The Irish Princess

by Amy J. Fetzer

  "And so do mine." His betrayal stung. She'd have expected such acquiescence from Tigheran, for the last time she'd seen her husband he was off to Dublin to swear allegiance. But not of Lochlann. Though oftimes hotheaded, he was so unlike his half brother; more handsome, younger, with rich, dark brown hair and blue eyes that danced with his emotions. And he respected her position as a leader.

  "You have proof of this alliance?" Gaelan demanded.

  "With my mount."

  Gaelan ordered the horse searched and Sir Mark stepped into the light with a roll of parchment. Gaelan released Siobhàn and sheathed his sword. He glanced at the parchment, then met his gaze. "Why did you not make yourself known to me, O'Niell?"

  Lochlann's spine stiffened, his pride already in ruins. "I could match you in a battle, PenDragon; she could not. She is my half-brother's wife and I swore to defend her, as did many clans." His tone warned him of coming trouble.

  "You could be hung for this attack, you know."

  "Irish blood is thicker than paper." Lochlann nodded to the parchment proclaiming him lord of his own on Henry's behalf. "O'Donnel and the Maguire would do the same. We'd see no harm come to her and her folk."

  "Admirable," Gaelan sneered. "But the choice lies with the princess." He looked down at her. "When she swears, the threat will die."

  Her expression wreaked of pure denial, though she kept her gaze on O'Niell.

  "Henry awarded me my own lands." Lochlann's lips twisted with humorous irony. "Do the same, Siobhàn."

  She jerked from Gaelan, coming to face the O'Niell, her hands on her trim hips. She got out two words in Gaelic before Gaelan ordered her to speak English. She sent him a heated look, yet obeyed. She had naught to hide. "See to your own holdings and I will tend to mine, O'Niell." Both understood her implication. His lands and people were sparse compared to hers. She risked the enslavement of more lives.

  "Come to Coleraine with me. There, I can protect you from him."

  "You cannot protect your own people from rival clans, Lochlann." She made a sour face. "And now you have made a deal with the English devil."

  Fury pulled his features. "This bastard"—he snapped a hated glance at Gaelan, who watched them with bland interest—"will return to England and you will have your tuath."

  "Nay, some soft lord will have it. England will have it! Swearing to him or to this king will be a lie, can you not see that? They have done naught to earn this right, this trust. There is no enemy to protect from, but them!" She pointed to the archers and knights.

  Lochlann frowned. "But you let him in without a fight—I thought—"

  She advanced to stop inches before him. "I spared lives. I suffer the price of this, not them."

  His gaze swept her, hurried, anxious. "Has he touched you?"

  "You cross the line, O'Niell," PenDragon growled behind her, his patience at an end.

  "Nay." But Siobhàn feared it would not be long before the lusty knight took what he plainly desired.

  Lochlann's shoulders drooped with relief as he said, "I worry you take on too much when there is no hope." He brushed a strand of hair off her temple, fingering it lightly.

  She caught his hand, cupping it to her cheek, and behind her, Gaelan stiffened. "We have lived on hope afore, Lochlann."

  "England is strong and determined, lass. They will—"

  A little shriek bit the air and Siobhàn stepped back as Connal came running headlong into Lochlann. Gaelan warned his men not to fire as Lochlann caught the boy, thick bare arms lifting him high above his head and shaking him like a piglet.

  "You are here! We are saved!"

  Gaelan's features tightened as Lochlann hugged the child, then set him to the ground.

  Connal glared up at Gaelan. "Go now. Or Uncle Lochlann will kill you."

  "Connal!" Siobhàn gasped. "Hold your tongue, child!"

  Connal pouted up at her and she cuddled him close as Gaelan neared, staring at the boy, who slipped behind his uncle, then to Siobhàn before bringing his gaze to the O'Niell. The Irishman's hostility was unmistakable, but that the O'Niell had his hand in Siobhàn's, the boy tucked to his side angered him more than his arrival with forty armed men. They looked too much the family for his liking.

  "Come to me, princess." Gaelan held out his hand.

  She took a step, but Lochlann caught her back. "You dare touch her with hands stained by innocent blood!" Lochlann said, hatred in his blue eyes. Siobhàn hissed something in Gaelic and he glared back, his lips clamped tight.

  "What I do with her is no concern of yours." He let his gaze linger over her curves before meeting her gaze. "She is my prisoner."

  Siobhàn's gaze thinned before she pulled Connal forward and sent him inside to his aunt. She looked at Lochlann. "Go home."

  "I will not leave you to this beast! I came for you!"

  She turned her back on Gaelan. "Why do you think I am so helpless?" she asked. "You know I will not leave, yet you insult him and he will take it out on us."

  "Enough!" Gaelan moved between them, forcing her behind. He focused on the O'Niell. "You and your men may leave, unassisted and with your mounts." He folded his arms over his chest. "Yet weaponless."

  When Lochlann looked to revolt, Siobhàn moved beside the Englishman, unable to help her dear friend. "Do as he bids, O'Niell; 'tis generous and you threaten O'Rourke tuath."

  Something flickered in Lochlann's gaze then, making her frown, for the blaze of his hatred fell on her, briefly, then cleared. He nodded, and sweeping his cloak over his shoulders, he and his men were escorted out. She dragged her gaze from the gate and looked up at the PenDragon.

  The suppressed fury in his eyes drove the breath from her lungs.

  He leaned close to whisper, "Get inside." He did not give her the chance to gainsay him, pulling her none too gently back into the keep. Every pair of eyes followed their trek through the hall and into the barren solar filled with dust and a desk. The instant they found privacy, she wrenched free and rounded on him.

  "Nay!" He advanced, making her step back. "Dare you undermine my authority! I am lord here, not you!"

  "I would spare them bloodshed."

  "He is sworn to Henry. He raises a sword to me and he raises it to the king!" His expression darkened like passing clouds. "Lochlann O'Niell is a fool to enter here with so many more to keep him out. My men have orders to kill anyone who ventures too close. Count yourself lucky 'twas not his head presented to you!" He backed her up against the desk, slapping his hands on either side of her hips, hemming her in. "Interfere again, woman, and I will separate you from that child and all your people until you learn to behave!"

  Her gaze remained locked with his. "I am not a child, sir; do not treat me as one."

  "I will until you see reason and swear oath!"

  "We have traveled this road afore, PenDragon. I could swear this night, but 'twould be meaningless. You leave soon and another will come and do the same. And I will fight."

  And another would take her to his bed, make her his whore, defiling her, breaking her spirit before he enslaved her people. The very idea sent him into a silent rage and he stepped back, clenching his fists. "Do not hold account to rumor or assumption, princess." He arched a dark brow, speculation in his gaze. "This could change as quickly as it has today."

  She looked confused for an instant. How much more could they expect? "If you seek to kill me to eliminate the obstructions, then do so." As she said it she knew he wouldn't. She was a plaything still and he was not done with her.

  "Do not tempt me." Yet the thought of hurting her to gain her compliance sickened him, just as the thought of her touching the O'Niell had twisted his gut into knots. Jealousy—it could be only that—spirited through him and even as the words left his tongue, he regretted asking. "Do you wish to wed the O'Niell?"

  She blinked, then frowned. "'Twould not change matters atween you and I; I would still rule Donegal."

  "You rule no more!" That she would not give him an answer angered
him further. "As Henry's liege, I can give you to him."

  Siobhàn straightened. "I am not a gift to be handed over, PenDragon, simply because I am female. Nor do I wish a marriage again. With anyone."

  He stood inches from her. "You have no choice."

  "You just asked me to make one," she scoffed, flicking her hair back over her shoulder. "Brehon law, Englishman. I have the right to deny any suit. The death of Tigheran by the hand of one of your own"—his features yanked taut then—"left me a wee bit vulnerable. Not stupid."

  The reminder set his temper on edge and he gripped her upper arms, dragging her up against his hard frame. "You are a foolish woman, Siobhàn O'Rourke." She flattened her palms over his chest, her heart skipping at the unmerciful look in his eyes. "Do you not realize that there will be more behind me? Ambitious, cruel men. Petty Irish kings whom Henry has granted armies! Pembroke and DeLacy argue now over earldoms of Ireland. And only the wrath of Henry himself will stop them!"

  "Then I will—"

  A cry sounded from behind and Connal bolted, driving his head into the back of Gaelan's knee, buckling his leg. He released Siobhàn, straightening as the child wedged himself between them.

  "Do not hurt my mama!" he shouted, staring up at him, his round eyes filled with fat tears.

  "Oh, my brave lad," Siobhàn cooed, gathering him in her arms. Connal grabbed her dagger, viciously swiping the air before Gaelan's chest, and she caught the hilt. "What think you to do, son?"

  "Kill him afore he kills us." Still Connal tried to reach the knight, grunting with his effort, and Gaelan watched, transfixed by the courage in one so small.

  Siobhàn wrestled the dagger free of his little hand, her gaze flicking to PenDragon's. She was surprised to see regret in his dark eyes. He stared as she stroked her son's head, pressing it to her chest. "There, there, my prince. Shhh," she hushed, touching kisses over his soft hair, rocking him. "Your father would have been proud, but the knight will not kill us."

  "But Uncle Lochlann said—" The boy yawned, his anger dying with his fatigue.

  "I'm saying he will not." Her head tipped ever so slightly, her gaze never leaving Gaelan's. "Will you?"

  Gaelan swallowed thickly. He prayed circumstances never forced him to break such a vow and said, "Nay, I will not."

  Connal's eyes flashed open, his bravery gone as he wrapped his arms tightly around his mother's neck. "You swear?"

  Gaelan could only nod and Siobhàn dipped to sweep her train over her arm, then rushed from the room.

  * * *

  Guilt spirited through Gaelan as he stood outside the chamber door, watching her tuck her son into bed. She looked angelic in her regal garments, crouched on the floor, stroking his hair off his forehead, adjusting the bedclothes. He was envious of the gentle touch, having experienced naught in the past that was not the practiced maneuver of a well-paid whore. And even then, they trembled with fear to the point that, too often, he could not assuage his needs and found relief in the icy waters of the nearest river.

  But all he could think now was that she was left in this position, assuring a small boy he would not die and fighting for her home, because of him, not the king's edict. He'd taken her husband from her, Connal's father, when a child needed his sire most. And for this singular moment, it did not matter that Tigheran tried to assassinate Henry, but that he'd died at the end of Gaelan's sword. He'd torn her world apart years ago and now he was here to do it again. A fortnight prior he would not have cared a wit. A sennight prior he would have rammed his way inside, imprisoned her people, and burned the keep to the ground. The thought of doing so now twisted like a fist in his chest. But she was pushing him to drastic measures and if he did not have her acquiescence, he could not tell the king he had control. Nor could he leave.

  * * *

  "You must stay abed, love."

  Connal yawned adorably and snuggled into the covers. "I miss Dermott."

  "Dermott stinks and will not be allowed beneath those clean bedclothes until he's bathed."

  "But he cries."

  "As do you."

  His chin jutted. "I do not." The boy's gaze drifted past to meet Gaelan's, and Siobhàn twisted.

  "I wish to speak with you," Gaelan said.

  Siobhàn considered shooing him out, but as irritated as he looked now, she doubted he'd comply. She turned back to Connal, kissed him, then stood and blew out the candle. The odor of smoking tallow burned the air as she crossed to Gaelan, looking back to wink at her son, then seal the door.

  She walked briskly toward her own chambers. "Do you not have weapons to sharpen, mercenary? The O'Niell is gone, the feasting is done, your garrisons surround us, what more do you wish?"

  "To be abed myself." This day was more of a strain than a battle.

  She paused on her chamber's threshold, frowning back at him. "Then go, PenDragon. I'm sure my barns will offer more comfort than you are accustomed too."

  His lips quirked in a predatory smile. "Oh-ho, nay, princess." He advanced, making her back step into her chamber. "If you think I mean to let you out of my sight, you are mistaken."

  "You cannot think to sleep here!" Beyond the gossip that would spread, having him so close led her erotic thoughts down paths they'd no right to venture. And what if he should want to share her bed—how was she to resist?

  "I do. For you have proven yourself a deceitful lass." He unstrapped his sword belt, laying the weapon on a table.

  The sight of it, its hilt spotted with blood, reminded Siobhàn of his caliber, despite his handsome face, and to anger him further would cost her much in negotiation. She'd already stretched her will to the point of shattering and tried for civility.

  "'Tis unnecessary. I would not flee without my son. Nor would I risk our lives and leave my folk to suffer your retribution. I swear."

  He eyed her. Her word meant naught to him. "Fine. Then I will return to my tents." Her shoulders sagged with relief and he moved to the door, bellowing for Sir Mark and Andrew. They appeared in moments. "We return to camp." The knights frowned at him, yet nodded. "We take the child, Connal, with us."

  "Nay." Siobhàn rushed to him, gripping his arm. "He is but a babe still!"

  Gaelan stared down at her, his expression void of the turmoil he was feeling. The last thing he needed was a screaming child in his camp, but he needed more than her assurances. "He will be treated fairly."

  Siobhàn did not believe him. "Please." Her fingers flexed on his forearm. "You frighten him."

  Her glossy eyes nearly undid him, and he steeled himself against their effect and remained silent.

  "Have you no heart?" she whispered, her beautiful eyes robbing him of his breath.

  "Nay."

  She thrust away. "Very well. Remain in my chambers," she gritted, then snapped her fingers. Culhainn appeared at the doorway, growling at Gaelan, then sauntering across the room to his mistress. She stroked his white coat and spoke in Gaelic to the animal. "Keep a vigil atween us, and should he move during the night, eat him."

  Gaelan frowned, waving off the knights with an order to guard the child's door.

  Siobhàn turned her back on the loathsome man, discarding her cape and removing her circlet, rubbing her head, then unclasping her jewels and placing them in a small chest. "What is the king paying you? Mayhaps—?" She tipped the chest to show the wealth inside, her look inquiring.

  "'Tis ten times that worth," Gaelan scoffed, dropping to a wood bench and the task of unwinding his leather cross garters and removing his boots. "I have hundreds of men to pay and house." He looked up, eyeing her from head to foot. "And I have found more than I need right here, for now."

  Despite the heat of his look, her chin lifted. "There is naught for you in Donegal, PenDragon."

  "And you know my thoughts, my wants?"

  She arched a tapered brow. Pillage and plunder came to mind.

  "I have more than thoughts of bedding you, Siobhàn."

  His plain talk did little to unnerve her this day
. "And they are?"

  "You will know soon enough." Though he did not know himself, not yet, his mind clouded with the moments of delight he'd found in her arms. He'd time to consider the avenues, for the price of Donegal was higher than he ever afforded. "Your attempts at deterring me will not succeed. Give up."

  "Never."

  He pried off the boots, stretching out his legs to wiggle his toes. "I am losing my generous spirit."

  "You have none. One must have a soul first."

  Looking up, he set the boots neatly aside, then stood, pulling his surcoat off over his head and flinging it aside as he advanced. "Well, this heartless, soulless bastard could climb into that bed and share it with you now."

  Her gaze remained fixed with his and not the incredibly carved chest peeking through the linen shirt. "You would force yourself on me?"

  "I would not have to use force."

  The moments below in the hall, his threats to use his tongue and make her beg him to take her beneath him, collided through her mind, warming her skin, stirring her body. "I fear with you there is a faded line atween force and seduction, sir." He was an expert warlord, aware of his enemies' weakest points and battering them till they broke. She admitted it wouldn't take overlong for hers to be burned away in his arms.

  Gaelan stepped closer and she did not move. He admired that in her, for she was the only woman, the only person save Raymond, who stood before him without fear. She met his gaze, a storm of emotion in her eyes, and Gaelan's shoulders shifted restlessly. "I will not hurt you, Siobhàn. Can you not see that?"

  "Nay, I cannot," she said. "You may not have beaten me, PenDragon, but you seek to rob me of my heritage at the cost of my home and my people."

  "I have no intention of packing the lot of you up and sending you away."

  "'Tis preferred to slavery." She jerked off her earbobs and flung them carelessly into the chest, then kicked off her slippers.

  His hands on his hips, he assessed her thoroughly. "Have you always been this stubborn?"

  "A fault I fear, for never having lost a battle."

  His lips worked back a smile. "Save your strength for the morrow, woman. You will need it. Now get to bed!"