Irish: The Irish Princess Part 50

She cupped his head, drawing him to her mouth to whisper, "Ahh my love, we will make you an Irishman yet." She kissed him, deeply, lovingly, her heart soaring for the courageous man he'd become, for the life they would build and the love she knew would last beyond the stone keeps and proud castles ... and for the wild magic of Erin growing in his heart.

Epilogue.

London, twelve years past.

Gaelan flinched when the king struck Connal across the face. It was part of the ritual, the prayer and fasting, the pledge and the presentation in purest white. Irish linen, of course, but the slap delivered was the symbol of the pain he would suffer to uphold the king's laws.

Connal was now a knight of the realm.

Pride swelled in Gaelan and his gaze slid discreetly to Siobhan. He nudged her, and she looked up, unshed tears gla.s.sing her eyes.

"Barbaric," she muttered, and he knew she wished Rhiannon could see this, but the woman had not left the convent in years.

Gaelan grinned, bending to kiss the top of her head.

"If you can pull yourself away from your wife, PenDragon..." the king said, and Gaelan faced his sovereign.

Henry Plantagenant eyed him, pleased the man had grown accustomed to the life of a lord. He'd wanted this man in his court, for his armies, his skill, and had done everything in his power to bring the lady princess and PenDragon together. A well-made match, he thought smugly. But then his sources a dozen years ago had told him Siobhan O'Rourke was a woman destined to be a legend. What better than to bring two legends together? He glanced at the young man Connal, his looks sending half the ladies into a swoon, his size as great as PenDragon's, though he knew they were not related in blood. He was a fine addition to his legions, he thought, watching him secure his spurs.

Henry inclined his head and Gaelan gestured to Connal's squire. The slender lad led a horse from the stables as Gaelan stepped off the dais. He took the reins, gave the mount a pat, then handed them to Connal.

"May he serve you well, my so-Connal."

"'Tis all right, my lord. I feel more English than Irish right now." Connal tried to remain solemn, but the pride in his father's face made him grin.

Gaelan glanced about, at the people gathered, to his wife, her belly round with their fourth child and the line of girls stretched out beside her. Where was Aslyn? he wondered, the little troublemaker.

"PenDragon!" the king bellowed, and they turned. Henry gestured regally and a man stepped forward, kneeling before his king. Henry waved impatiently and Connal rushed forward. "My gift to you." The attendant presented Connal with the sword.

Connal tried not to gape at the ma.s.sive thing, wondering if he'd embarra.s.s himself if he couldn't lift it off the pillow.

"It looks like DeClare's, my liege."

"A duplicate."

Connal's gaze jerked up as he handled the balance of the sword. Exceptionally long, the top third was serrated, yet where DeClare's hilt had been studded with gems, Connal's bore the Celtic marks of his heritage.

"I am humbled."

"Good. A knight should be humble."

Connal slid a glance at Gaelan and smirked. Henry chuckled with understanding, and Gaelan eyed them both, a warning in his eyes when his gaze landed on Connal.

"I can still thrash your hide, puppy," he muttered under his breath, then called for the remaining gifts, his armor and shield, the symbol of his house emblazoned on the shield. The hooded squire stumbled and Gaelan darted forward to catch the lad, bringing him upright.

The scent of spice filled his nostrils.

"Aslyn!" he hissed, his eyes flaring with quick anger.

Henry peered. "Isn't that your oldest girl, PenDragon?"

Gaelan shoved the girl behind him. "Aye, your majesty."

"Bring her here."

Gaelan groaned, pulling his daughter forward and praying the king could not understand the string of Gaelic curses spilling from her lips.

Connal stood nearby, the swordpoint in the ground, his hands folded over the top as she pa.s.sed him. "You've done it now, piglet," he murmured, and she shot him a murderous glance.

Gaelan pushed his daughter before the king and was thanking G.o.d when she dipped a proper curtsey. He glanced at Siobhan. She shrugged, a half smile curving her beautiful mouth. The king left his chair and stopped before her.

"Arise, child."

She popped straight up, defiance hinting there, and Gaelan tensed. Please keep your wild tongue in your mouth, he prayed.

Henry pushed the hood back. "You are lovely."

"So everyone keeps telling me."

Henry's brows rose and he glanced at her father. Gaelan looked ready to beat the child, he thought. "You do not like being beautiful."

"Not when everyone treats me as if I've no brain behind this face, your majesty."

"And what would you use this brain for?"

"Aught more than st.i.tching samplers, my liege."

Henry grinned, tugging on the long red braid. "Mayhaps we can find something better for you to do." Her eyes lit up like green fire. "When you have grown up a bit." She wanted to rebel, he could see, yet knew her place. Henry admired her for it. The girl was utterly fearless. Like her father.

Henry looked up and smiled. "I pity you, PenDragon."

"'Tis well placed, my liege," he said, grabbing Aslyn by the arm and directing her toward her mother.

"Let us celebrate!" As the king and his entourage headed into the castle, Gaelan turned to Aslyn. And found her missing.

He looked at Connal.

"Who knows?" he said, sheathing his sword. "'Tis your fault."

"Mine! You instigate it with allowing her to page for you. Her defiance is her own difficulty."

"She doesn't see it as defiance. She is being Aslyn." Connal moved closer, lowering his voice. "If you'd not allowed her to make you so weak, my lord, she would be st.i.tching samplers and liking it."

"Hah. No daughter of Siobhan's would be so complacent."

"No daughter of yours, either. And just think, you have three more to contend with. Mayhaps four, Father."

Gaelan stopped in his tracks, turning to Connal. He had not called him that since he'd come of age. And though he was not his blood sire, Gaelan could not love the young man any more than if he was his own.

"Go to your friends, and show them your prizes. Tomorrow you earn the right to be called knight."

Connal frowned. "A tourney?"

Gaelan nodded. And Connal smiled hugely, handsome in his excitement. "If Siobhan doesn't interfere," he muttered, watching as Connal led his new stallion toward the group of young men.

Halfway through the feasting, Siobhan quietly left the hall and headed to her chamber. Gaelan frowned, glancing at Fionna, and she nodded. The goblet slipped from his hand and crashed to the floor. He started for the staircase and the king caught his arm.

"You can do naught but wait."

Gaelan did wait, refusing wine and too often staring at the staircase.

"Did you do this when we were being born, Father?"

Gaelan looked at his daughter, smiling. "Aye."

"And with me, Father?"

"Aye."

"And me?"

"Aye!" The girls didn't flinch at his bellow, staring sweetly up at him, and Gaelan sighed, apologized, excusing himself from the king's side, and moved toward the wide hearth. He sat on a bench, firmly padded and luxurious, and the girls scrambled up into his lap. They burrowed around his big body like bunnies in a hollow, and Henry envied the lord of Donegal.

How he wished he could have known his sons like that, able to touch and kiss them freely, he thought. He settled to a chair, waving off the offer of wine as he listened to the girls question him. He didn't tell them of each birth, but a story of a lonely, savage man seeking peace and finding it in the green isle of Erin. The girls were rapt with awe, and though Henry knew they'd heard the story before, he was well pleased with the telling. He glanced at Connal, the youth gone still in his revelry with the other young lads knighted this day.

His expression was tender and loving toward Gaelan, and Henry understood the young man's private plea to be named PenDragon. To honor the man who'd raised him.

A tiny cry filtered from above and Gaelan gently placed his daughters aside and, ignoring all, raced toward the stairs. Gaelan pushed the door open, finding Fionna stowing soiled sheets. She nodded slightly and left the room as Gaelan crossed to the bed. Siobhan lay still, their child at her breast, and Gaelan lowered himself to the bed gently.

Her lashes swept up and she smiled, patting the s.p.a.ce beside her. He shifted, gathering the pair in his arms.

She tipped her face up. "We have a son, my love."

Gaelan's breath caught.

"Now you will have to work at being a father."

Gaelan tried to look affronted and failed.

"Your daughters think you are a G.o.d."

"And you do not."

"They are innocent. I am not."

"Praise be," he muttered, kissing her deeply. "Poor boy, with all those sisters babying him..."

"I'm sure with the blood of the dragon in his veins, he will do his own share of roaring and bellowing-"

"I do not bellow."

"Hah."

Smiling, Gaelan sighed and held his wife and son in his arms, feeling small and inconsequential in a world br.i.m.m.i.n.g with power and battle. He was at peace, had been for years now, and was eager to return home. Ireland, he thought, was a part of one's soul, calling you back when you were away, and if you lived long enough, you understood there was no other place in the world where magic and love abounded.

No other place, he thought, looking down at his wife and son. Except in the arms of his Irish princess.

end.