ve been accused of many things, but maturity has never been one.”

She grinned. “Perhaps it’s time, then.”

“Is this what we’ve become, Igraine? A class of squabbling nobles who kill our cousins and sell our daughters for alliances and blood?”

“’Tis the way of things, isn’t it?”

“I would have thought you would want it changed.”

“I do. Why do you think I’m here?” She stood. “We can’t change the entire world at once, Braedan, but we can change it here, for us. Show me where the lady is quartered. I’ll see her.”

He escorted her to the Lady Aislinn’s rooms and returned to his study. He wrote orders for Daron’s head to be removed from the noble gate and buried with his body on the Mac Corin grounds.
Ronan won’t like it, but it’s time to end these games. A new era requires new methods, new mercies.

He hadn’t wanted Daron dead. He had barely known his cousin. Daron was a child of a distant branch of House Mac Corin. Braedan’s father chose him as heir because he was pious and committed to ruling Taura alongside the kirok. When Braedan prepared to claim the throne, Ronan had insisted that Daron be sentenced to death rather than exile. “Daron is a traitor to the crown,” he had said. “Traitors die by beheading.”

Braedan scrubbed his face with his hands and rested his elbows on his desk.
I should have insisted on exile. I could have sent him away with his wife to Aliom or some distant place where they could have raised a family and practiced their faith.

When he opened his eyes, they fell on a skin of oiska. He pulled out the stopper. The smoky aroma reminded him of nights in exile when he first began to gather men around him and they found women in taverns and public houses and slave trains. Logan always kept watch while Braedan and the others drank, gambled, and whored the nights away on Ronan’s money.

He put the stopper back in the skin and summoned a guard. “Send for Commander Mac Kendrick.”

Several minutes later, Logan opened the door and bowed. “Sire.”

Braedan picked up the skin and held it out to Logan. “Take this. I have no need of it.”

Logan frowned as he took the skin. “Of course, sire. Is there something wrong with it?”

“No.” Braedan leaned back in his seat. “Do you ever miss it? Culidar?”

A grin flickered across Logan’s face. “Miss sleeping in mud and relieving myself in a ditch? No, I can’t say I do.”

Braedan laughed. “You’ve been a loyal friend, Logan. I appreciate your faithful service.”

Logan shifted his feet, and for a moment, Braedan thought it might have hidden a flinch. The commander cleared his throat. “Thank you, sire. Is there some other way I can help you?”

“No. You’re dismissed.”
And this is how things are now. These men are no longer friends. Now, I’m a king and they’re subjects.

He passed the afternoon answering correspondence and reviewing petitions, and when a maid brought his supper, he thanked her with a distracted wave of one hand. When his guard announced Igraine’s arrival, Braedan was surprised at the late hour.

He stood as Igraine entered the room. “Please, have a seat. Wine?”

“That would be lovely.” She sat and took the wine he poured for her. “I’ve seen the girl. I do not believe she is with child. She recently had her bleeding, and she tells me Daron rarely bedded her.”

“Oh?”

“Aye. If it concerns you, though, keep the lady Aislinn here for a few more weeks. Assign her a maid or two. If she is with child, they will notice.” She sipped her wine. “Your cousin seems to have had little interest in her. Aislinn says he preferred to spend time with the kirons in prayer and supplication.”

Braedan thought for a moment. “You’re not saying—”

“I don’t know. Perhaps it was only prayer.” She paused. “I do know that the lady got little pleasure from your cousin. He saw bedding her as a duty only.” A hint of anger hovered in her voice.

Braedan grinned. “You rise to the lady’s defense, Igraine?”

She lifted her chin. “A woman deserves as much pleasure in bedding as a man, don’t you think? The old idea that a woman’s pleasure comes with a babe in the womb and squalling infants around her—’tis an idea whose time has faded.”

Braedan laughed. “And you, Igraine?”

Her mouth tightened. “I have little desire to have a babe at the breast every turn of the seasons. I’ll not be a broodmare for any man, least of all one who seeks only his own pleasure.” She sipped her wine. “Lady Aislinn did express her admiration of your stature. She wondered what your intentions are.”

He folded his hands. “It is not my intention to wed or bed the Lady Aislinn. I intend to send her home. Her father can make her a good match with some noble son who gives her all the pleasure she deserves.” He paused. “Do you think I was wrong to kill Daron?”

Her green eyes sparkled above the rim of her goblet. “Regrets?”

“A king shouldn’t have regrets.”

“Perhaps a king should have more regrets than most. Perhaps he has more to answer for.” She stood and put her goblet on the desk.

Braedan walked around the desk. “You didn’t answer my question.”

“You did the practical thing, but did you do the right thing?” She shrugged. “In sixty years, when you are old and gray and lying on your deathbed, will singers speak of your coup or of your peaceful reign? Will the people forgive you Daron’s death or curse you for it?”

“You think history will decide whether I did the right thing?”

“No. But the deed is done. Now you must serve the people in such a way that history forgives Daron’s death.”

He folded his arms. “Sometimes I don’t like talking to you.”

She inclined her head. “Then I have served my purpose.”