The Irish Princess

by Amy J. Fetzer

  "Your princess is lovely, Gaelan." Raymond kept his voice low and his guard high.

  Gaelan glanced at him, his lip curling. "She is Henry's to do with as he will, DeClare. Ask for her. He might give her to you."

  Raymond scowled. "I take no woman who does not come of her own will."

  "Ahh, a conscience. And who was accusing me of having none only days ago?"

  Tartan-clad warriors surrounding her, she stopped yards from him, her gaze sweeping his bloody armor before meeting his gaze.

  "You are the princess of Donegal?"

  "Nay, I am Rhiannon in-Murrough. Her sister."

  Gaelan was surprised she spoke English. "Her highness does not greet me herself?" Did she not care for the welfare of her people?

  "She abides her own will, my lord," she said cryptically, her gaze slipping to Driscoll before coming back to him. She waved to the tables, to the seats above the salt. "Come, dine, my lords." She clapped and servants moved, offering food and wine.

  Fuming quietly, Gaelan debated with demanding the princess appear against brawling with women and so few soldiers. Damn the insolence of the haughty bitch, he thought, then reluctantly took his seat as lively music filled the air. Brightly clad dancers spun to the center of the stone floor and he glanced at Raymond, who was thoroughly intrigued and devouring food as if he'd not eaten this day, but Gaelan had no time for such frivolity. He wanted this matter done. That they did not resist told him they were prepared to acquiesce, but the welcome was false at best. He glanced down the table at the knights enjoying themselves, and it amazed him that men who were so ready for battle an hour ago, were enjoying the delights of Donegal's harvest and charming its women.

  He stood and drained his goblet of surprisingly good ale, waving off the servant and setting down the cup. The noise lessened and he scanned the crowd. "Continue," he said, then swung his gaze to Raymond. "If you can pull yourself away from the lass, DeClare, remind the men to repay Donegal's courtesy in kind."

  Raymond yanked a girl onto his lap, grinning at her. "If you insist."

  "Do not be so taken, friend. Have you not noticed there are few men here?"

  Raymond scowled sourly at his superior. "I have. As I have noticed her highness has still not given you an audience."

  Gaelan looked at the sister, a frown marring his brow as she moved toward him.

  "Is there aught I can do for you, sir knight?"

  There was something odd about the woman, he thought, and when she touched his arm, her eyes seemed to shift like a ripple of water.

  "Summon me when your princess," he said with disgust, "can find the … mettle to face me."

  Rhiannon inhaled at the blatant insult, obviously wanting to say something, yet thinking better of it.

  "Or," he said with a glance at the Irish warriors, "I come for her myself." Gaelan brushed past, his armor clanking in the stillness as he strode out the doors.

  Rhiannon looked at the dark-haired knight, her expression perplexed.

  "I suggest you do what e're is necessary to get your sister down here. Do not make him search, lass; you will not like the result of his temper."

  Rhiannon nodded, fleeing to the stars, catching Driscoll and Brody's gaze and sending them a worried look. Siobhàn's plan would not work, she thought, climbing the staircase. He was prepared to force submission, then give their lives over to the king, without regret, without a shred of conscience. 'Twas times such as this, Rhiannon thought, when she wished she could not feel another soul's thoughts and emotions. For in the PenDragon, she felt only emptiness, dark pain and a spark of longing he tried to hide, even from himself.

  * * *

  Gaelan handed Reese the stained armor, bid him clean it, then find his way to the hall and partake of the feasting. The lad nearly tripped over his own too large feet in his haste to be done and gone. Gaelan curried Grayfalk, then stripped down to his braies and washed, slipping a loose lawn shirt over his head, his belt about his Waist. He was just securing the fastenings when an infant lamb trotted in to the stable on wobbly legs, looking at him before scampering pell-mell into the corner.

  Sweet Jesu, I scare even animals, he thought, disgusted. Was Raymond the only one to match him?

  A moment later, a cloaked figure darted inside, calling softly for the lamb.

  "You've named your livestock?"

  Siobhàn spun about, her hood falling back as the air left her lungs. Why was he not in the hall?

  His brows shot up. "You!" Gaelan half smiled, moving toward her.

  She darted out of his reach, deciding escape was better than capturing her son's pet. But he was fast for such a large man, catching her about the waist and slamming her against his bulk.

  Instantly, Siobhàn shoved at his chest, kicked his shin.

  He squeezed. "Cease. I will not harm you."

  "Hah." Oh sweet Mary mother, let none see me like this. "You are the PenDragon."

  His expression turned sour with irritation. "Why does everyone mutter my name like a prayer to Satan?"

  "It bodes ill for those you destroy and conquer." She wiggled, groaning at the effort, then sagged miserably and met his gaze through a curtain of hair. "Well." She hung against him like a limp rag. "You have proven yours is the greater strength. Do you wish to crush my ribs too?"

  Smiling, he eased his hold a bit, noticing her hair was damp and curling. "Nay. I would keep you this time." With the backs of his knuckles, he brushed her hair off her shoulder, his gaze scanning her beautiful features, remembering her fire, the heat of her mouth. "You escaped."

  "Was I captive?" She arched a tapered brow. "I did not know. Not after your man clubbed me."

  His expression softened. "He was punished."

  "'Twas an accident!" She could only imagine what form of castigation he'd inflict.

  Surprise slapped him. Another woman would be demanding Owen's head, or at least coin for her trouble. "You live here?"

  "Aye."

  He grinned hugely. He would take this wild creature as his mistress, he thought easily. "You were a long way from home, girl."

  She scoffed, shoving uselessly at his big chest. "I am no girl, m'lord."

  "I know." He ducked his head.

  She slapped a hand over his mouth, her sharp eyes warning. "You would shame me?"

  He peeled her hand off. "Nay, sweetling—" He lifted her, carrying her to a more secluded spot. "I would pleasure you." Falling back against the wall, Gaelan released her legs and instantly pressed her to him, letting her feel her command over his body. Only this woman made him hunger to join with her so deeply, he could not think clearly. And this night was one in which he needed all his faculties. But right now, he wanted only to feel.

  "Unhand me this instant."

  Her tone was so imperious, he had to smile. "For a kiss." He leaned.

  She shoved. "Is everything a bargain with you, mercenary?"

  "With you, I fear, it must be."

  He ducked, covering her mouth with his, and though she flattened her hands on his chest, she did not push, still as glass in his arms. He felt her battling her own response and nurtured her lips, his pulling softly at her lower lip before he ran his tongue over the lush outline. Once, twice, he dipped his tongue between and for an instant, hers chased his. Her shudder tumbled into his mouth, her lips worrying his, her fingertips digging into his chest with a restrained power he wanted to release all over him.

  He drew back a fraction, meeting her gaze. "Give to me, lass."

  "Nay." But oh, when he looked at her like that, like he wanted to devour her, Siobhàn's knees went soft as goose down. And her will turned to water.

  His lips curved at her rebellion, a look of dark sensuality in his eyes as his hand slid down to the base of her spine, pressing her to his thickening groin. Her eyes fluttered closed, a sweet invitation she was unaware of offering.

  Then he kissed her, his mouth molding warmly over hers, his hands driving up her slender back and sending the bells to tinkling.
The sound spun through his heavy heart. And when her arms wrapped around his neck, arching her lush body to his, Gaelan felt his dead soul fracture. His kiss intensified and her tiny fingers slid softly into his hair, stroking delicately, and he moaned his pleasure.

  The rich sound rumbled against her breasts, spiraling heat and energy through her blood. She felt his strength surround her, hard muscle and man, magnificent power restrained in a gentle touch she'd never expected from the PenDragon. Passion, sultry and burning, broke inside her, and though she knew he was the wrong man, the worst man to find it in, his touch left her powerless and when she was hungry for more, she knew she could never have it. The denial of it drove suppressed desire to the surface and her hands clawed down his chest, and dove beneath his shirt, molding the contours of his skin, stroking his nipple, and his pleasure came in a tighter embrace, his thickening groin … his tongue wildly stroking her mouth and making her come apart inside her clothes.

  No man had ever done this to her, made her feel this desired, this sensual. And he was her enemy. He was here to conquer, to hold her people in bondage to the English king, to make her his leman, if he chose. She could not bear that.

  She tore her mouth away, her breathing harsh on his lips as she met his gaze.

  "Gaelan," Raymond called, his voice near.

  Siobhàn shoved out of his arms, and this time he let her go. She ran, brushing past the knight and heading toward the tunnels.

  Raymond glanced at the empty doorway, then to Gaelan. "The creature from the forest?"

  Gaelan smiled, straightening uncomfortably. "Still with plenty of fire."

  "And speed, I see," Raymond said, chuckling. He eyed his friend, not bothering to disguise his awareness of their tryst, but gentleman enough not to mention it.

  Gaelan turned toward his garments laid across the stall and donned them carefully.

  "You are coming inside?"

  "Aye." He reached for his sword, strapping it on. "I have wasted enough time—"

  "Not from what I saw," Raymond snickered from behind. Gaelan stilled, smiling to himself, then turned, positioning the sword. "If the lady princess is not awaiting, we return to camp and lay siege."

  * * *

  Chapter 6

  « ^ »

  The impertinent woman was not waiting.

  His sorely tested patience snapped, and he brushed people aside, heading for the doors. "Come. We burn her out."

  Loud gasps vibrated with cries for mercy.

  Raymond whispered a soft warning.

  He ignored them, striding to the doors, his men at arms at his heels.

  Someone called his name. Gaelan paused, looked, meeting Raymond's gaze, and the man nodded ahead.

  Gaelan swung around. She stood hidden in the darkness of the staircase, Driscoll and his warriors flanking the landing.

  Gaelan's gaze thinned as he moved closer.

  "You wished to see me?"

  "I wish to see more than shadows."

  She moved forward, gliding into the light on a rustle of cloth. Gaelan staggered, his eyes flaring as he stared down at his village lass.

  Had he not held the deceiving little wench in his arms only a half hour past, he might not have recognized her. Gone was the worn dress with frayed sleeves, replaced with a deep vivid green gown trimmed in gold, black and silver threads creating the never-ending knots he'd seen so often with the Irish, edging the scooping neckline and along her long draping sleeves. The shade made her green eyes darker, more intense, as she stared back, still on the last step, meeting his level.

  And he could do no more than look.

  Her wild curling hair was tamed, full and spiraling down her back to beyond her knees, deep red and as before, braided in spots, the little bells entwined. Yet this time, ahh save me from this woman's beauty, he thought, this time banding her forehead was a circlet of silver, the design of the Celts carved into the smooth, polished metal.

  This was no village girl, he thought. This was the princess of Donegal.

  And his prize.

  "You have lied." His voice was low and biting.

  Siobhàn's eyes flared. "And you, PenDragon, never once asked my name."

  She shifted past him and his gaze followed, sweeping over the length of fabric falling from her shoulders and trailing the floor. Beneath the drape of her hair, he could see the pattern of knots, thistles and winged creatures, and when she grasped her skirts to step onto the dais, he noticed the splits in her sleeves and silver bands circling her upper arms. Magnificent, he had to admit, as she turned to him and with an elegant wave, gestured to the space beside her, her expression void of emotion, of the light he'd fed on in the barn.

  Gaelan met with her, gazing down, absorbing her noble stature, taking in the details his anger fogged; the leather and silver girdle slung low on her hips, a jewel-handled dagger and a fistful of amulets and charms dangling from its chains; the thin strips of silver hanging from her lobes, the delicate bones of her face and shoulders, her proud young body ripely displayed in the fitted gown.

  "Introduce me to her," Gaelan said into the sudden silence, and her man Driscoll stepped close.

  Driscoll met her gaze briefly and the princess nodded.

  "Before you stands a descendant of first high king Brian Boru, the eldest daughter of Prince MacMurrough, granddaughter of the high king of Ulster, wife and widow of King Tigheran O'Rourke, Siobhàn ban-Murrough O'Rourke … princess of Donegal."

  At the last, Gaelan's eyes flared, and as he took her hand and brought it to his lips, beyond her, he caught the horrified look on Raymond's face.

  "Your highness. Your servant, Gaelan PenDragon."

  His lips never met their target as she pulled free. "You serve only yourself, English."

  His gaze sharpened.

  Siobhàn returned his stare with malevolence, then stepped bank so as not to crane her neck to look at him and lose what little ground she had. She hated that she was weakened by the sight of him, his clean shaven face, his shiny dark hair, overlong and brushing his shoulders. His black surcoat gleamed of conquered wealth in its silver and jewel trim, the blue dragon emblazoned across his chest reminding her of the kind of man she must battle. He was furious with her. She could see it smoldering in his dark, fathomless eyes, but Siobhàn could not fall prey to her emotions. Her people's lives would be decided in the next few moments.

  Around them, folk listened and watched as she moved to a high-backed chair, carved and dark, and she swept the cape aside, offering him the seat beside her before she sat. Gaelan remained standing, inclining his head to Raymond, and the knight rushed near.

  "Gaelan, she is—"

  "I know. The contracts."

  Raymond reluctantly handed them over.

  Gaelan slapped the documents on the small table before the chairs.

  Siobhàn didn't spare the curled parchment a glance. She knew they were terms of surrender and there would be bargaining before she relinquished her folk to him. "Why have you come?"

  "To conquer for Henry."

  She scoffed. "'Tis simple thievery."

  His spine stiffened at that. "A land without a lord is land free for the taking."

  She leapt to her feet, anger hissing in her words. "I am the authority here, PenDragon. And the lands belong to us." She gestured to her people. "'Twas entrusted to my care by my father, and his father afore, and Donegal is ciobche to me from my husband."

  "Women do not own land."

  A soft snicker of laughter rose in the hall, and the knights and squires frowned at the Irish folk smirking at them as if they were too stupid to walk upright.

  "Aye, we do. 'Tis Ireland you stand on, sir, abiding by brehon law. I suggest you learn it well, or you have come for naught."

  Dark outrage crept up his features from his throat. "By the church of God, the pope and Henry's alliance with the king of Leinster, you are under English rule!"

  "Nay, Leinster is. This is Donegal. Would you not expect me to follow Englis
h law, were I in your country?"

  Crafty little thing, he thought. "Aye. And in England you would know that your lord rules all."

  She glared back, defiance in every fiber. "Must I tell you again where you have landed, Englishman?"

  Simmering with the urge to shake her, he advanced. Instantly her men flanked her, javelins crossing before her chest. "You hide behind your people."

  With the back of her hands, Siobhàn spread the spears and stepped closer, inches from him. "We have repelled Vikings and survived centuries without the aid or alliance of the English. We need naught of your kind now."

  "You have no choice."

  She delivered a haughty glare. "I have given you the choice, PenDragon. You may have entered this keep without resistance, but you do not have the tuath as your prize."

  "I could destroy you all and take it."

  The soft warning sent a chill over her skin. "Aye. And what will that give your king in victory? Rubble? Bodies to burn as you have done afore?" she said with disgust. "Land is naught without the hands to till it. The souls to live upon it. Donegal is naught but soil, sea and trees without her people."

  He stepped closer, his voice low, yet deep enough for all to hear. "And without you, princess?"

  Imaginations racing, her folk protested, cries of mercy and pity blending with English commands for calm ripped through the crowd.

  She searched his gaze. How could be not see she was merely a guiding voice here? "I am naught without them, PenDragon."

  "You wish them to live?"

  She looked at him as if he'd grown wings. "'Tis my entire quest."

  "Then swear oath and fealty through me to the king."

  "Never."

  A cheer rose in the hall.

  He merely arched a brow, refusing to acknowledge the crowd. "I will never swear oath to a man with no purpose but to take and slaughter for a self-serving king."

  "Guard your tongue, woman!"

  "In my own house?"

  Her disdain was unmistakable, pushing him to the end of his patience. "Speak with me in private. Now."