Irish: The Irish Princess Part 27

He looked down at her, tilting her face up, his gaze searching hers. The fact remained that she was still keeping things from him, and he realized that though he might have vanquished her body, he did not possess her heart.

Nor her complete trust.

The crush of it almost made him confess his sins, clear the rubble of his past before it could butcher the relationship building between them. Almost. He could not risk losing her to the truth. Not now. Not when the thought of being without her made him want to die. He'd been alone all his life, and now that he knew there was another life he could lead, he could not bear the loneliness again. She was his wife, his mate, for eternity, and his need to mark her, brand her his in every way possible, surged through him.

He ducked and kissed her, devouring and strong, pushing his tongue between her lips, his knee between her thighs. His hands charged a wild ride over her bare body, enfolding her b.u.t.tocks and pulling her hard against his groin. She strained for more and the heat of her s.e.x moistened his thigh, the scent of her commanding him, driving him.

He twisted, pressing her back against the stone wall, his kiss ravenous, desperate. He shaped her body, rubbed and dipped, tasted her on his fingertips and ceased his a.s.sault long enough to step out of his braies. Then he nudged her thighs wider, stroking her wetly, teasing her with the tip of his erection until she was reaching for him, until she whimpered and arched and clawed for him to fill her.

Then he did, lifting her legs around his hips and shoving himself inside her with a force that mashed her to the wall.

She gasped in pleasure, clamping her arms around his neck, rocking.

He imprisoned her hips to the wall, his thickness pleasuring her in smooth deliberation, his dark eyes watching her, smoldering with an almost sinister obsession.

"You are mine, Siobhan," he murmured into the curve of her ear, his hands palming her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, circling her nipples. "Mine."

Siobhan could not wonder over the desperation in his voice, the rough texture of it. But his motions spoke more, his touch, his taste of her frenzied, anxious, his every move designed to thrill and excite beyond her limits.

In the darkness of the chamber he possessed her, bodies undulating in rhythmic cadence, skin slick with sweat and desire. He drank in her pants and sobs of rapture and then when she could take no more, begging he cease, he refused, greedily delivering her into a summit of mindless pa.s.sion and leaving her dangling over the edge.

He was tender with patience, then at once, savage and erotic, bringing her to a shattering climax before the looking gla.s.s with only the touch of his hand. Her wild response drove him insane with l.u.s.t, her ecstasy spinning through his being and penetrating deep into the hollows of his corrupt soul. He tried to take her into himself, smother doubts, win her heart so firmly naught could shatter them apart. Yet near the witching hour, when they sank into the soft bedding in a seductive tangle of arms and legs, Gaelan realized the demon he chased lay within, and even in the comfort of her soft arms, he could not fight it.

Standing in the inner ward, Gaelan brushed his mouth over Siobhan's, the memory of the evening before, of the love play they shared, blossoming in the kiss. She was an inventive creature, making their nights more interesting than he thought possible.

Gaelan felt the sting on his shoulder and drew back, turning sharply in time to see Connal dart into the barns, his lamb a bit slower and giving clear evidence to his presence. What did the child think to accomplish with this daily attack?

"I apologize, my lord."

"'Tis mischief." And he does it only with his mother near.

"'Tis meanness." She started after him, but he stayed her, then strode calmly after the child to the barns. After a quick scan, Gaelan noticed the haystack moving and stepped closer, digging to the timothy and pulling the child free. The lamb bahhed, working its head through the stack.

Gaelan held out his hand.

Connal scowled and slapped the slingshot in his palm.

Leaving the barn, he strode to his wife, depositing the boy at her feet.

Siobhan tried not to laugh at the look of horror on Connal's young face as her husband crushed the slingshot in his fist. Connal wailed.

"Silence."

The boy's lips quivered and he looked to his mother for support. Siobhan simply folded her arms, frowning disappointedly down at him.

"When you learn that I am not the enemy, you may construct another." Gaelan looked up, searching the inner yard, then calling out to a dairy maid. "Connal will a.s.sist you today. Report to me his behavior."

The maid blinked, her gaze shifting quickly between lord and lady, then to the boy. She bobbed a curtsey, inclining her head to the milkhouse. Connal trudged off to the duty, a little smile curving his lips as he pulled another slingshot from inside his tunic.

Gaelan frowned at the gaunt man, suspicion breeding through him. Several carpenters and masoners moved in and out of the castle whilst the construction continued, and though he'd come to know the closest villagers, at least by face, this man had not lent a hand. Only a coward did not come forth, yet the man's looks bore an unquestionable hatred. He strode toward him and the thin man straightened, meeting his gaze.

"Who are you and what are you doing in my castle?"

"I've come for you, PenDragon." Disgust thickened his voice.

Gaelan, his hands on his sword hilt, studied the man. "I have seen you afore."

"I am the only one who survived."

Recognition dawned, and Gaelan's heart slammed to his gut. Tigheran's man. He was at the field when he slew the Irish king. The ramifications of his presence swelled through him, fueling anger, stripping his compa.s.sion.

"You should have died with your betraying master."

The Irishman, slim and undernourished, straightened. "Prepare to die, Lord Donegal," he spat, drawing his sword.

Gaelan s.n.a.t.c.hed his wrist, twisting the blade away from his chest. The fragile bones snapped under his grip, yet the proud man did not show a flicker of pain. Soldiers and guards rushed forward, but Gaelan waved them back, his gaze on the Irishman.

"Lay down your weapons and I will spare you. As his retainer, you should have paid the price with your treasonous king."

"And what is your price, PenDragon, for warring on Ireland?"

"I war only for Donegal now. For my wife and my folk. You may join us or leave, but speak no ill of me and mine here or you will die." He thrust him back, tormented with the thought of Siobhan learning his sins from gossip. He glanced at a nearby soldier. "Alert Driscoll of this man's presence, but first escort him to the kitchen, see that he has all he wants to eat and a bed for the night. Do not harm him, Markus."

The soldier nodded, impressed his lord knew his name, and walked alongside the thin man. Gaelan watched his retreat, proud that Markus tried to talk with him. Mayhaps some wounds will heal, he thought, and be stronger for it.

"My lord?"

Gaelan jerked around, his chest clenching at the sight of his wife. Oh G.o.d.

Siobhan's gaze slipped past him to the Irish soldier, her frown deepening. "Who was that? He is familiar."

He sighed heavily, the weight of his misdeeds crushing him. Denying now would only delay the pain. "He is-was Tigheran's retainer."

She hastened toward the Irishman, but her husband caught her. She met his gaze.

"Nay, wife. Do not talk with him."

Her brow knitted delicately. "Why not? I wish to know what happened. A detail, at least."

It took every ounce of his will to say, "I can tell you that." Her expression filled with trepidation, her voice but a whisper as she said, "How-how can you?"

"Because, love-" He swallowed, his Adam's apple grating like stones in his throat. "Tigheran died by my hand."

Siobhan simply stared at him, searching for the lie in his beautiful eyes, and when she found only harsh truth, her own filled rapidly with tears. "Deny this," she insisted in a broken whisper. "Say you did not put your sword in my husband's chest and came here only to take what was his in reward."

"I did."

"Oh, Gaelan," she cried softly. "How could you keep this from me after all we have shared?"

Why, he agonized, was this the first time she called him by name? "Would you have even let me inside without a fight? Would you have wed me, Siobhan, shared your bed?" Made me love you, he despaired.

"I had a right to know!" Her desolate look severed him in half.

People paused, staring, and he caught her arm, handing her into the stable. She jerked from his touch.

"Do you not think I would like this to be a lie? Tigheran tried to a.s.sa.s.sinate the king and he died for it."

Siobhan paled. "Nay. Oh, nay!"

Gaelan's expression tightened with quick anger. "I speak the truth," he said even as she shook her head.

"He would never go against Henry like that. He went to swear to him, to gain an army to put down Dermott."

"Henry took his oath but refused him the army. Dermott MacMurrough's holdings were larger and of more use to him. Tigheran returned at night to beg his favor and whilst ten of his men a.s.saulted the king's camp, he threatened Henry. His men were caught and executed and I entered the king's tent in time to halt the a.s.sa.s.sination." Gaelan swallowed, watching her beautiful face crumble with each word. "Because of Tigheran's rank he had the choice of single combat and he accepted. His majesty awarded me the duty of his champion."

A court battle, viewed like a slaughter. "'Twas unmatched! Tigheran was neither powerful nor skilled. You, PenDragon, are naught but the king's mur-"

"Do not say it!" He caught her arms, holding her when she was wont to flee. "He tried to murder the king of England! He had to die, by my hand or an executioner's ax. It did not matter if O'Rourke had succeeded. Had I not won, Donegal and all you loved would have been burned to the ground, your people ma.s.sacred, their bodies dragged through the streets of London. England would have cheered and none would have been spared." His fingers flexed. "Not even you!"

Her breath choked and he released her.

She stared at him, a turmoil of anger and regret and guilt slamming through her. His words rang with the truth. G.o.d above, hadn't she wondered why it took the English so long to come to Donegal? But all she could see was the lie-and how she fell so easily for her want of this man. How he'd smiled at her, loved her body, opened her tired, lonely soul whilst he hid the truth, knowing he'd slain his way into her home, her heart.

"See me, PenDragon." She thumped her chest, shame in her eyes. "See the woman so trapped in her pa.s.sion that she let her husband's killer into her bed!"

He advanced. "I am your husband!"

"And I am your fool."

Gaelan grabbed her arms, his gaze black and pinning. "Nights ago you swore to keep my confidences and this is one I order you to conceal." When she looked to rebel, he snarled in a harsh voice, "More rests on this than our marriage, wife."

"Aye," she hissed, prying his hands off and throwing them back at him. "You imprison me with your lies in a Christian vow." Gaelan's expression fell into complete misery as she fought tears and anger, her lip trembling. "I trusted you, Gaelan," her voice fractured, her words choked on a sob, "and I wanted so badly to love you." She shoved past him, covering her mouth with her hand and racing out into the ward.

Gaelan's shoulders slumped and he stared at the straw-covered floor. Sorrow ripped through him, the agony of loss and the swell of guilt burning like black fire in his chest. Alone in the stable, he raked both his hands through his hair, then rubbed his face.

Oh, sweet Jesu.

Chapter 20.

She wept like a motherless child. Falling to her knees on the dirt floor of the herb house, she did not cry for a husband she'd preferred dead. She wept for the cut Gaelan's lie left on her heart, and the lie she must conceal despite her turmoil. His lie wounded only her. Hers would destroy Donegal.

"So, you have discovered the truth."

Siobhan twisted sharply, then climbed to her feet, swiping at her cheeks. "What are you intoning, sister?" But she already knew. 'Twas the dark secret she'd seen.

Rhiannon crossed the dirt floor, reaching out to her, enveloping her in her arms. "Ahh, Siobhan," she soothed, her words tight in her throat. "You cannot blame him for defending himself."

Siobhan choked on a sob. "I blame him for lying to me."

Rhiannon's features tightened. And what lies do we all hide, she thought, then said, "PenDragon spared you the humiliation. You would let Tigheran's destroy you now, after all this time? The man was cruel and unjust to you."

"Nay, I was the enemy-"

She held her back. "Great lady above." Rhiannon rolled her eyes. "Must I remind you of the rape of your body each night, and half the women here, or of a princess fetching and tending him as if he were a child?"

"I know, but, oh, Rhi-I cursed him to die." Siobhan hated herself for saying those words, hated the memory of watching him ride off and hoping he did not return.

"So did half the castle folk." Rhiannon's lips twisted wryly. "You have done your duty to his memory. His bitterness sent him to England, and call him fortunate to have met PenDragon on the field and taken a swift death."

"How can you say such things! He was our king."

"He was his own enemy. Did one of his retainers return to your side?"

She shook her head. "All but one was executed."

Rhiannon turned away, moving to the kettle steeping with herbs and stirring down the boil. "'Twas a crime, Siobhan, and justice metered. If not PenDragon, then another would have done it."

Siobhan loathed that she was right, and worse, repeating Gaelan's words. "Swear this to secrecy."

Rhiannon stilled in her stirring. "I have told no one, but do not believe word will not reach the folk. I am not the only one who is aware, I fear."

Siobhan sank miserably into a nearby stool, gazing down at her hands. "Connal can never know."

"Aye." There was no question in Rhiannon's tone. Connal had to be protected at all costs. She turned to her sister, frowning softly at the desolate look on her beautiful face. It was rare to see her so low, the fight gone from her eyes. She sank to her knees before her. "Brew in this and more will suffer, Siobhan. PenDragon did as his king bid him. Mercenary or nay, he is knighted English and had no choice. We both know he did not want this castle, the responsibility-he wanted only you." Siobhan opened her mouth to speak and Rhiannon hushed her. "He spared us because of you. He bent to your demands because of his feelings for you."

The truth soothed through Siobhan with an odd comfort.

"A man with a dark past, with blood on his hands, came to destroy us, and yet he showed compa.s.sion and sacrifice. Do you forget he saved Connal's life? That you have lain in his arms these weeks past and found pleasure?"

Siobhan's eyes softened with memory, yet a tear rolled down her cheek. "You could have tried a bit harder to warn me."

"You are too stubborn to listen to reason oftimes." Rhiannon scoffed and stood. "PenDragon has proven himself more the lord than Tigheran, that ugly beast of a man, ever bothered."