She stared up at him, her world teetering on the brink of war. To submit to him in wedlock would bind her forever to the enemy, forcing her to obey his commands and his desire. And to reveal her secrets. Yet she'd already sworn to take any punishment there was to give. Marriage to the beast would be enough to assure her place in heaven, she thought maliciously, then thought of Connal, his future so uncertain, his inheritance lost until this moment.
His arm flexed at her waist and her gaze flew to his.
"I want no other, Siobhàn." His lips quirked with a touch of arrogance. "And your body tells me what you desire."
His gaze flicked down to where her hand rested on his chest, her fingers unconsciously moving over his armor as if 'twere his skin.
She quickly dropped her hand. "Aye, Englishman. For the sake of my brethren, I will wed you." And he will live to regret it.
Gaelan schooled his features, the venom in her tone slicing him like a blade, but there was no turning back now. His future was set. "Tell him." He inclined his head to the Maguire.
Stoically she pushed out of his arms and stepped onto the wooden box, gazing down at her friends. It took every ounce of will to speak the fatal words. "I wed the PenDragon."
Ian cursed, his despair palpable. A rumble of discontent filtered through the keep, from the warriors prepared beyond the walls. "He threatens you, doesn't he?"
"He would not have had to, Ian, if you had not come to war."
Ian's expression fell into utter sadness and regret.
"Say no more, Siobhàn." Gaelan watched, alert for the slightest signal.
She looked back over her shoulder. "There will be stipulations to the marriage, PenDragon. Do not look so pleased."
He studied her for an instant, wondering what she had brewing in that sharp mind of hers, but as his wife there was little she could do to him. "We will discuss them later." He looked back at the Maguire.
"Let him go unharmed."
The broken plea in her tone was unmistakable and he could not look at her, could not bear to see the tenderness she bore the chieftain, and for an instant thoughts of her heart belonging to the man, sharing kisses with him, or mayhaps a bed, plagued him. Gaelan nodded gravely. "For the sake of my bride, you may leave unharmed, Maguire. But arrive again armed to do battle and I will give you what you wish."
Ian's gaze shifted from Siobhàn to the warlord, his expression defeated as he nodded once and wheeled his mount toward home. Siobhàn watched him until he and his army were naught but darker shadows on the night-blackened land, then, without a word, she turned away from PenDragon and walked to the west tower, descending the narrow stone staircase leading into the outer ward. She stilled when knights bowed to her and she glanced back over her shoulder to the man on the parapet.
"Give me time to tell my son."
His features shifted, as if just realizing she did not come to him alone; then he nodded. Siobhàn walked toward the keep, soldiers and her folk stepping back to allow her passage. Villagers whispered prayers and sympathy for her. Suddenly she grabbed handfuls of her skirts and ran, to the home that was no longer hers, hiding the tears she ached to shed.
* * *
Two hours later, Gaelan entered the solar, his brows rising high. The room was scrubbed clean, the furniture arranged. In the far left, near the hearth, stood a large bed. Did she think to keep him sequestered here?
Raymond cleared his throat and Gaelan glanced, motioning him inside.
"I have sent for the priest." Gaelan frowned. "He should witness this, be prepared to gainsay any demands."
Demands. Siobhàn had made enough already, as if he did not hold her life in his hands. "Have her man Driscoll attend; Brody too, if she desires."
"You do not wish to speak with her alone first?"
"Aye, I will," Gaelan said, with a glance at the bed.
Raymond made himself a place at the desk, setting inkwell and sand carefully to the surface. He racked the papers and dipped the quill. "Mayhaps now you will have the time to learn to read."
"I don't need to."
"Ahh, but you will, for you have to appoint a steward, a sheriff, and it would not harm Reese to be schooled a bit more."
Gaelan twisted, arching a brow. "You are pleased with this, I see."
Raymond looked up, laying the quill aside. "Aye."
Gaelan studied his somber expression, detecting a hint of laughter in his eyes. "You may leave Ireland, if you wish. I cannot stop you from earning your keep as we have." He turned his gaze to the window, a tinge of regret inching through him, wiped away with her image.
Raymond had no intention of going anywhere. Ireland pleased him and more so, to see what transpired between his friend and his new bride. "Will you be happy as lord of Donegal?"
Gaelan scoffed nastily. "The only one who will be pleased is King Henry."
"You lie," Raymond said softly and Gaelan's gaze snapped to his. "You have all you need and more here."
"Aye, a people who issue prayers to God when they see me and a bride who loathes the man I am."
Raymond propped his elbow on the desk surface, his chin on his fist. "She did not appear repulsed in the barn, Gaelan."
Gaelan's lips tugged a fraction. Nor was she here earlier. But much had changed. He was forcing her into this marriage. And though Gaelan had never in his life expected to wed, and certainly not Irish royalty, he knew there was no other way to gain control. Possess the princess and her people would follow. He returned his gaze to the window, to the little garden he could see behind the kitchens. Neat rows of seedlings struggled to push through the rocky soil and he could tell the garden was tended with a loving hand. Could he find that caring for this pile of stone and wood? Would he grow tired of the mundane and thirst for battle again?
In the silence of his mind he admitted he'd garnered more of his share of doubts since his declaration, and though he did not regret it, he questioned his ability to be lord and master over villagers and families when he'd commanded only coarse, violent men for so long.
And to do all this with a bride he had forced?
You are the worst kind of man, PenDragon. Letting the blood of others, for others.
Would she change her mind now that any fighting he did, he did for her and her folk? And what, God help him, would she do when she discovered he had killed her husband?
A rustling sound drew his attention and he turned his head. She stood on the other side of the room, Driscoll and the priest behind her.
"I wish to speak with you in private, my lord."
My lord. God above, he hungered for the moment when she would say his given name.
Raymond stood, inclining his head to the others.
"You mentioned stipulations, princess." Gaelan flicked a hand toward the bed. "Is this one of them?"
"Aye."
"Nay."
She moved around the desk, closer to him, her fragrance spiraling up to greet his senses with heather and spice. Soft and womanly she was, but her eyes, her posture, were layered with northern ice.
"You have me by threat, PenDragon, and no other reason, understand this well," she hissed in a low voice. "I swear to perform my duties as chatelaine, offer the people a united front, but I will not share your bed and—"
"Nay," he interrupted. "That is unacceptable. We will share a chamber and a bed." She winced at the words. "And what transpires behind the sealed doors is our concern alone, yet afore your clan and my men, you will appear the wife in every sense." His meaning could not be more clear. "I will not bring shame to this castle nor my name."
She scoffed, "Any more than pillaging across the country has?"
Damn her! "I do not pillage, steal or rape! I am paid well enough to lay siege and ride away."
"Not anymore, PenDragon. This county and castle offers little fortune for tributes to your king, men for battle, and now you must see no others lay siege. For now—'tis yours."
Slowly he shook his head, her gaze trapped in his. She was sti
ll, her spine so stiff he thought it would snap. "'Tis ours, Siobhàn. Ours."
A flutter started in her breast as he neared, his eyes glowing with an emotion she wished she could decipher. Jager me, she knew so little of this man she would call husband. But in marriage, she could watch him, curtail any injustice to her people.
"Your marriage vow binds you to me more than an oath to Henry." And he would gain it, he thought, someday, he would. "Now what say you to my stipulations?"
She stared at his chest, feeling helplessly trapped, her words barely audible. "I will share a chamber, but I ask that you not take me as … as your true wife"—she lifted her gaze—"until I am ready."
The fear in her eyes slapped him. "I am not ruled by my lust," he snarled, turning away.
"What rules you then, my lord? For 'tis not your heart."
He jerked a look at her, stung. "Do you think I have no feelings, Siobhàn? Do you think that because I live by the sword, I cannot feel the loss of a comrade? The pain of a wound?"
Instantly contrite, she moved to him, laying her hand on his arm. His hard flesh flexed beneath her touch, the lines bracketing his mouth tight.
"I beg your forgiveness." He melted a little. "That was thoughtless of me. I know not what is in your head or your heart—"
"You swore afore I did not have one."
"The subject is still in debate, m'lord." Her lips twisted wryly. "I know being strapped with a bride you did not want—"
"Who said I did not want you?"
Her heart skipped at his softly growled words. "You do so for compliance."
"Do I?"
Her eyes sparked with anger. "Do not play games with me, PenDragon." She put distance between them. "Raymond tells me you have always had this choice, that the king wanted you here as border lord."
"Raymond should hold his counsel." Gaelan had a dozen reasons for not wanting to remain, the foremost his part in her husband's death.
"At least he is honest to me. Had you done so, then—"
"Would you have wed me willingly?" Her hostile expression warned him not to seek what was not there. "Would you believe me when I say that I am tired of warring and wish to cease?"
"Nay."
He scowled.
"You were quick to threaten war on Ian."
He loomed closer. "I replied to his threat, Siobhàn."
"Ian is trustworthy, my lord, but I will argue that at another time." When she told him of the raid before he arrived, she agonized, stepping away.
As much as he wanted to gather her in his arms and tame her with a kiss, he did not, his thoughts centering suddenly on the Maguire and what he meant to her. He dismissed the uncomfortable notion. She was his prize and he would keep her.
"Are we in agreement now?"
Reluctantly she said, "In this private matter, aye."
"You have more?"
"There is the honor price, my lord." She stepped beyond the partition and motioned. In moments Raymond, Driscoll and the friar stepped in. Friar O'Donnel was a round little man, red-cheeked and thick-fingered. He clasped them around a stack of books, grinning hugely at everyone, even Gaelan.
The friar dropped onto a tall stool and reverently opened the books. With Driscoll near the entrance as if to guard against a fleeing bride, the friar read the contracts of marriage and the price Gaelan must pay to have her, brehon law strangely blended with the church's rule. Then he learned Tigheran O'Rourke had been married before and put his wife Devorgilla aside for her betrayal with his enemy Dermott MacMurrough, Siobhàn's uncle.
"Do not look so disconcerted, PenDragon. I have been the price of peace afore."
He arched a brow, a sick feeling working through his chest.
"Devorgilla was kidnapped by Dermott MacMurrough, but the truth was, she summoned him to take her away. Tigheran put her aside, as was his right by brehon law, but he was not satisfied, warring with O'Connor on MacMurrough. To stop the killing of my clansmen, I married Tigheran."
A sacrifice. A hostage in wedlock, and the similarities twisted his gullet. "By this brehon law, you could have refused."
"Oftimes the church and the needs of the whole shadow such choices," she said in a dead voice.
Once again she was atonement. But now that the wheels of his future were in motion, a thought occurred. "Siobhàn?"
She lifted her gaze from where she was reading over the friar's shoulder.
"We will be bound in a marriage of Christian law. Do not think to end this sacrament on the whim of ancient rules."
The friar grinned, his eyes merry, but the look evaporated the instant his gaze swung to Siobhàn's.
"I would have your agreement now, lady."
'Twas his voice that bruised her, like a mortal blow through her breast, and though his expression was sharp and carved with impatience, his tone bore the entreaty of a man asking for more than ecclesiastical sanction, but a weary voice filled with deep longing and afraid—aye, she assessed again—afraid to voice it. It touched her to her very soul, this emotion she never thought he possessed, and she wondered how deep it ran and what else lay hidden beneath his coarse exterior. Yet with the request, the tiny spark buried inside her flamed, the same burning ache she had when she'd come to Tigheran with the hope of something more than a marriage of bargains and peacekeeping. Though she was well and duly trapped by PenDragon's authority from the king, and had been, she admitted, from the moment he set foot in Donegal, she clung to the prospect that mayhaps in this marriage they would one day find even ground to stand upon.
"Forever in the eyes of God, then."
Gaelan's shoulders relaxed, yet he remained wary. God and her heart were not one in the same, he knew, just as he understood this woman was not so easily won with words. And in that instant Gaelan wanted her respect more than he wanted Donegal.
He gestured to the priest to read on. O'Rourke had paid her and her family coibche, bride price, and a sum to her each year until the twenty-first year of their marriage. Naught was returned to his family if the marriage did not survive on his account, half returned if 'twere Siobhàn's fault. And since Irishwomen owned land, and Tigheran's bride gift to Siobhàn was half of Donegal, he unjustly swore to the king with his portion.
Gaelan's lips quirked. "You are an expensive bride. Are you worth it?"
Her eyes narrowed. She found no humor in this. "The judgment will be yours, m'lord." Siobhàn waved to the priest and he read her assets. He'd listed no more than household goods before Gaelan cut him off.
"I do not care what she brings to this marriage."
"My lord, other than her lands," the priest said. "You gain a great deal—"
"Nay," he said and moved to stand before Siobhàn, gazing down at her. He could see the confusion in her eyes, in her beautiful upturned features. He liked it. "I care only that she brings herself."
Her breath skipped into her lungs, a soft sound caught behind her lips. "We must discuss Connal, his future—"
Fear. Untold fear lay in her eyes and he realized she thought he would foster him off to an English lord. A discarded bastard himself, he could not steal from the boy all that was stolen from him. "He stays with his mother."
Siobhàn's eyes burned, her relief so tremendous she thought her legs would fold beneath her. Was he conceding to her demands save one because of his sudden need to have Donegal for himself? She still was not certain why he chose to remain and become the king's border lord, for it would bring him little wealth and much work. Jager me, this man confused her. He could scowl like the devil and threaten lives one instant and grin like a child with a mouthful of comfits the next. He rattled her composure so often, she was in a constant battle with her mind and her body. But knowing that Connal would grow up around her, she wanted to throw her arms around his broad neck and kiss him daft.
And the look on his face said he knew it.
His smile was slow, sultry. His eyes were bright. He raised his hand and touched the tip of her nose, letting his fingertip slide down
to peel her lower lip open.
She nipped it. His eyes flared, and beyond them Driscoll exchanged a frown with the priest, then looked at Sir Raymond. The dark-haired knight set down his quill and folded his arms.
"When will this marriage take place?"
"On the morrow."
Her eyes flew wide and he lowered his hand.
"On the morrow," he warned, then leaned close to whisper in her ear, "Have this one night of privacy, Siobhàn. When the sun sets again, you will be mine."
He bowed to her, made his mark on the contracts and left.
* * *
Her rooms had been penetrated last night.
"PenDragon!"
Siobhàn stared at her chamber, then down at Culhainn. "You have gone soft for him that you did not alert me?"
Culhainn hung his head in shame.
"Betrayer," she said, and pointed to the door. Culhainn slunked out, his fluffy tail dragging the floor. She moved to the piles spread about her room, lifting a length of the most beautiful cloth she had ever seen, the darkest red shot with gold threads. She sanded it between her fingers, imagining a kirtle made from it or a tunic for Connal. Her gaze slipped over the trunks spilling with spools of thread, extravagant fabrics and trims, the tiny chest of gold coins, another of jewels in colors and gems she'd never seen before. The foot of her bed was weighted with a stack of ermine and fox furs as tall as her son.
"You screamed?"
She spun about, clutching her dressing gown to her throat. His cat-with-a-mouthful-of-bird look irritated her. "What is this?"
"Your bride price, my lady."
She smirked. "'Twas to be in milch cows, PenDragon." Her people could not eat the fabric and gold.
"I did not think you wanted dung littering your floor, and the braying would have woken you." And she'd looked so damned inviting then, he thought. Naked, and quiet.
"Oh for the love of St. Patrick, PenDragon." She flicked a hand at the chest of coins. "This is too much."
He was surprised. He'd never met a woman who made such a fuss over too many gifts. "'Tis coibche for the next twenty years, Siobhàn." And it would never be enough, he thought, letting his gaze linger over her thinly clad body, her hair wild from sleep, her dull worn dressing gown too large and slipping off her shoulder. He imagined waking up tomorrow morn and seeing her like that. "I would hazard this is all worth more than twenty cows."
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