Forbidden Night with the Prince

by Michelle Willingham

  At that, Connor thought a moment. ‘Do you like her well enough, Ronan?’

  ‘I do,’ he agreed. Joan was different from any other woman he’d met, and the other maidens seemed like foolish girls by comparison. He thought of her smile when they had carved turnips and her teasing manner. There had been an ease between them, as if they had been friends for a long time. But it contrasted with the way her hands had slid over his skin during the bath she’d tended. On that night, she had aroused him deeply in a way he had never expected.

  He’d kissed her in an attempt to satisfy the cravings she’d conjured. He’d wanted to unravel that innocence, finding the true woman beneath it all. But instead of fulfilling the urge, it had only awakened it.

  ‘Then you should consider a marriage,’ Connor said. ‘A Norman alliance would only help your people.’

  But Ronan answered, ‘I cannot wed just now. Better that Lady Joan should choose another man as a suitor.’ One whose kingdom hadn’t fallen apart, who had a better life to offer. Even if he did change his mind about marriage, he knew she would be unhappy. He couldn’t imagine siring a child after all that had happened. And he didn’t want to see Joan’s smile fade into misery. It wasn’t fair to her.

  For a long moment, Connor stared at him. ‘I will talk with my brothers and learn what we can do to help. But you ought to reconsider an alliance.’

  ‘She believes she is cursed,’ he told Connor. ‘Every man she was betrothed to has died.’

  ‘Do you think it’s true?’

  Ronan shook his head. ‘Likely a terrible coincidence, nothing more. No one was trying to kill the men. The last one died before she even arrived. But she is still afraid.’

  Ronan glanced across the gleaming candlelight to where Joan was standing. Her veil had slipped back to reveal her long dark hair. In her white gown, she captivated him, even though it was unlikely they would ever marry.

  ‘I will do what I can to help,’ Connor offered.

  But Ronan doubted it would be enough.

  * * *

  Later that night, after the feasting, Joan picked up a sleepy-eyed Liam and returned the boy to the queen’s arms. She followed the people into the Great Chamber where the hearth had been lit from one of the bonfires. The king’s brother was seated upon a low stool, and there was a large crowd of men, women, and children gathered around him. Trahern was an enormous beast of a man, with a beard and shaggy hair. But there was a jovial air about him, as if he enjoyed being the centre of attention.

  Joan didn’t understand all the words of his stories, but she enjoyed the rich timbre of his voice and the spellbinding nature of the tales.

  The queen drew her closer and gestured for Joan to sit upon a stool. ‘Trahern is the greatest bard in Éire,’ she boasted. ‘Listen and he will tell you about Brian Boru or the goddess Danu.’

  ‘I don’t speak Irish,’ she reminded the queen.

  ‘Trahern speaks both languages and will translate. He does it for me and for my guests,’ Queen Isabel answered.

  Joan took her place upon the low stool and gathered near the others. Trahern welcomed the people and began a tale about a woman who bore a child who was stolen by the fairies.

  ‘Niamh was heartbroken over the loss of her daughter, but the fairies gave her a changeling in place of the child. From the moment she held the babe, she knew it was not hers. To be certain, she touched the child’s hand with an iron nail, and the babe shrieked as if burned.’

  Joan leaned in, caught up in the story. Idly, she reached for the iron cross hanging around her throat. Though she was a Christian, she did believe in fairies and otherworldly things. Someone handed her a goblet of wine, and she took a sip. The servants kept returning to her side to refill it, though she had no wish to drink too much.

  ‘Niamh took the changeling to the Hill of the Fairies and pleaded with the queen to give back her child,’ Trahern continued. ‘She slept upon the hillside, and when she awakened, an old woman was seated beside her. She begged to share in her morning meal, and because she was kind-hearted, Niamh gave her a piece of bread and a drink of mead from her horn.

  ‘After the old woman ate and drank, there came a blaze of light. Niamh was frightened and shielded herself and the changeling from the enchantment. The old woman’s grey hair turned to gold, and her rags were replaced with a beautiful gown of silk. “You have shown kindness to me and to my own child. For that, you shall be rewarded.” The fairy queen reached out and took the babe, touching the child’s forehead with her thumb. And the child, too, was transformed and returned to her mother. But time passes differently within the realm of the fairies, and the baby had now grown into a beautiful young girl. Before Niamh could take her daughter home, the fairy left a streak of gold within the child’s hair, so she would always know that she had been touched by the queen.’

  When the tale ended, Joan was startled to realise that her cheeks were wet with tears. She swiped them away and started to rise from her stool.

  A hand pressed against her shoulder as she did. Joan knew without looking that it was Ronan. She didn’t know what he wanted but was pleasantly surprised to see that he was carrying a trencher of food.

  ‘I thought you might be hungry,’ he offered.

  ‘I am famished.’ She smiled at him and took her wine goblet with her. The room swayed a moment, and she wondered how many cups of wine she had drunk.

  Ronan guided her towards one of the trestle tables where she could sit. He gave her the trencher, upon which he had placed a selection of roasted mutton and beef, boiled goose eggs, and turnip greens, along with hot bread. Joan tore the bread in half and handed him the larger piece, while she ate the other. They shared the trencher, and she noticed that he seemed distracted but said nothing.

  The doors to the Great Chamber remained open, and outside, she could see the gleaming candles. Several children roamed around with their turnips holding small stubs of candles inside. She smiled to see their excitement. ‘It was kind of you to bring me food. I hadn’t realised how hungry I was.’

  ‘You seemed to enjoy Trahern’s story. He is well known across Éire for his tales.’

  Joan agreed and smiled. ‘I think the king must have asked him to distract all of us with the entertainment while the food was being prepared.’ She finished eating and wiped her hands, feeling a sudden awkwardness descending between them. A servant filled her cup again, and once the maid had gone, she lowered her voice. ‘I cannot possibly drink any more wine. I’m already dizzy.’

  Ronan took her cup and drank from it, but his eyes locked upon hers. His gaze passed over her veil and her face, down to the iron cross that rested upon her bosom. She didn’t understand his interest, and decided to meet his gaze frankly with one of her own. ‘What is it?’

  He drained the silver goblet and set it aside, steepling his fingers. ‘Nothing, really. But I was thinking that my older brother would have liked you,’ he said, reaching for the wine again. ‘He was a good man. Saint Ardan, I used to call him.’

  She took the goblet from him and drained the rest. ‘Are you trying to tell me you aren’t a good man?’

  His green eyes grew heated. ‘What do you think, a stór?’

  ‘I think there is more to you than people see,’ she predicted. Any man who would ride for two days, barely stopping for food or rest, put the needs of others before his own.

  She reached for a piece of bread at the same time as he did, and their hands touched. She curled her fingers around the bread and teased, ‘I’ll fight you for it.’

  His hand pressed into hers, and she felt the touch warm her skin in a way she wasn’t expecting.

  ‘I’ll let you win.’ He lifted his hand away, and she offered him some.

  With a mischievous look, she added, ‘Because you know I would defeat you. Never stand before a hungry woman and her food.’

  He did smile
at that, and the intensity of his green eyes made her cheeks flush. Ronan truly was an attractive man. And it wasn’t merely that she’d had too much wine. She found that she rather liked him.

  When she returned the smile, he warned, ‘I wouldn’t do that.’

  ‘Do what? Smile?’ She didn’t understand what he meant.

  He refilled his wine glass, but she would not let him do the same for her. ‘If you smile, every man in this place will want to wed you.’

  Her smile did fade at his remark. ‘Don’t even tease me about that.’ She folded her hands together and regarded him. ‘I know I sound foolish. But I really did want to be married. If this curse were not upon me, I would have wed any man my brother chose.’

  His tight expression softened. ‘You wouldn’t have wanted any of those men.’

  ‘You’re wrong. I am not hard to please. All I want is a man who is loyal and hardworking, one who can protect me and my children.’ She took a bite of bread and wiped the mutton grease from her fingers. With a knowing glance, she added, ‘Preferably one who would give me a child. I know I am older, so perhaps not as desirable as a younger woman.’

  ‘There is nothing wrong with you, a stór. Younger women are empty-headed and too impulsive.’

  ‘Whereas older women are simply...old.’ Joan pushed her wine goblet aside. She had never lain with a man and undoubtedly her skin would not be so firm and delicate as a maiden of fourteen. Or what if she was barren? The very thought brought a pang of disappointment to her heart.

  Ronan reached out and took her hand, leading her from the table. She wasn’t quite certain what he wanted, but she went with him. Outside, the celebrations continued, and several men and women wandered off together in pairs. The night held a sense of enchantment, as if spirits truly did roam the world. Or perhaps it was the effects of the wine she’d drunk.

  Either way, she watched the dancing from the stairs of the keep and was surprised to see many of the men and women wearing masks. Ronan stood behind her with his hands resting upon her shoulders. It left little doubt that he was protecting her, though she still did not understand why he was granting her his attention.

  ‘The people are disguising themselves to hide from the evil spirits,’ he explained. ‘It is said that time stands still on this night while darkness surrounds the earth.’

  ‘You don’t believe that,’ she said quietly, turning to face him.

  ‘I believe there is evil in this world,’ he answered. ‘And goodness to fight against it.’

  She saw the shadow of grief in his eyes and understood that he was speaking of his people. ‘You will get the men you need, Ronan. I will ask my brothers to help you and the MacEgans, as well.’

  He lowered his hands from her shoulders, and she walked alongside him amid the crowd of people. ‘I have no doubt we can take back Clonagh. But I need to understand how my father lost his throne in the first place. I will leave with a small group of men to learn what we can.’

  Though she understood the need to discern his enemy’s strengths and weaknesses, it was dangerous. For a moment, she had the foolish thought that he might not return. A chill passed over her, and she shivered.

  ‘Do you want to walk by the fires?’ he suggested. ‘You’re cold.’

  She nodded, and he kept his hand at the small of her back as they approached the bonfires in the distance. The hill of Amadán was not large, but they walked up the path where others had gathered around the flames. She warmed herself, trying not to imagine the worst.

  ‘Be careful when you return to Clonagh,’ she warned. ‘Do not let your enemies see you.’

  He rested his hand upon her waist. ‘Are you afraid I could die?’

  She turned to face him and nodded. With a wry smile, she added, ‘I am cursed, after all. We don’t know what effect my presence will have on you.’

  ‘Would you be sorry if I were killed?’ His voice held a deep timbre, one that felt almost like a caress.

  Her heart tightened, but she nodded. ‘I would.’ She had known him for only a little while, but she could not deny her own interest. Not only because he was handsome and she had enjoyed his kiss—but also because she sensed far more beneath this man. He had the talent of an artist and the skills of a warrior. ‘We are friends, are we not?’

  He traced the outline of her jaw, and a sudden rush of sensation filled up her skin. His green eyes held her captive as if she were the only woman left in the world. ‘You should kiss me farewell. In case I don’t return.’

  She glanced around but saw that the only other MacEgans had begun to walk down the hillside. They were alone for the moment. Even so, she wondered if it was wise to do so. Both of them had drunk too much wine, and she felt certain that was why her blood thundered within her veins. She rested her palms against his chest and felt the echo of her own heartbeat beneath her fingertips. His hands threaded into her hair, and he stared back at her.

  ‘I am not going to marry you,’ she said quietly. ‘I don’t want you to die.’

  ‘I’m not going to marry you, either,’ he answered. ‘Because I will not give you a child.’

  His mouth lowered to hers, and the moment their lips touched, the fire inside her blazed. A thousand prickles of sensation slid over her skin, and her breasts ached when he pulled her close. Never in her wildest imaginings could she have guessed that a man could make her feel this way. She yearned for his touch, wanting so much more. But he would never give her what she truly desired.

  His tongue slid within her mouth, and he seized her hips, pressing the hard ridge of his erection to the juncture of her thighs. She gasped, and the aching need intensified until she wanted more. Her breathing grew unsteady, and when she stared into his eyes, she saw the face of a conqueror.

  Samhain was a pagan ritual, as old as the stones that lined the hill. Here, there was a sense of magic in the air, of a moment when the veil between earth and spirit seemed to part. For a moment, she hardly cared that this man was little more than a stranger. He kissed her deeply, until her lips grew swollen and bruised.

  Joan was glad that her brothers were not here, for never would they allow her to be tempted by a man who did not want to wed her. Nor would they want her to indulge in her own desires. She was meant to remain a virgin, to wed a powerful lord and bear him children.

  But she knew she could never marry any man. The unfairness of it all knotted up into anger. Were it not for this curse, she could have been married three times over.

  He pulled back from the kiss, and Joan tried to calm her breathlessness. She looked him in the eye and demanded, ‘You will return.’

  He traced the edge of her cheek. ‘I will. But the king has asked me to delay our journey one more day.’ There was a note of tension in his voice as if he didn’t like waiting. ‘And I am also escorting you back to your brother’s fortress at Killalough. You will travel with us when we depart.’

  Joan had not expected to return to her brother’s estate, though she should have. Rhys and Warrick would want to know what had happened between them, and they might offer soldiers to help at Clonagh.

  And yet, the thought of travelling with Ronan made it impossible to still her beating heart.

  * * *

  Joan was surprised to see Ronan waiting for her after she broke her fast the next morn. ‘Have you any plans for this day?’ he asked.

  She didn’t know what he meant by that. ‘None thus far.’

  ‘Good. Then we can go out riding to the coast. I thought you might wish to see the island of Ennisleigh.’

  Her gaze narrowed, and she managed a smile. ‘Or did you mean that you wish to see the island?’

  ‘I do, yes,’ he admitted. ‘And the MacEgan king will allow it if he believes I am taking you to see it. You are his guest, after all. It also gives me something to do while I wait for the men to be assembled.’

  ‘So I am
to be your reason for exploring.’

  ‘If you’re willing.’ He offered his arm to her, and she decided there was no harm in it. The early-morning sky was a rich blue, and it might be an enjoyable way to pass the morning.

  ‘All right.’

  Ronan ordered horses for them while Joan asked a servant to pack a basket of food and drink. She tied the provisions to her horse before they rode out of the castle grounds.

  At first, he kept the pace slow until they were out in the open fields. Then he turned back and asked, ‘Are you a skilled rider?’

  In answer, she nudged her horse faster and let him try to keep up. The wind made her hair and veil stream behind her as they rode towards the coast. Ronan caught up and guided her towards a pathway that led down a hillside. He slowed his horse down to a walk, and she did the same. Nearby, there was a place to tether the horses and fresh water for them to drink. Ronan unfastened the bag of provisions and took it with him.

  ‘We have to walk down to the water’s edge,’ he explained. ‘Connor told me to leave the horses here. There is a boat we can take to the island.’

  She hadn’t expected that they would actually row across the narrow inlet to the island, but he appeared eager to reach the shore. It reminded her of her brothers when they had tried to row a boat once, and she smiled at the memory.

  The boat was tied to a small pier, and Ronan held the small vessel steady while she climbed inside. The water was relatively calm, and he took his place by the oars.

  She bit her lip, and as he pulled through the water, he remarked, ‘Is there something you find amusing?’

  ‘I was thinking of my brothers. We were visiting our uncle once, and he let us explore the lake in a small boat.’ A slight laugh escaped her, and she confessed, ‘Warrick rowed in one direction, and Rhys moved his oar in the opposite way. They rowed us in circles, all the way across the river.’ She had laughed so hard that day, her sides had ached.

  ‘Do you want to try?’ he offered, holding out one oar. She hadn’t thought of it at first, but she picked up her skirts and sat beside him. When he pulled back, she mimicked him, and the oar came out of the water with a splash. Joan laughed again and saw the gleam of amusement in his eyes.