The Irish Princess

by Amy J. Fetzer

  "Aye, my princess. Meghan will tend you."

  "The day is almost over, my friends, and from here I view a dozen chores left unattended." People scattered to their duties. "And Connal," she said, lowering her gaze to the child. She smoothed her hand over his red-brown hair, his plump cheek, then tipped his head to look him in the eye. "Have you tended your studies today?"

  Connal's gaze briefly swept to his aunt's. Rhiannon chose to look elsewhere. "Nay."

  "And why not?"

  Connal stole another glance at his aunt. "I was playin'."

  "And what activity was so important that you allowed your aunt to take you from your studies?"

  Connal blinked, pleased his aunt would gain the blame. "She made a bubble from a bladder and we kicked it about the yard." His lower lip curled down. "Till Dermott broke it."

  Siobhàn lifted her gaze to her sister, folding her arms over her middle. "Did he learn anything today?"

  "Aye, that bladders pop. Now come; eat something." Rhiannon moved close to her sister and flung her arm around her shoulder, directing her to the long table. Behind her back, she waved discreetly to Connal, and the child scurried off toward his bed.

  "Do not think to fool me with your cheating, Rhi," Siobhàn said, glancing over her shoulder to see Connal disappear around the wall leading up the narrow staircase. Her gaze shifted to her sister, who was calling for a trencher and wine. "He broke a promise."

  "Nay," Rhiannon said, dropping beside her. "I did." Her green eyes pleaded with her older sister. "Do not punish him. 'Tis only that he looked so unhappy whilst you were gone."

  "Think you that he has too much studies?" Siobhàn shook her head. "Tell me true, Rhi, for oftimes I think learning from books is useless."

  Rhiannon's face warmed with affection and she covered Siobhàn's hand. "Mayhaps a few moments at a time and nay hours? 'Tis so new to him, this sitting still."

  Siobhàn laughed softly. "Aye, aye," she said, accepting the trencher and wine from Bridgett. She sampled the mutton, aware of Bridgett standing close and awaiting approval. Siobhàn nodded. "A fine hand with the spice, friend." As Bridgett bobbed and departed, Siobhàn turned her attention back to her sister. "Now shall we discuss the state of this castle in so short a time?"

  "Only if you reveal where you hid for half the night."

  "I will not." She jerked her hand out of her sister's reach. "I need not touch you to know the why of it comes from a man."

  Revealing that English knights slept so close to Donegal would not scare Rhiannon, but her people were a matter unto themselves. How capable could they be, she thought, when with the exception of fifty or so, their largest and strongest were lost on Irish soil like lambs in the mist.

  Siobhàn cast a quick look around for eavesdroppers. "Do not speak of it, please. Culhainn was at my side, and what man can get past him?"

  'Twas true enough, Rhiannon thought, but didn't believe Siobhàn. Yet if she chose to keep her moments away from the keep private, Rhiannon would respect her wishes. Her gaze scanned her garments, stopping on the bloodstain at her shoulder.

  "You're hurt." Rhiannon pushed Siobhàn's hair off her neck to examine her wound.

  "Nay, nay, oh leave off!" she hissed, pulling her hair back. "'Twas an accident and naught else. Leave it at that."

  Rhiannon's brows rose sharply.

  Siobhàn leaned closer. "Forgive me, Rhi. I am weary and in need of a bath. Mix a potion for this ache in me head?"

  Rhiannon rose and moved to her cabinet by the hearth, withdrew a key and unlocked it, spreading the doors wide. Siobhàn watched as her sister mixed and stirred herbs into a cup, added wine, then heated it with a hearth iron. Steam rose from the wood cup as she crossed the hall. Siobhàn drained the potion quickly, thanking her.

  "Now, sister, about the chores—"

  "I think I hear Bridgett calling." Rhiannon scooted back and with a laugh, Siobhàn waved her off and focused on her meal. She ate quickly, then headed to her chamber for a bath, pausing at Connal's bedside. She knelt and tucked the coverlet beneath his soft chin and his eyes drifted open.

  "Mama? You're angry with me?"

  "Oh nay, poppet." She brushed her lips across his forehead. "I love you too much." A soft bahhing came from beneath the covers and Siobhàn eyed her son. He giggled and she drew back the bunting. A tiny lamb peeped its nose at her, round dark eyes begging to let it sleep with its master. "Connal," she scolded. "Did you think to trick me?"

  "Can Dermott stay?"

  "Aye." She tucked them both in and Connal smiled, utterly pleased with this day. "But you both must bathe in the morrow." The boy gasped and his mother sent him a warning glance. The lamb reeked of the stables. "Swear to me or I take him now."

  Connal lowered his gaze and muttered, "I swear." Siobhàn kissed him again and made to leave. "But not with yer stinkin' weeds!"

  Siobhàn blinked at her son, her mouth open at his defiance. She snapped it shut. "Then 'tis with lye and a grooming brush, laddie, since you dare take a tone with me." She stepped out and closed the door, smiling at his attempt at cursing.

  Siobhàn walked to her chamber, thanking Meghan as the woman passed with empty buckets; then slipping inside, she closed the door and was at once thankful she afforded a chamber to herself. The demands on her constant, she valued the sparse moments of privacy. Tigheran had always insisted she care for him, refusing to allow a servant to tend his smallest need. Life with him had left her exhausted, unhappy and, she admitted, terrified. Unease worked into her bones, stirring painful memories, and she cast them off with her clothes, not wasting a moment to slip into the hot, scented water. She would scrub later, she thought, resting her head gingerly on the rim. For now all she desired was the heat of the water soothing away the ache in her bones.

  Steam curled in the cool air. The blaze in the hearth roared and crackled, flames eating freshly placed peat and wood. Siobhàn sank deeper into the bath, hot water sliding over her skin like a lover's caress. Her senses more intense with fatigue, she fought the masculine image taking shape in her mind, drawing on her disgust at discovering his profession, his self-serving cause.

  Yet it came, clear and strong, powerful as he was big. She saw his body glistening with water, his ropey muscles twisting as he dried himself, the desire in his eyes when he wanted more than a kiss of reward. No man had looked upon her such as he had, no man had kissed her with such gentle command and dark hunger. She shifted in the bath, a feeble attempt to ease the heat stirring through her body, yet warm water and silken herbs rushed over her sensitive skin, intensifying the sensations she wanted to crush.

  Siobhàn swallowed back a moan of despair.

  Do not taunt me like this, Englishman, she thought. You are my enemy and here to war. And I will not betray my people. Especially not for my own desires.

  * * *

  Chapter 4

  « ^ »

  Surrounded by six warriors and her sister, Siobhàn's brow knitted, her gaze shifting between the two feuding villagers.

  Someone was lying, she thought, yet could not tell which. Around them the servants and slaves moved in their duties, but she had to solve this problem before she could get on with her own chores. "Munn, you say the milch cows are yours?"

  "Aye."

  Siobhàn put up her hand, silencing young Liam before he could speak.

  "Was it not part of the stipend paid to her each year as your wife?"

  Caught, Munn's craggy features tightened, flushing with embarrassment. "Aye, m'lady."

  "Then you have no claim. They are hers. She can do as she wishes." She dismissed him and motioned his wife, Kathleen, forward, beckoning her closer than the rest, and the young woman knelt at her feet. Siobhàn leaned forward. "This is a battle over you, is it not?"

  Kathleen turned her head, glancing at her husband of three years and then at Liam, then back to her princess. "I fear to confess, but aye, my lady, 'tis so."

  Siobhàn need not ask as to who held the girl's heart and
leaned back, waving Kathleen to a spot near her side, then looked between the two men.

  "Munn, have you been cohabiting with your wife?"

  "Aye, my lady." 'Twas a tired response, and Siobhàn wondered if the girl had been unfaithful to her husband. Though he was far older and bent, infidelity was unacceptable. "Have you shared yourselves?" She looked between husband and wife.

  "Aye, we have," they said as one, and a tortured look came over Liam's face.

  Then they have had relations enough to beget a child, one she was certain Kathleen wanted, if the talk was correct. Siobhàn studied the group. Kathleen had the right to be married to whomever she chose. 'Twas brehon law. She saw no way to decide without leaving one hurt and alone. But an unhappy marriage was a life of misery, she knew, and best served in solitude.

  "You may divorce, if you choose."

  Munn did not protest.

  "I choose," Kathleen said quickly and Liam beamed a bright smile.

  "You must then offer recompense to Munn. Two milch cows from your life with him." Wed three years, she'd likely have as many cows or sheep from coibche, her bride price, and could part with the ones he had provided, her due for each year she spent as his wife.

  Siobhàn glanced at Munn. He nodded, sending a disgusted glance to his wife. Siobhàn rose, dismissing the group of onlookers, then pinned Liam with a hard stare. "Do not shame her. Wed this day, pay her father one cow in coibche, and you must earn one each year after for her. They are hers by brehon right."

  "I will, my princess," Liam said, smiling.

  "Do, or I will rule differently and not in your favor."

  His look turned solemn and Siobhàn focused on Kathleen. "If you do not bring forth a child, you know he can do the same to you?"

  Kathleen flushed, obviously stunned the gossip had reached Siobhàn's ears, and looked nervously between her princess and her future husband.

  "I will never," Liam whispered. "Child or nay." He clutched her to him and kissed her.

  "Ahh! Get out of my keep!" Siobhàn waved irritatedly, yet smothered a smile. They were so much in love it hurt to look at them. She addressed her clansman and retainer. "Is there any more this day, Brody? Please say 'tis not so," she pleaded soulfully, her expression pitiful.

  "Nay, none, my princess." He grinned. "You may go play with the bread dough again."

  Siobhàn smiled, perking up then and left the dais, moving through the people crowding the hall. Snatching her apron, she tied it over her drab woolen kirtle as she left the hall, crossing the yard to the cookhouse. She scarcely had her hands deep in the heavy folds of dough when someone called out.

  "The bread will have to rise without my help," she muttered, and cook smiled.

  Driscoll, her clansman and captain of what remained of her guards, appeared in the doorway.

  "How many this time?" she said tiredly.

  "Seven, m'lady."

  Siobhàn tried not to show her anger. Raiding livestock was a way of life, but not often on Donegal lands. "Was anyone hurt?" When he nodded, she jerked off her apron, leaving the cookhouse and crossing the bailey. Her palfrey was saddled, a boy holding the leads.

  "Mama, may I come with you?"

  She spun about, smiling as Connal raced to her side, his lamb trotting after him. She stroked his sweaty hair back, rubbing a smudge of dirt from his nose. "Nay."

  His little forehead wrinkled. "You never let me leave."

  "'Tis dangerous for you, sweetling." She wanted to soothe him, remind him that he would be a great king one day, but her dreams of late warned her of the future and its drastic changes. Besides, little boys needed time to chase butterflies, keep frogs in a bucket and get into mischief, something Connal did rather well of late. "There are people who are hurt, my son, and I cannot worry over you and tend to them." He nodded, looking too grown up for his age, and she eyed him. "Should you not be about your lessons?"

  His expression drooped miserably and he nodded, tromping back toward the keep. Her heart nearly twisted at the sight and she sighed, turning to her guardsman and climbing onto the small thin saddle astride, adjusting her garment about her legs.

  "You should be well used to me ridin' like this by now, Driscoll," she said at his sour look.

  "I long for the day to arrive," he muttered, shaking his head and following her. Five more men gathered about them as they rode through the gates toward the herders in the hills.

  An hour later Siobhàn slipped from the mount and raced to the burning shack. Driscoll lurched, pulling her back from the flames. "Nay, lass, nay. There's naught to be done now." He cursed under his breath, looking away from the bodies strewn just inside the door. "They were not so when I spotted them."

  "'Tis unholy, that," she whispered, taking a step closer, bile rising in her throat. "They're gutted like pigs." She paled with fury, looking at him. "This serves no purpose, Driscoll. Take the stock, aye, but to murder? Death will not tend more sheep, milk more cows. They have destroyed their livelihood." She flung a hand at the smoking hut. "And to do so in the light of day?" Raids came in the dark, and it took weeks to discover the culprits and repay the deed. But this, she thought, staring at the blood-soaked ground. This left no witnesses and could not have garnered more than a half dozen sheep and cows.

  And four lives.

  "Outlaws do not need a reason, I'm thinking."

  She tossed her hair back over her shoulder. "And I bid you keep that opinion to yourself." His features tightened at the censure, yet she met his gaze head on. "We cannot afford panic and outlaws or nay, a rival clan could have easily done this. Those wishing me to swear to Henry. Speculation will breed fear and we cannot afford its price." 'Twas a reminder that there were too few trained men left to control a riot. "And I am thinking we need to protect them better. Aye, I know we've few men to aid them," she said when he opened his mouth to protest. "But suggest to all in this area that they move closer to the castle. We cannot help if they be dead afore word reaches us. You decide what is necessary for other safeguards." With brisk strides, she moved to her horse, swinging up and riding off without escort.

  Driscoll motioned two men to follow, then raked his fingers through his snarled hair. Stubborn female, he thought, watching her ride like a man. And though he did not like it or her plan, she was his princess and he would obey. The past years widowed and ruling as Connal's regent, she'd proven herself wiser than her dead husband, even without the power of the ancients in her blood.

  His gaze shifted about the land, searching for signs of the attack. If the culprits were wayward brigands raping the countryside, Driscoll vowed to find them and gut them as they had this little family. And if this was, as she suspected, clansmen wanting her to swear to the king, then God save them, for he knew she would not. Ever.

  Siobhàn rode ahead for privacy, to shed tears for the family who'd come with her after her father had died, after she'd wed Tigheran. For the little girl who'd played with Connal only a sennight past and had pretty freckles across her nose. She swiped at her face, and not for the first time considered Lochlann O'Niell's recent offer of marriage and protection. But his alliance was bending toward the English king, she felt, and her dead husband's half brother said he'd swear to it to save his people, his lands. Siobhàn did not know what she would do if forced between life and death, yet an oath to the English king, in her heart, was betraying centuries of Celtic heritage. But so far Lochlann's lands were untouched, his people hail and hearty, whilst hers suffered.

  And then there was Ian and his constant suit to consider. The Maguire was handsome, fair and strong, and she'd known him since she was a girl, had loved him once, yet the telling factor was not her happiness, but her people's—and Ian had thrice times the men she did. Lochlann had equal the amount of strength in numbers, and together they would strike a formidable blow on the raiders, if necessary. But their lands were nearer to the battlefields, and an English alliance would prove necessary.

  In Donegal, it was not. 'Twas of no strategic va
lue except that the shore bordered the land and none had yet to master the shale cliffs to attack. The king's emissaries had not approached her—that was a troubling thought to add to the pile—yet she saw no reason to submit to England's demands when the armies had not found their way here. Clan Rourke and her brethren were untouched but for the recent raiding, a peaceful remote place, prosperous in fishing and farming and herding. And a bit of magic.

  She glanced back at the curl of smoke in the cloudy sky, wishing for her cousin Fionna's conjurings to protect them from more heartache. Mist will not help us this time, she thought, looking to the west and offering a prayer to keep the Englishmen beyond Ulster.

  * * *

  Gaelan frowned at the dark patch in the sky as he reached for his hauberk, slipping it over his head. Around him the camp broke, pavilions falling in soft billows to be rolled and stored, fires extinguished and pages griping about the early hour.

  Raymond moved to his side. "What make you of that?" he asked, his gaze on the smoke twisting in the sky.

  "Send a man to see. I will not have the king's prize in ashes afore I take it."

  Raymond's lips quirked. "Hungry for it, are you?"

  Gaelan slanted him a glance as he strapped padded leather about his thighs. "Are you not eager for a siege?"

  "Nay."

  His brow arched.

  Raymond shrugged as if that explained his feelings. "Have you considered instead of accepting the coin of Donegal's worth, taking it for yourself, making a home?"

  Gaelan was tired of this conversation. "To be beholding to Henry? My knights, my archers, sent off when he beckons? I think not, Raymond."

  "What cost is it? You have legions." He gestured to the field, unable to see the ground for the human blanket covering it. "They would follow you regardless of the purse, and most would find honor in serving Henry's cause, even if you do not."

  Gaelan stood motionless as Reese fastened the iron greave around his legs. "They are free to do as they please."