His enemy fought like a man who had spent his entire life trying to be perfect...like one trying to please his father. And Alarr knew how to press that weakness.
‘Your father never noticed you, did he?’ he asked. ‘Because you were only a bastard.’
He understood that emotion, for his father hadn’t noticed him either. He was the second-born son, hardly worthy of notice. Sigurd had given Brandt his full attention, while Alarr was an afterthought, often forgotten.
When Oisin gave no answer, Alarr continued. ‘I suppose you thought that by wedding Treasa’s daughter, you would have your own lands and become chief.’
‘I will be their chief,’ Oisin answered. ‘We will become one of the strongest fortresses in Eireann.’
Alarr lunged and tried to find a weak point, but Oisin only parried the blow. He circled again. ‘Your father never believed you would become anything, did he?’
‘He will soon think differently. And one day, I will have his lands as well.’ The arrogance of the statement revealed his illusions of victory. But they would never come true.
From his peripheral vision, Alarr saw Treasa drawing nearer. She was gripping her hands together and muttering to herself. Worry creased her forehead, and he warned her, ‘Stay back, Treasa. This is our fight, not yours.’
‘It shouldn’t be,’ she mumbled. ‘I arranged all of it. The priest, the wedding. Breanne is supposed to marry him.’
‘Oisin will never be her husband,’ Alarr insisted. ‘Do as you will for Clonagh, but Breanne is coming with me.’
He continued to strike out at his opponent, but Treasa’s hysteria was rising. ‘No,’ she moaned. ‘My daughter must wed the son of a king. She must restore our lands. And I will be the one to guide her. I will be queen here until I have breathed my last.’
She took another step forward, and Alarr cursed under his breath. ‘Stay back, Treasa.’
He increased his speed, their swords clashing again and again. Oisin was growing tired, and Alarr saw the perspiration on the man’s forehead. He continued to fight, but Oisin barely avoided a death blow when he aimed for Alarr’s legs.
The time to finish the fight was now. Alarr moved with swiftness, and all around him, he heard the sounds of encouragement from the people. It was unnerving to feel their support, but it aided him in a way he had never expected.
And then Treasa bolted between them, her knife raised high. ‘She will never wed a Lochlannach.’
Alarr barely stopped his sword’s motion, but Oisin’s never ceased. It sliced through Treasa’s flesh and bone, and he stumbled backwards. The people around him inhaled with shock as Treasa fell forward, knocking Oisin to the ground. Her body lay in a pool of blood, and beneath her was Oisin. His expression held shock, and when Alarr pulled Treasa back, he realised that her blade had pierced Oisin’s heart when she had collapsed atop him. His enemy was grasping at the weapon, but he could do nothing. He was choking, blood spilling from his mouth. Within moments, both of them were dead.
Breanne came running to him, and Alarr embraced her hard, heedless of the blood. He was dimly aware that one of the blades had cut him, but he cared not. All that mattered was being in her arms.
‘I love you,’ she whispered, kissing him. ‘Thank the gods you are all right.’
Alarr held her close, and in that moment, all that mattered was holding her in his arms. It didn’t matter about the people of Clonagh or the bodies of the fallen. All that mattered was her.
‘I love you, Breanne,’ he said. ‘And I want you to be my wife.’
He hadn’t meant to blurt out the words so suddenly, but it was the truth. He didn’t want to awaken without her by his side. She had never perceived him as less than a man, and with her, he was whole. He didn’t care where they lived, so long as they were together.
Breanne’s face transformed with a blend of relief and joy. ‘Yes,’ she wept. ‘I promise.’
He buried his face in her hair, feeling gratitude that she would share her life with him. When he pulled back, he saw Feann watching, and a look of understanding passed between them. The king knew that he would guard her with his life and defend her.
For so long, he had lived for vengeance, never realising that it was a hollow emotion. In the end, death would not heal the wounds of loss. Only love could do that.
When he took Breanne’s hands in his and faced the people, one of the men approached. The man had dark hair with threads of silver, and he regarded both of them. With a glance at the others, he spoke only a few words. ‘Our council of brehons would like to speak with you both to discuss the future of Clonagh.’
Alarr didn’t answer at first, though he knew it was a grave concern for them. King Cerball wanted Breanne to govern her own lands with a loyal man at her side. But Alarr would never let anyone take her from him now. And that left him questioning what was right.
‘I would like to speak to them as well,’ came the voice of Feann. ‘And I would like to propose that Breanne should become your queen.’
She was already shaking her head in refusal. ‘I know nothing about ruling over a clan. And I will not wed another man for an alliance of your choosing. The only one I will take as my husband is Alarr.’
He held her close, feeling her tension rise higher. But the older clansman surprised him by nodding in agreement. ‘Having a Lochlannach
