Irish: The Irish Princess Part 49

"Ram the gates."

Soldiers rushed to position the ma.s.sive wheeled log before the doors.

Suddenly they opened, a single figure sauntering forward as if to meet a caller coming to visit.

Lochlann's eyes widened.

"You think to slaughter us all, PenDragon?" Ian said. "We are defenseless."

"Then lay down your weapons and yield."

"I cannot."

His horse lurched, and O'Niell brought his sword down to tuck under his throat. "Yield and give me my wife!"

Maguire's brows drew down. How did he know Siobhan was here? "Why would she be here? Have a fight, did you?"

"Give me the little b.i.t.c.h!"

"I take exception to that, chieftain," another voice said.

Lochlann jerked a look to his right.

His sword a'ready, the soldier pulled the helm from his head, tossing it aside.

Lochlann stared into the ice-cold eyes of Gaelan PenDragon, immediately raising his own weapon in defense. The ramifications of his presence hit him square in the chest. "You are outnumbered. Shall I kill you both now?"

The crash of hooves blistered the cold air, soldiers riding toward the keep. Panic erupted. Men, his men, tore the false tabard from their chests, helmets from their heads, and Lochlann glanced, recognizing Driscoll and Niles, Owen and Fallon.

Lochlann met Gaelan's gaze.

Weapons trained on each other, they slid from their mounts, shoving the horses aside. "Come, traitor," Gaelan said. "Appease your soul on the end of my blade. Quickly."

Lochlann unhooked the helm, removing it. Then he smiled. All was not lost, he thought. He could kill the Cornish b.a.s.t.a.r.d and be done with this matter entirely. There wasn't a man amongst his flock who would risk the lives of his kin.

English and Irish warriors rode in all directions, too numerous to avoid, and half of O'Niell's army threw down their weapons and tried to flee. At Sir Owen's command, they were surrounded, soldiers binding them. But more than half chose to battle, and the sudden clash of sword, the thunk of javelins into soft flesh seared the midnight air.

In the center of the field, Gaelan and O'Niell circled each other.

"Come. Die as swiftly as your brother did."

"Tigheran was a fool," O'Niell said, and Gaelan realized he'd known all along that he'd killed the Irish overlord. "He knew naught of taking what he wanted. Naught of construction of a fortress, naught of who's favor to cull." His gaze flickered to Siobhan on the turret. "Nor of the right woman to keep."

Gaelan heard the hunger, the twisted love in his voice. "Neither of you deserved her."

They sidestepped, neither advancing nor retreating. Around them a battle waged, O'Niell loyalists defending their clansmen as Lochlann shrugged carelessly. "Mayhaps, but I've the right. And when you lay bleeding on his land, PenDragon, I will have her."

Gaelan's expression turned molten, black with vengeance.

"And when she and her sister are dead, I will have her lands."

Gaelan scoffed, tired of this game. He swung, battering O'Niell back with decisive lashes. "Every MacMurrough, O'Donnel and Maguire for leagues will have your hide."

They lurched apart. "Not if the king grants them."

"Henry is not a fool."

Lochlann struck, but Gaelan caught the blade, letting it slide to the hilt and bring him face to face with his enemy. "Your captives in Coleraine have been freed," he taunted, and with a shove drove him back, and the contest continued.

Lochlann thrust, his strikes hard and ringing down Gaelan's arm. Gaelan retaliated, blow after blow, forcing Lochlann to step back. Still the chieftain swung, a second blade in his free hand. His sword clutched in both hands, Gaelan advanced, a wide arch nicking him on the shoulder, yet having little effect. He tried for more.

Surrounding them, the PenDragon army subdued the raiders and there was silence as the lord of Donegal defended his people.

He fought without mercy.

He fought to kill.

He fought for the love of a land he called his own.

Lochlann saw his months of work falling about him, his men dying and pleading for mercy.

PenDragon refused to give it. He lashed and lashed, each strike ringing with bitter anger at the lives lost.

Lochlann was no match, and winded, his aim faltered.

Gaelan raised his sword for a final blow.

From out of the darkness a man shouted a harsh war cry, running toward Gaelan's back.

Siobhan gripped the stone ledge, helpless as the man raised a sword to cleave her husband. Suddenly a figure darted into the path, taking the downward swing and the impact meant for Gaelan. Yet as he did, he thrust his sword upward and into the man's heart and as they fell, Siobhan recognized the attacker as Tigheran's retainer.

And Gaelan's savior was Patrick.

Her gaze flashed to her husband just as he brought the blade down, severing Lochlann's arm. O'Niell dropped to his knees, blood fountaining from his stump.

"For those you have murdered," Gaelan roared. "You die without honor!" Gaelan swung, separating his head from his shoulders. The head rolled. The body fell with a decisive pound to the cold earth.

He stared, breathing hard, then stabbed the sword in the ground. He lifted his gaze and met Ian's across the carnage. Ian staggered, clutching his bleeding shoulder and bowed.

A cheer rose.

Gaelan acknowledged it, swiping the back of his hand across his sweaty face.

A voice called his name, sweet and feminine. He jerked a look at the gate, then strode across the b.l.o.o.d.y field as Siobhan ran toward him. The impact of her body drove him back a step as he wrapped her in his embrace. For a long moment they simply stood, locked, letting the sound of their heartbeats envelop them.

"Oh dear lord, I thought I would see you die!"

"You doubt my skills," he said with mock insult.

"Nay, oh nay." She kissed him quick and hard. "But Tigheran's retainer attacked your back..." She pointed and Gaelan saw the pair slumped across each other, a sword impaling the retainer. "Patrick saved your life."

Gaelan walked to the bodies, pulling O'Rourke's man off, then going down on one knee. He stared at the face of Connal's father, whispering a prayer, then closing his vacant eyes. "Rest peacefully, Irishman. Your son is safe and loved."

Siobhan moved up behind him, laying her hand on his shoulder, and he covered it, releasing a deep sigh. "Come, my husband, 'tis time to go home."

Beyond the walls of the solar, the revelry permeated the air with laughter, the clink of tankards raised in toasts, yet in the privacy of stone and stained-gla.s.s windows, Rhiannon stood silent, keeping her tears at bay as Gaelan spoke.

"He died valiantly, sister. He gave his life for mine."

She nodded, mute, and Gaelan could see her throat working to hold back great, wrenching sobs. "I am truly glad that you prevailed. Though I knew you would." She lifted her gaze, sliding once to Siobhan standing beside him. "If my lord would permit, I wish to enter the abbey."

Siobhan inhaled, her hand clasping Gaelan's, yet she remained silent.

"You will not change your mind?" Gaelan ventured. "Remain here?"

She shook her head vigorously. "My heart died with him, my lord. He was not the best man to love, nor the wisest. I tried to convince him to come to you-" She stopped, swallowing hard. There was no point in matching wits over what they should have done. "In death he will pay for his crimes. And in life, I must pay for mine."

"Nay!" Siobhan said, rushing to her.

"Shhh," Rhiannon hushed in a gentle voice, tenderly pushing a stray curl from her forehead, feeling as if each cut and bruise on her beautiful face were struck by her own hand. "I must go. I need to find peace with what I have done, sister." She tipped her head, her lower lips trembling, her eyes glossed with unshed tears. "You were a far better mother than I could ever be, Siobhan. He's a fine boy"-her voice fractured with her torment-"and under Gaelan's tutelage, he will be a fine man. What you choose to tell him is your decision. I release you of our pact and I relinquish any claim to him."

Siobhan looked up at Gaelan, then to her sister. Briefly, they hugged, and Rhiannon turned to Gaelan, awaiting his decision.

"To the convent, then."

Rhiannon's shoulders sagged with relief and Gaelan bent, pressing a kiss to her forehead. Her tears fell, his forgiveness in the simple touch. She turned and left them alone.

Gaelan held his wife, feeling her sorrow, and would have stayed there, except Connal raced in, happily screaming, "Father, come see!"

Gaelan leaned close to his wife, brushing his mouth over her temple as if to soothe away the marks left on her beauty. That she held his child in her body after all she'd suffered was a miracle neither of them could ignore. G.o.d shined upon them, he thought as she patted his hand with understanding, smiling down at Connal on his lap. Gaelan ruffled the boy's hair and he beamed up at him, his cheeks stuffed with sweet cake. Gaelan whispered for him to slow down, that this night he could have all he desired.

Around them the celebration in the hall was in high abandon, Irish and English joined as one. Fiddlers played, jugglers tossed sticks of fire and dancers twirled, a few women trying to teach the English to dance.

Siobhan laughed at the knights' attempts, then gasped. "Oh Connal, go get Dermott afore he's trampled." The tiny lamb was trying to move between the dancers.

Connal scrambled off Gaelan's lap, all knees and poking elbows, and crawled under the table to pop up on the other side and dash after his pet. Jace joined him and the pair raced off through the crowd. To get into mischief, she thought.

Gaelan nudged her, then nodded. Her gaze shifted and she smiled. Raymond DeClare was frowning at Fionna as she moved past, and for some reason was staring rather intently at her behind.

"Think he will know where he saw her?"

"Not unless she chooses."

Gaelan grinned. "'Twould serve him well to be sniffing after a skirt and not know if it's the right one."

Siobhan smiled. "Has Driscoll given his permission?" She nodded to Owen and Driscoll's daughter Margaret, talking privately off to the side, constantly glancing at the sheriff.

"They want to be married by Christmas."

She looked at him. "And?"

"I advised Driscoll to wait afore consenting."

"For the love of Mary, why?"

"He went behind his back, Siobhan. I cannot tolerate such behavior and neither should Driscoll in a son-in-law."

"Oh, and you are such an authority on marriage," she huffed with a playful shove.

He wrapped his arm around her and growled, "I was wise enough to marry you, was I not?"

Her smile was radiant. "Aye."

"Did I not give my permission for Andrew and Bridgett to wed?"

Siobhan glanced at the couple kissing in a darkened corner. "Aye."

"Is not Ian pleased with his lands and holding, his new va.s.sals?"

She leaned closer and whispered, "Have I thanked you for being so generous?"

"Aye, but you may again, later." He wiggled his brows and she blushed. "So now, my love," he said, with a touch beneath her chin and a kiss to her lips, "are there any more chieftains prepared to defy the king to save you from my wretched soul?"

Siobhan brushed a lock of sable brown hair from his forehead. "And if there was?" she said with a challenging spark.

He grinned. "Then I am glad I have a bigger army."

"We have a big army."

His brow shot up. "We?"

She tried to frown, but it just would not stay put. "Do not start with me, husband."

He nipped the finger in his face. "Oh-ho my Irish princess-" He pulled her from her chair and onto his lap. "There are plenty of things I wish to start with you."

"What might they be?"

"Loving the defiance out of you."

"'Twill take a century," Ian muttered as he pa.s.sed behind them.

Laughing, Gaelan stared into the eyes of the woman who'd breathed life into his decaying soul and said with an Irish lilt, "Jager me, that soon? 'Twas an eternity, I was hopin' for."