Irish: The Irish Princess Part 33

He heard Siobhan and her sister inhale sharply and didn't think his throat could constrict any more. So innocent, he thought, swallowing before he spoke. "Is that your wish?"

"Aye," he said, as if there was no questioning the matter. "You are me mama's husband, so I think it right. Don't you?"

Uncertainty lay in the boy's voice and, unable to speak, Gaelan nodded, laying his hand on his little head. After a false start, he said, "Then you are the first son of PenDragon, Lord Donegal."

Connal nodded gravely, his expression precious and solemn before he looked up and smiled. "Good eventide." He bowed a bit, then took off toward the stairs, the slingshot hitching up the back of his tunic.

Gaelan followed his retreat, then turned his gaze on Siobhan. She was trying desperately not to cry, he could see, and focused on her meal, though she'd already devoured most of it. Gaelan leaned close. "I could not deny him."

"I am pleased you did not, truly I am." She gulped some wine. "My thanks, Gaelan."

Gaelan speared a dice of meat with his eating knife, holding it out to her. She nipped it off, chewing slowly. "Look at me, love." Her lashes swept up slowly and Gaelan frowned at the turmoil there. "What?"

She swallowed. "I still have the sense that you do not trust me."

"I do."

"Why? Because I say you should?"

"Because I know you would never betray me," he responded easily.

Siobhan's heart clenched, her green gaze searching his. "'Tis a fragile thing, this trust we have, Gaelan."

"It will strengthen," he a.s.sured her, concerned over the look on her face, as if something would rent them apart at any moment. His gaze flashed briefly to Rhiannon, sitting just beyond her, suddenly recalling her dark premonition. Gaelan knew he would die if he lost his wife, lose his mind if she did not accept him with his faults and, truly in her heart, forgive him.

She covered his mouth with two fingers, shaking her head. "'Tis I who have done it."

He frowned with confusion and Siobhan pushed her chair back and sank to her knees before him. The motion brought heads around, servants, retainers and knights freezing where they stood.

Laughter and music faded to a strange brittle silence.

"What in the devil's eyes are you doing?" Gaelan reached for her, yet she caught his hand, pressing it to her heart and holding it there.

"I am Siobhan, wife of PenDragon, daughter of Erin." Her voice was clear and bright. "On this night, afore my clan..." She cast a quick glance at the familiar faces around them before meeting his gaze. "I swear my fealty to you, my lord husband, Gaelan of Donegal."

The air snagged in his lungs, his gaze raking her upturned face.

She leaned forward, staring deeply into his eyes, lightly brushing her fingertips over his jaw, his lips. "I give you my trust, my life and ... my love. For this world means little without you-" She patted his hand. "This heart beats for naught without you." Her eyes filled with tears, her lips trembling. "I love you, Gaelan. For eternity, I love you."

Gaelan was stunned, his mouth open to speak, but no words came. His throat worked, his heart thundering so fiercely he thought it would explode.

"If 'twere me," Raymond said into the quiet, "I would kiss her."

Gaelan grabbed her about the waist and dragged her onto his lap. Her arms swept his neck and he stared at her, a single finger, trembling and rough, drawing a strand of hair from her face. "I love you, Siobhan."

Her eyes watered and she smiled. "I was hopin' you did."

His mouth covered hers.

The hall erupted with cheers.

Raymond DeClare threw his head back and laughed. "'Bout b.l.o.o.d.y d.a.m.ned time."

Lochlann stared, tossing back the remains of his wine, watching the couple devour each other in a kiss so pa.s.sionate he felt himself grow hard. Rhiannon blotted a tear with the hem of her sleeve and across the distance nodded to DeClare, then looked at Driscoll, his smile wide enough to split his face.

A faint laughter spilled through the air and Siobhan and Gaelan drew back, looking to the squints and finding Connal there, grinning and hopping up and down. Siobhan waved and laid her head on Gaelan's shoulder.

"You did not have to do that," he said into her ear, rubbing her back.

"Aye, I did." She tipped her head to look him in the eye, her fingers lovingly tracing his features. "You deserved your right to my oath, Gaelan. I gave it once in marriage, I give it now in trust."

His eyes were unusually bright as they sketched her beautiful face. "I cherish it, love."

"I know you will," she said on a sigh as she snuggled in his arms. The revelry regained its former din, ale spilling to tankards, several toasts making their way around the room.

Siobhan shifted on Gaelan's lap, sitting upright. Her gaze snapped to his, her eyes wide with surprise. "Husband?" He was hard beneath her hip, the strength of it shielded by his codpiece and tunic, yet she still felt the exquisite heat of him, and tried not to rub herself against it.

Gaelan shrugged, sheepish. "'Tis your fault." Then he leaned up, his big hands framing her waist as he whispered, "And if this hall was not filled with people, I would have you on that table right now."

Siobhan blushed, her body responding to the softly growled words. "You need to learn a bit of patience then. You cannot abandon the O'Niell. 'Tis improper and insulting." With a quick glance, she smiled at Lochlann, and he saluted her with his wine.

"I should find him his own woman to occupy him," he groused.

"You've someone in mind?" His gaze jerked to Rhiannon. "Nay."

He arched a brow.

"They dislike each other."

That was news to Gaelan, since they seemed amiable enough. "Why?"

"She does not trust him."

Gaelan sent her a neither-do-I look.

"She never has, not even when we were children. He sneaked into her rooms and painted her face with dye. It did not fade for a fortnight."

Gaelan smiled and wondered what it was like to grow up around the same people your entire life, know them well enough to call them all by name.

"DeClare?"

"Nay. And do not even think to suggest another knight. One Irishwoman wed to English is all they can tolerate for now."

Gaelan grinned, his gaze drifting from his wife to the folk surrounding him. "Are you sure?"

Siobhan twisted on his lap, viewing the hall. DeClare stood off to the side with Driscoll's visiting sister, hand gestures accompanying Raymond's limited use of the language. Driscoll, freshly shaved like the English, kept a close watch on the couple, but his wife pinched him, pulling him away. Sir Andrew held Bridgett on his lap, his arm about her waist, his hand tenderly stroking her shoulder and fingering her hair whilst he conversed with several men over a tankard. And across the hall, in the far corner, the tall squire Reese and dark-haired Elaine stood a few feet apart, obviously in deep conversation, yet not daring to move nearer to the other.

But Siobhan recognized the hunger in the lad's eyes.

"I expect pet.i.tions of marriage soon."

Siobhan looked at him, smiling, and she leaned close, her bosom in full view. His gaze slavered over the lush bounty like a beast before a juicy meal.

"d.a.m.n but you tempt me before all and know I cannot have you," he groused.

"When you knock, love, I will answer."

His hand slid higher on her waist, brushing the curve of her breast, and she laid her mouth over his, taunting him with the dip of her tongue, the wet slide of it over his lips. His fingers tightened, and he was about to carry her abovestairs, regardless of the O'Niell and d.a.m.ned propriety, when the hall doors burst open, slamming against the wall.

Wrenching apart, Siobhan stood, moving to Gaelan's side as a knight and a half dozen soldiers rushed in. Their clothing was blood soaked, lanced by swords-and they carried Brody. Siobhan cried out, dashing around the dais as they laid him on the rushes. Opposite her, Friar O'Donnel knelt and began last rites as she sank to her knees, cradling his head on her lap, calling for bandages and herbs between her tears.

Gaelan was at her side, kneeling, glancing at the troops, the knights, then back at the man. He was dying, the wounds to his stomach and chest too severe, and when Siobhan lifted her gaze to his, she knew it too. Bridgett brought cloths and Siobhan pressed them to his wounds, bending to kiss his b.l.o.o.d.y forehead.

"Oh, my friend," she sobbed against his flesh.

He struggled to talk, his voice garbled with the blood filling his lungs. Crimson foamed his lips.

"Shh, you are home."

Brody's cloudy gaze swept unsteadily to Gaelan and he bent low, his ear near his mouth. He whispered, and Gaelan's features yanked taut. He glanced at the knights, the O'Niell hovering close, then down at Brody. "Rest, warrior," he said as Brody slipped into death.

Siobhan smothered her anguish, hugging her friend to her breast. Gaelan stroked her back, joining her grief, then stood.

"Husband?"

He looked down, at her tear-streaked face, at his new friend growing cold with death. "He said they wore the Maguire's plaid."

The hall erupted with denials. Lochlann cursed.

Siobhan opened her mouth to deny it, but clamped her lips shut. For reasons she could not understand-Ian had turned against her.

Gaelan focused on the knight, questioning him mercilessly.

"About twelve, sir. We killed two, but the rest escaped." Sir Mark's gaze shifted beyond him to O'Niell. "Some to your lands, sir." Gaelan twisted, eyeing Lochlann. "The two dead were in tartans." Mark gestured to one of the servants wrapped in the plaid cloth. "We saw soldiers too." Gaelan jerked around. "English. Armored," Sir Mark added, as if he could not believe it himself.

Gaelan's scowl turned hideously dark. The hall went silent. His gaze clashed with Siobhan and they knew it was possible.

"At first I thought 'twas the mist playing tricks on my eyes..." Mark stalled, clearly unable to explain what he saw. "We followed the rest southward, but the darkness..." His spine stiffened and he shouldered the blame. "I lost the trail."

Gaelan gave his shoulder a commiserating squeeze as he met Siobhan's gaze, then Raymond's, thinking of the spur in his chamber, and knew the man was not seeing a ghost.

After a quick scan for Sir Owen, he addressed DeClare. "Take account of all our men. I want to know who else was not here during the raid." Raymond's features sharpened, yet he nodded. Gaelan walked toward the door, his va.s.sals quick on his heels. Lochlann ordered his men to arms, joining them.

Siobhan stood beside Brody's body, watching Gaelan leave, and when he reached the entrance, he turned. For a brief moment they simply stared, and Gaelan experienced a horrible foreboding drip through his blood. Renegade knights on his land. The Maguire turning against the woman he claimed to love, the woman he was so willing to war to regain. And then there were the Fenians, and their connection to Rhiannon stirring the muck. But he was not so vengeful over Brody's death to ignore that a tartan implicated; it did not convict. He was confused and unprepared, and without more evidence, he could do little but what he had been-hunt them.

He held out his hand to her and his heart twisted in his chest as she ran down the aisle made for her, slamming into his arms. He led her briefly, tightly, fearing he would not be able to stop this war; then, with her tucked to his side, they crossed the inner yard, through the gates toward the outer ward. Gaelan kissed her once, then ordered his men to dispatch anyone who did not live here before he arrived. Siobhan went about soothing hurt feelings as Gaelan ordered stores prepared for the journey, and it took time for the people to be escorted out, grumbling as they were roused from their beds, or stopped in a meal. Within moments the outer ward was nearly empty.

"No one leaves, no one enters until we return." He looked at O'Niell. "You and your men depart, now."

"I have every intention of seeing to my clansmen, PenDragon." Lochlann accepted the reins of his mount. "But you would leave these people unprotected?"

"Hardly." Gaelan smirked, striding closer. "You have left yours without a chieftain for some time, O'Niell, and travel with a dozen retainers, why is that?" Gaelan arched a dark brow. "Frightened?"

Lochlann stiffened, delivering a condescending look just shy of insulting. "This is my country, my lord. I do not fear ghosts in the mist. Nor the Maguire."

"Neither do I. See to the fortification of my wife's property in the north. I will take care of these marauders."

Lochlann pressed his lips tight, his gaze drifting to Siobhan, then PenDragon. "You will kill them."

"To stop the slaughter of my people, aye, every one of them, if I must," he said, and behind Siobhan, Rhiannon paled and reached for the hitching post. Suddenly he crossed to her, gazing down with a full measure of rage. "Many could die this night, Rhiannon. How sits that with you?"

Her eyes teared, but she said naught to defend herself. He scoffed, looking around at the men, Irish and English a.s.sembled. Squires and pages scrambled to carry armor and saddle horses. Bowmen lined the battlements and parapets, sharpening tips and laying aim. Torches lit the yard like morning, glancing off weapons and armor. He brought his gaze back to Rhiannon, disgusted with her secrets.

"Lock her in the tower."

She gasped. "Nay, please!"

Gaelan gestured, and two soldiers grabbed her arms.

On a portion of wood, servants carted Brody out of the keep toward the chapel, Friar O'Donnel whispering prayers for his immortal soul, and Siobhan crossed to her sister, halting the procession and grabbing Rhiannon's arm. She forced her to look at their old friend.

"He was our father's friend, well known to most everyone for a hundred miles, Rhiannon. A gentle, giving soul, and look what they have done! Will you wait until 'tis me lying there? Or Connal?"

Rhiannon choked on a sob, her gaze flying to her sister's and hating the anger lying there "Ian did not do this. You know he did not."

"It no longer matters who did it! And the man we knew is gone, Rhiannon. The Maguire we grew up with would not harm the man who taught him to throw a javelin. But see you the evidence!" She lashed a hand at Brody and Rhiannon flinched. "And the sister I love," her voice lowered to a deadly hiss, "would not let her family die for a promise made in fear."

Rhiannon's gaze jerked from the b.l.o.o.d.y corpse to her sister's face. "Do not think to judge me, for I have no control over this."

"Your Fenian does. Tell Gaelan all, so my husband does not die tonight," she pleaded.

Rhiannon's lips tightened mutinously, and with an aggrieved sound, Siobhan released her, turning her back on her and walking to her husband. He saw the tears, the worry and fear for him, the disappointment in her sister, and he bent to kiss the top of her head, shielding her as the guards led her sister away.

Around them, cooks rushed with sacks of food, skins of wine. Her grip around his waist tightened briefly and she nuzzled her face in his chest, selfishly taking the moment for herself alone, inhaling his scent, savoring the rough feel of his tunic against her cheek before moving out of his embrace.

Grayfalk pranced, scenting the wind and the coming ride into battle. Reese stood nearby, his arms laden with armor. Gaelan held her gaze as he changed from the costly wool tunic to the padded hauberk and heavy chain mail, the coif covering his hair. He pulled on the leather gloves, leaving the metal gauntlets on the saddle, and for the first time bid Reese to strap on the armor. He could not take his eyes off her, gauging her reaction as he was encased in the metal skin. She was afraid for him and the thought jabbed, made him recognize all he stood to lose if he was not cautious. Who would protect her and her people? Who would Henry send in his place? Would she be forced to wed another as he had forced her? The thought of anyone touching her sickened him and he wanted to take her abovestairs, make wild love to her, a.s.sure himself of their marriage, their future.

She loved him. Had said as much before witnesses. That she found it in her heart to forgive him, accept him, still stunned him to the core of his soul. "Come closer, wife."

She did, instantly. Siobhan's gaze traveled over him as every semblance of the man she loved was locked behind silver. She tipped her head, forcing a smile. "Are you certain you would not want to hide in the trees and fight like the Scots?"

His lips curved with memory of the night he'd first tasted her body. "I would rather play the battling Scot in our bed," he whispered, gazing down at her, his gloved finger brushing down over her cheek. She caught his fist, pressing it to her lips.

"There, I surrender."

"Ahh, a victory, at last," he teased, brushing his mouth across hers, then turned to Grayfalk, grasping the saddle horn. An instant later, he turned to his wife, sweeping her against him and wishing they were bare and alone and showing their new love.

She laid her hands to the silver breastplate, gazing up at him. "I love thee, Gaelan PenDragon."