Irish: The Irish Princess Part 28

Siobhan's lips quirked. Rhiannon had detested Tigheran, had delved into his thoughts often to prepare her sister for his moods, for the l.u.s.t she could not avoid. Her only pleasure was that Tigheran feared Rhiannon. "I would not have thought you to defend Gaelan."

Her lips twitched. "Neither would I. But I cannot let you lose so much over a dead, selfish fool. 'Tis no wonder Devorgilla refused him."

"Dermott is no better."

"Our uncle knows how to love and forgive. Be wise and do the same." Rhiannon eyed her. "Cease your stubborn pride and do something for yourself, Siobhan-not for the rest of us. Forgive and repair the damage I know you did."

"Me? You accuse me-"

"Siobhan!"

Both women turned to find Gaelan filling the doorway. His gaze shifted to Siobhan, half angry, half worried, flicking only once to Rhiannon in confusion. It told her he'd heard most of the conversation. Rhiannon glanced at her sister, then hurried to the lord of Donegal before he stepped inside.

"Leave her be, my lord." Gaelan dragged his gaze from Siobhan "For this day, do not press her."

Gaelan scowled, and Rhiannon motioned him out of the thatched house, pulling the door closed.

Gaelan slapped a hand to the wood, stopping her. "I will take care of what is between me and my wife, sister." He started to push past, but she snagged his arm, her grip stinging through his skin to his bones and rendering him motionless-powerless. Her eyes glazed for an instant, a smile curving her lips, then fading.

"I know you will, but..." She paused, her brow knitting, her look perplexed. "Prepare, brother ... there is a darkness coming here," she whispered suddenly, as if divulging a secret long kept. "Great pain to many people. And only you can heal it."

Peeling off her hand, Gaelan scowled, his gaze darting to Siobhan as she rose from the stool, frowning at her sister. Rhiannon's words were so contrary, he wondered if this was one of her premonitions?

Rhiannon blinked, then smiled gently, her wisdom revealed in the single glance. "You must give time for her to see the benefit of your deeds."

"Do you?"

Her lips quirked a bit. "Oftimes I see more than I would like."

For an instant Gaelan wanted to ask her what she saw for he and Siobhan, then dismissed it. He did not believe in such rubbish and he would not let his future be jaded by witchery.

"Nay, I am not a witch," she said into his thoughts, "though there are times I wish I was."

Gaelan scowled. Such a peculiar woman.

"And your temper is not malleable right now."

Gaelan looked at the half-open door, the profile of his wife poised on the edge of a stool, her hands clenched on her lap. He never thought to see her so ravaged and the blame rested at his feet. If he had not lied, if he had told her from the start, fought that war first, before he had lost his heart to her, he would not be risking his future now.

"I will see you this evening, wife, in our chambers," he said to her profile, and she nodded solemnly.

Gaelan did not think aught could hurt as much as her pa.s.sive response and he longed for the combative Irishwoman who baited him at every turn. He exhaled a hard breath, leaving the little cottage. A half hour later, astride his horse, he charged through the gates, sending workers and soldiers darting for cover.

Tired, sweaty and hungry, Gaelan strode toward the keep, pausing long enough at a rain barrel to scoop water and douse his face, then slake his thirst. He scanned the inner ward, swiping the back of his hand across his mouth. Folk looked at him strangely, and though his argument with Siobhan was in seclusion, gossip spread in this place as fast as the wind. Deciding that talking with his wife, even fighting with her, was preferable to silence, Gaelan headed toward the keep.

Pa.s.sing the dairy, he heard a scuffling, the distinct sound of grunts and a short cry. Scowling, he strode behind the building, and when he expected to find a pair coupling, he found Connal and a boy nearly a half size larger beating the stuffing out of each other.

Gaelan bent and pulled them apart, holding them off the ground by the scruffs of their necks. They blinked at him, breathing heavily. Connal dragged his sleeve beneath his nose and Gaelan realized he was weeping. He looked at the other boy, nearly three years older, two hands taller and sporting a b.l.o.o.d.y nose. He set them down, a hand on either shoulder when they tried to escape. "Explain."

Connal looked at the other boy, his breath hissing in and out between clenched teeth. "Auggie lies."

"Shut yer mouth, brat!"

"You lie!" Connal leapt on the other boy, bashing him in the gullet.

Gaelan sighed and pulled them apart again, kneeling. "What did he say, lad?"

"He called me mother a Sa.s.sanach wh.o.r.e." Gaelan's eyes flared and looked at the opponent. Auggie stared at his bare feet, shamefaced.

"Do you know what that means, Connal?"

"Nay," he confessed, sniffling. "But he said it mean." Connal gave him a decent imitation whilst glaring at the other boy.

Gaelan pulled Auggie close, meeting his gaze with a look meant to strike terror. It did and the child swallowed, his lips trembling. "Speak so again, boy, about any woman, and I will see you punished." Fear flared in his eyes. "I will have a few words with your father." He released him. "Now go home." The child dashed around the wall out of sight.

Straightening Gaelan took a rag hooked on the wall, dipped it in the cistern and turned back to Connal. The prince remained where he was, the top of his head barely pa.s.sing above his knee.

He knelt and swiped the rag over his dirty face.

"I hate you."

"I know."

"I want you to leave us alone."

"I am married to your mother and will not abandon her."

"She does not need you."

I need her, he thought. "I suppose you will hate me forever."

"Aye. And when I grow up, I will kill all the English."

Gaelan stilled, eyeing him. "'Tis a great lot of people, lad."

"I do not care! I will kill until I find the man who killed my father."

Gaelan paled miserably and dropped his head forward. Sweet Jesu. "Come, sit." In a shadowed corner between the dairy and the stone wall, Gaelan settled to the ground, gesturing to the spot beside him. His shoulders drooping pitifully, Connal joined him, plopping like a sack to the ground. They sat there, quiet for a moment.

"That word," Gaelan said.

"Wh.o.r.e."

Gaelan winced. It sounded even uglier coming from innocent lips. "It means-it names a woman who does not care for aught but her own pleasures, a woman who is free with her body to all men and asks for pay. Is that your mother?"

"Nay!"

"Then you know Auggie was wrong."

"But 'twas bad and about me mama." Connal's lip quivered and his eyes filled with fat tears. Gaelan never felt so helpless in all his life. He looked as if he would fight the world alone for her honor.

"I know, lad." His hand hovered near his tiny shoulder, uncertain and half afraid he'd hurt the child, then settled gently on Connal's back. That the boy did not move away was a comfort. "If we let every cruel thing a person says wound us, we will spend our lives fighting."

"You do."

"I did for pay, aye, and I did not fight for myself. That way I fought with skill and not rage."

"What is rage?"

"What you felt when Auggie spoke ill of your mother."

"Oh." He drew a shuddering breath, sniffled juicily, then sighed. "You do not like me, do you?"

Gaelan's brows rose. "I have little reason not to like you." Connal dug in the earth near his foot, aware that his streaks of mischief should have garnered a spanking at least. "I am sorry for hitting you with me sling."

"Forgiven." A pause, and then, "You are an excellent shot." Connal sighed, too heavily for one so young. "Do you ... like my mama?"

Gaelan's throat tightened. "I would not have wed her if I did not, Connal."

"You touch her too much."

"I like her. People who like each other touch." Connal lifted his gaze. "But you locked her in the tower!"

'Twas only one of Gaelan's regret. "That was before I liked her."

"Oh."

Gaelan's lips quirked. "Did you ever want something so bad you would do aught to have it?"

"Aye. You. Gone."

Ahh, he was so much like his mother, he thought with a smile. "I won't leave, ever. I suggest you discard this quest of mischief and sour moods." He eyed him. "It troubles your mother, and I have only so much leather left to repair Grayfalk's girth."

Connal flinched, obviously thinking he'd gotten away with that one. "She does not care about me; she has you now."

Sympathy and sudden understanding sparked in Gaelan. "You know that is untrue, Connal, and she spoke to me of her worry." Connal colored with shame. "I am not here to steal her from you. I want only to share her." He leaned down to whisper, "She will always be your mother first."

Connal looked at him and smiled, sighing with relief, and Gaelan felt something kick him in the chest then. So changeable was the mind of a child, he thought, nudging him. "I am not even English, you know."

Connal c.o.c.ked his head, inspecting him as if it would show in marks.

"I'm Cornish."

"'Tis almost as good as bein' Irish."

Gaelan smiled and Connal returned it. An uncomfortable silence stretched before Gaelan spoke. "You and I ... we-ah." He swallowed, uncertain if he should approach the subject. "We have a common thread in our lives." Connal eyed him, looking wary and distrustful. "I did not know my father, either."

"Sir Raymond said you were knighted in his household."

Raymond needed to keep his own counsel, he thought. "Aye, but not when I was young like you."

"Was he pleased? Did he like you? Did he teach you things a man must know?"

Gaelan heard the eagerness in his voice, the same he'd had when he'd arrived at his father's house, the need for approval, to meet a standard, and to mayhaps find his place and have the chance to succeed. "Aye, he was, pleased, I think." Gaelan shrugged. "He did not pat me on the head or aught like that. I remember, though, when I mounted the quintain and managed to keep my seat, he smiled"-his gaze slid to Connal's-"once."

Connal made a pitying sound. "My mother smiles even when I drinks me milk." He drew in the dirt and Gaelan peered, seeing the shape of a horse. "Your father, he let you have a horse?"

"I was older than you and could already ride, lad."

The boy sighed, his shoulders sagging, and Gaelan realized how sequestered his life was, and though he envied the love that surrounded the child when he needed it most, Connal was feeling left out, mayhaps even cast aside to a new marriage.

"Would you like to tour the barracks when I inspect this night?"

Connal's head jerked up, his smile blinding, then falling. "Mama will not allow it."

"I do not need her permission, Connal." Not that she would speak to him now, regardless.

"Then aye, I would."

"Good. Off with you for now," he said. "You may make another slingshot today, if you wish."

Connal blinked in surprise, then stood, brushing off his rump.

"As punches go, lad," Gaelan said, and Connal cast him a wary glance, "you've the makings of a fine warrior."

Grinning, his little chest puffed out, he swaggered out the door.

"Connal."

The boy turned.

"Cause your mother heartache again, son, and I will discipline you ... severely."

Instead of fear, Connal nodded, then dashed out of sight. A smile ghosted across Gaelan's lips as he leaned his head back against the stone wall. If only your mother was so easily won, he thought, then stood. He came around the edge of the dairy and found Siobhan stepping out of the building. She looked up, her eyes suspiciously bright, a pail of milk in her hand.

"My thanks, Gaelan," she whispered, her lower lip trembling.

He took a step closer and she retreated. Gaelan stiffened. "I will teach him to ride, Siobhan. 'Tis time he had duties and not so much time to cause trouble."

"He is a child."

His gaze thinned. "He is a prince, the stepson of a lord, and will take Donegal in his care one day." His words bit with finality.

Her throat worked. He could see it, and the rift between them seemed to stretch to unbearable length. Finally Gaelan strode off, wondering how a woman with so much compa.s.sion for her folk could not find a smattering for him.