Forbidden Night with the Prince

by Michelle Willingham

  But even as he tucked her into his arms, drawing her into sleep, Joan could not push away the uneasiness of the danger that lay ahead of him.

  * * *

  In the early morning, Ronan was aware of Joan’s presence in the bed. For the first time, he had slept deeply. It was as if her presence brought him peace, pushing away the nightmares of the past.

  Though he had not intended to touch her, there was no denying the feelings she had evoked. God help him, he wanted her even now. He had lived with the jagged edges of suffering for so long, he hardly knew what it meant to feel this sense of contentment.

  She had brought him here last night after signing the betrothal, wanting to talk to him. He knew she wanted a child desperately, and she’d said she was willing to wait. But like a bastard, he had cut her down and had sworn it would never happen.

  Her face revealed her vulnerability, and he was struck with the realisation that he wanted to wed Joan. Though he did not deserve a woman like her, she had somehow drawn herself into his life.

  He imagined Ardan’s quiet smile and what he would think of Joan. His brother would have teased him about her, claiming that she was too virtuous to wed someone like Ronan. But he had a feeling Ardan would have liked her.

  He had lived beneath the crushing weight of guilt for so long, he had not known peace. Not until this night. But he did not delude himself into thinking he could remain celibate with Joan. She haunted him, tempting him with the beautiful curves of her body and her smile.

  God help him, he didn’t know what to do. He was torn between desire and upholding his vow not to have children of his own.

  He pushed back the turmoil of thoughts and concentrated on what would happen now. He would take back Clonagh and save his father. Only then could he put the past to rest. The thought centred him, giving him strength.

  Joan awakened and sat up, holding the bedcovers to her body. ‘You must go, Ronan. My maid will be here soon enough to prepare me for our wedding.’

  He knew it and rose from the bed to fetch his discarded clothing. Once he was dressed, he turned back and saw her struggling with her own garments.

  He went to help her with the bliaud. His hands lingered upon the laces, and he grazed the tip of her breasts with his knuckles. She gave a slight intake of air, but he held her waist a moment longer.

  ‘I will leave for Clonagh immediately after our wedding celebration,’ he said. ‘I have delayed it far too long.’ Once he had retaken the fortress, he could bring her back to live with him there.

  ‘You don’t have to avoid me, Ronan.’ There was a fragile coolness in her voice, but he pushed past it.

  ‘I am not avoiding you,’ he corrected. ‘I will send for you as soon as I can.’

  Her face softened into a sad smile. ‘Will you?’ Her tone said she didn’t believe him.

  ‘When it is safe for you to join me,’ he clarified. But he didn’t know when that would be. He was trying to force his thoughts back to the battle plans and away from the alluring woman in front of him. He needed to turn his attention back to the Ó Callaghan tribe for they needed him the most.

  ‘I will come for you,’ he assured her. ‘You belong to me now, Joan.’

  At this moment, he wanted nothing more than to press her back into bed and love her again. Last night had bound them together, and he could never let her go.

  ‘I pray to God that you will be safe,’ she said, her eyes filling with tears. She drew him into her arms, holding him close.

  The moment she kissed him, he felt the force of her need. Nothing in the world could have stopped him from touching her again, and the softness of her tongue was his undoing. He kissed her hard, threading his hands through her hair. Joan yielded sweetly, her body pressed close.

  When he drew back, he said, ‘I will see you at the wedding.’ Then he kissed her once more before he departed.

  The door closed behind him and Ronan walked down the narrow hall towards his own chamber. There was no turning back for either of them, but he wanted to wed Joan, despite all the risks. No longer was this marriage about acquiring soldiers for war. Instead, there was a greater purpose and a new life that awaited him.

  He centred his focus on the first problem—winning back his father’s throne. If he accomplished this task, it would restore his honour and offer redemption for the mistakes he had made.

  And perhaps he would one day be worthy of siring a child.

  * * *

  ‘I expect you to uphold the bargain you made,’ Joan told Rhys and Warrick. Though she believed her brothers would send soldiers to help Ronan, she wanted to ensure that the men accompanied him this day to Clonagh. The morning sky had cleared the clouds from the night before, and she had seen the faint outline of the moon disappearing as the sun rose.

  Joan paled when she suddenly realised how much time had passed since she had been at Laochre. The sight of the moon unnerved her, for it reminded her that her woman’s flow had not yet come. A sudden tremor of anticipation flooded through her with a hope so fierce, she could hardly bear it. She tried to tell herself that it was far too soon to know, but it gave her a reason to dream. It might not be real.

  And yet...what if it were?

  ‘We will uphold the terms of the betrothal, as long as you wed Ronan,’ her brother said. His gaze narrowed upon her, and Joan forced her attention back to Rhys.

  ‘I will marry him, as I have said. But he intends to leave for Clonagh after the wedding celebration.’ She sent a pleading look towards Warrick. ‘You must send all your men to accompany him.’

  Her brother gave a nod. ‘They will...but only after you speak your vows.’

  ‘I have already said that I will.’ But from the harsh expression on Rhys’s face, she sensed there was something more that he had not said. Before she could ask anything further, Warrick’s wife Rosamund approached.

  ‘I will help you choose a gown and prepare for the wedding,’ she offered. ‘Will you come with me, Joan?’

  She allowed the woman to lead her away, feeling uncertain about what lay ahead. When she was alone with Rosamund, she asked, ‘Why is Rhys so angry?’

  The young woman shook her head. ‘You needn’t worry, Joan. He will be satisfied once you are wedded.’

  She was beginning to wonder if her brothers had learned that Ronan had come to her chamber and stayed all night. It was entirely possible. Her thoughts were distracted as she followed Rosamund down the hallway, but abruptly, she saw her brother’s wife blanch and stop walking. For a moment, she remained in place and took a shaky breath.

  ‘Are you all right, Rosamund?’ Joan asked. ‘Should I fetch Warrick?’

  ‘No, no. I’ll be fine. It was only a sudden pain.’ She offered a weak smile and added, ‘I never thought I would be pregnant again so soon. Neither of us expected it. And though I should be used to it after the twins, sometimes it hurts badly when the babe is stretching my skin.’

  Rosamund took another deep breath and then began walking again. ‘We will go and choose your gown now.’

  ‘I will wear white, as I always do,’ Joan said. Since Ronan was about to return to battle, she was taking no chances.

  ‘Are you certain?’ Rosamund asked. ‘I have a red bliaud that would be lovely against your dark hair. Or perhaps a blue one?’

  She shook her head. ‘No colours.’ At least, not until Ronan returned victorious from battle.

  ‘What would you like prepared for your wedding feast?’ Rosamund asked. ‘I will give the orders now, and the cooks will arrange whatever you like.’

  ‘Ronan intends to leave for Clonagh afterwards,’ she said. ‘I don’t suppose it matters what we eat. Anything the men like will be good enough.’

  Rosamund stopped at that. ‘Joan, this is your wedding. It should be a celebration that you will remember for years to come.’

  She unders
tood that, but she also recognised that Ronan was feeling uneasy about it. And so, she admitted, ‘A feast and a lively celebration would make Ronan feel uncomfortable. After all the tragedy his family has suffered, he blames himself.’

  At that, Rosamund seemed to understand. ‘And he will not stop until he has freed his father from captivity.’

  ‘Yes. But we can have another celebration after he returns.’ Joan followed Rosamund into the chamber where a steaming tub of water awaited her. The thought of a hot bath was wonderful, especially given the cold wintry air.

  ‘I will arrange a simple feast, then,’ Rosamund promised. ‘And I think you will be pleased by it.’ She promised to send a maid to help with her bath and departed the chamber, leaving Joan alone.

  As she undressed and stepped into the tub, she tried to push back her fears. She would marry Ronan today, and they would be happy together.

  She rested her hands upon her flat stomach, praying that it would be so.

  * * *

  Ronan stood within the courtyard, awaiting Joan. He had dressed in a borrowed tunic, and both Rhys and Warrick stood on either side of the stairs leading from the main keep. The people of Killalough had gathered together to witness the wedding, and there was an air of anticipation. The new chieftain, Bertach Ó Neill, had helped arrange the celebration.

  The air was so cold, Ronan could see his breath forming clouds. The hard ground was frozen, and frost coated the grass. They waited longer, but there was still no sign of Joan. Warrick had promised that his wife Rosamund was assisting her with wedding preparations, but there was still the possibility that Joan was hesitant to wed.

  A faint sound caught Ronan’s attention, and he turned towards the guard tower, wondering what it was. A split second later, he heard the warning from the captain.

  ‘To arms!’ the man shouted.

  Ronan echoed the command to Warrick’s soldiers, seizing a shield from one of the men and unsheathing his sword. He didn’t know what the threat was, but he would help the men defend Killalough.

  He was surprised to see the Norman soldiers spread out in even formations. Men with spears took the first line, while swordsmen took the second. It was clear that the men were well-trained and prepared to fight.

  When one of the younger Irish boys seized a shield, Ronan grabbed him by the arm. ‘Go and keep the women inside. Defend them, if need be.’ The boy’s eyes widened, but he nodded and hurried up the stairs.

  Ronan didn’t know what enemy they faced, but he joined with Warrick and Rhys. A dozen men surrounded the gates, preparing for the charge that would come. The men at the tower called out their enemy’s position, and Ronan steeled himself for the fight ahead.

  Chaos erupted from within when men emerged from one of the outbuildings. Beside him, Warrick uttered a curse. ‘They didn’t seal off the souterrain passage.’

  They had no choice but to split their forces in half. ‘Take the Norman soldiers to defend the gates,’ Ronan ordered. ‘Give me the Irishmen, and we’ll push them back.’

  Warrick agreed, and Ronan ordered the Ó Neills to join at his side. A gleam of white caught his eye, and he saw Joan standing at the doorway. Her hair was crowned with flowers, and terror filled her eyes. A moment later, the same boy Ronan had ordered to protect the woman pushed her back inside, closing the doors.

  Thank God.

  He could not risk anything happening to her or to Warrick’s wife Rosamund. As he poured himself into the fight, he let his mind go still while his sword cut down the raiders. He didn’t know any of the men, but he suspected they were Irish mercenaries—possibly hired by Odhran.

  He lost all sense of time, and his muscles burned as he pushed back the enemy. This was supposed to be his wedding day to Joan, but instead, there was blood and violence. And when the last of the men had finally retreated, he saw Warrick and Rhys near one of the wounded assailants.

  Ronan stepped forward to question the man. ‘Why did you attack Killalough? Who sent you?’

  The man spat out a mouth full of blood, clutching his wounded stomach. He had taken a sword to his gut, and there was no hope for him.

  ‘You are going to die this day,’ Ronan said quietly. ‘Your wounds cannot heal, and you know it. The question is whether you want to end your suffering now or endure the pain.’

  The man closed his eyes and then said, ‘We were hired to weaken your forces.’ He coughed again, and pleaded, ‘End it. Please.’

  Ronan rested the tip of his sword at the man’s throat. ‘Who hired you?’

  ‘A man named Cearul.’

  At Warrick’s questioning look, Ronan shook his head. He didn’t recognise the name, but like as not, the man had not given his true name.

  ‘Tell the Normans to go back to England,’ the dying man gasped. ‘They have...no place here.’ With that, he closed his eyes. Ronan attempted to question him further, but there was no answer. And so, he granted the prisoner mercy, ending his life in one swift stroke.

  He joined Warrick and Rhys, helping to move the wounded men inside. It was clear that this had indeed been the men’s goal—to wound, not to kill. He counted at least thirteen men who were wounded severely enough to be unable to fight and three others who had died.

  ‘Do you think we have other enemies, beyond your stepbrother?’ Rhys asked him.

  Ronan shook his head. ‘I still believe this is Odhran’s doing. Or perhaps Eilis.’ He didn’t trust the queen at all, and she might have more power than he had anticipated. But attacking Killalough and wounding his soldiers was an act of war—one they could not deny.

  ‘We will meet with Bertach and some of the others,’ Warrick suggested. ‘Tend the wounded, and decide what to do.’ Their healer was already organising the Ó Neills, while several men carried the injured into a nearby outbuilding. Although none of the Norman soldiers had died, they would now have to delay their attack because so many of them were wounded.

  ‘Though I regret to say this, we should wait another day or two for your wedding, out of respect for those who died. It would be ill luck to marry upon a day such as this,’ Rhys replied. ‘And Joan has enough fears, as it is.’

  It was for that reason that Ronan had wanted to have the wedding. She might be afraid of the curse once again.

  They walked up the stairs and Warrick pounded on the door, demanding that they allow them entrance. Once they opened, Ronan was startled to see Joan and Rosamund with spears in their hands.

  The moment she spied Warrick, Rosamund dropped her spear and ran into his arms. He held her close while she embraced him. Joan remained frozen in place, her face pale and afraid. But when Ronan took a single step towards her, she followed Rosamund’s example and let the spear fall. He took her by the hand and guided her away from her brothers, knowing that she was holding her feelings together by a thread.

  Without a word, he brought her up the spiral stairs that led to the second floor. The moment they were alone, she threw herself into his arms and held him, weeping softly. ‘I have never been more angry in my entire life.’

  Ronan wasn’t quite certain what to make of that. When she pulled back, her face was red from crying, and she admitted, ‘After all we have been through, I was so afraid. And when they dared to attack us on the day of our wedding, I was ready to join in the fight myself.’

  Without waiting for an answer, she held him again, resting her face against his heart. And something shifted within him as he smoothed her hair back. ‘We will marry a few days from now, Joan. Your brothers will arrange it.’

  ‘No. It will be today.’

  It was not what he was expecting, and he drew back. ‘Rhys believes we should wait, out of respect for the dead.’

  ‘I will no longer live in the shadow of fear,’ she said. ‘Delay the celebration if you must, but this day I will be your wife and put the past behind us, once and for always.’


  In her sapphire eyes, he saw that she would not be dissuaded from this. And though he knew it was unwise, he understood her reasons. ‘Are you certain this is what you want, Joan?’

  ‘I am.’ She squared her shoulders and offered a rueful smile. ‘I did not wear all this wedding finery for naught. And neither did you. Will you speak with my brothers, or shall I?’

  He took her hands in his. ‘I will make the arrangements.’

  * * *

  Joan could not deny that she was afraid. Although she had made the decision to marry Ronan, there was no doubting the unrest on his face. His plans to invade Clonagh had been disrupted by the raid, and while he should have been pleased that she had agreed to the marriage, there was a shadow of discontent in his expression.

  Her brothers, Warrick and Rhys, had arranged for a private wedding in a small chapel within the fortress. Rosamund held her twin babies, and Warrick and Rhys stood behind them, as if they were sentries on guard.

  Joan held Ronan’s hands and spoke her vows, but she was deeply aware of the lingering tension of the earlier attack. Her bridegroom was distracted by the events of this day, and she wondered if she should have listened to him and delayed the ceremony.

  But the truth was, she wanted to marry him. No, it wasn’t the sort of wedding she had envisioned—in the aftermath of a battle—but she had no regrets about choosing Ronan. His strength and goodness attracted her, and she welcomed a union with this man.

  The priest gave a short Mass after they were wedded, and when it was done, Ronan kissed her. The warmth of his mouth was fleeting, but it was a promise of something more. Her cheeks flushed at the brief touch.

  Her brothers offered their good wishes, and Rosamund promised, ‘We will enjoy a feast in a few days. I will see to it.’

  Despite the circumstances of the wedding, Joan could not deny the feeling of joy rising within her. She was amused that her brothers were eyeing her new husband as if they didn’t entirely trust him.