"'Tis only a recent discovery—"
Without missing a beat she said, "'Tis the way of men—"
Although he could surmise what stirred her distrust, he'd plenty of time to discover where it began. He finished off the apricot. "You are judging again," he warned in a teasing tone whilst his broad hand moved slightly higher, brushing under her breast. Her eyes flared and he adored it, longing to uncap her hidden passion. "Why would I want another when I have you?" He tipped his head close, brushing his lips to the spot near her ear and whispering, "Should I worry over you and the Maguire?"
"Nay. I give you the same fidelity, my lord." Her fingers flexed where they wrapped his biceps, and she closed her eyes. "But Ian is special to me," she managed when his lips were kneading her lobe like that.
He tensed. "How so, Siobhàn?"
"I was betrothed to him."
Gaelan's head jerked up, something gripping hard inside his chest. "By choice?"
"Aye." She met his gaze. "When I was seven and ten." She'd loved him. He could see it in her eyes. And his heart sank. "Then why did you not wed him?" God above, he did not want to hear this!
"Our people were being slaughtered, by O'Rourke's." She made the sacrifice sound so simple, dutiful.
"Why not after Tigheran died, then?"
"'Twas a long time ago." Her chin tipped up, her expressive eyes naught but pools of green-blue glass. "My reasons are private, my lord." Siobhàn could not drag Ian into her sea of lies. "And no longer matter."
Gaelan ground his teeth. It did matter. She was hiding more than unrequited love, and it was a wonder Maguire did not launch a full attack this night. He'd lost his woman twice to the enemy in the name of peace. Men had warred for less.
"Have you ever done aught for yourself, Siobhàn?"
"Aye," she said, and her gaze slipped to Connal. Gaelan's gaze lit on the boy, the child's resentment and hatred felt from across the hall. A horrible thought flickered in his brain, wounding his hope. Did O'Rourke and Maguire own a piece of her heart still? If so, what was left for a life with him? He sat back. "Go abovestairs."
Siobhàn's head snapped around, her brow furrowed.
"And do it with a smile."
She searched his features, glacial, sharp, the thin-lidded look of his eyes. What happened to the man who was nibbling on her earlobe a moment ago and begging for a chance? "Ordering me about will not win me, PenDragon." She stood abruptly, rounding the chair and moving into the crowd without a backward glance.
Gaelan glared at her back, filled with an impotent blend of anger and helplessness as he realized he was no closer to understanding his mutinous bride than he was the day she opened the gates and let him into the keep.
* * *
Chapter 13
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Her figure nearly disappeared into an unlit corridor before he came to her, lightly catching her elbow. Siobhàn gazed up at him, awaiting punishment for her insolence. His hand rose and she winced, and though his lips tightened, he simply brushed the back of his fingertips across her cheek, pulling her deeper into the dark.
"We are wed, lass, forever. Why do you fight me so hard?"
"You have demanded instead of asked, husband. You have taken, not earned."
He folded his arms and stared down at her like a sultan to a slave. "Did you earn the right to be princess?"
"Aye. My bloodlines do not give me the right. I am no different than them." She inclined her head to her folk. "But for two decades, my family fought to keep the tuath free and rule justly. When the clan cannot provide food, shelter, protection, for loss of men and land to raiders, or stolen by an ardri, a high king, then this privilege of leader is lost. We all lose." She craned her neck to look up at him. "Many have tried, but none have proven themselves by helping their clansmen. There are those who take from the people, the land, and give back naught. My mother, father, and the elders, taught me that to reap without sowing new is rape of the soul. And to make a body feel less than his rightful place and freedom in a tuath, whether they are indebted or nay, is to make a person feel less of his worth."
How wise she was, he thought. "Yet you continue, even after vows that change our lives, to see me as the taker, the thief."
"You have come hidden behind the banner of a king who knows none of us, who believes we are filthy wild heathens in need of English guidance." Bitterness tainted her words, though her expression remained gently patient. "His assault was sanctioned by the church, but his teachings are here." She gestured to the friar, deep in his cups and nodding off, and her lips twitched. "For those who wish to join."
"Do you believe in the almighty God?"
She was shocked he had to ask. "Of course. But I also believe in the old ways, and respect them. You would be surprised to know how many Christian customs came from pagan beliefs."
"Really?"
She eyed him. "Ahh, you do not believe."
"Nay."
"I will show you."
She took a few steps farther down the hall he'd yet to investigate, and with her keys, unlocked a thick door. He helped her push it open. The cool scent of age and ill use hit him as she moved into the room without benefit of light, rummaging. Suddenly the chamber filled with light as she set a thick tallow candle on a small table, then opened a chest and carefully removed a book, bringing it to the table and untying the bindings. She pulled a small stool beneath her.
"My lord?" She looked up, motioning.
"I cannot read, Siobhàn, only bits." 'Twas the first time it shamed him, made him feel less than he was.
"This, even Rhiannon cannot read. 'Tis old Gael." He moved closer to her, going down on bended knee. She tipped the manuscript to the candlelight and read a passage. "What does that festival sound like to you?"
"Easter." She read another and he responded in kind. "Advent. And the other, 'tis All Saints."
"Sain' Patrick's doing, I'm thinking." She started to rack the loose pages and close the book, but he stayed her with a gentle hand.
"Read this." Hiding a smile, she began.
"Nay, in the language."
Siobhàn read to him, relaying the story of Patrick driving the snakes from Ireland. He settled to his rear, bracing his arms on his bent knees and listening. Gaelan did not understand a single word but was entranced with the sound of the words on her lips, her beautiful mouth shaping the strange syllables. She paused abruptly, meeting his gaze.
His brow marred softly at the soulful look in her eyes. "What ails you?"
"'Twas a book of my grandfather's and very precious to me." She exhaled a slow breath. "I am suddenly thankful these will remain with my family, my lord. All of this will." She waved to the chests filling the room, age wafting in musty scents of herbs and old cloth. "This is my heritage, and that 'twill not be burned or tossed aside comforts me greatly."
"Are you saying you are seeing a benefit of wedding me, princess?"
She lifted her gaze to his. "Aye."
Her smile was slow and genuine, and if Gaelan was not sitting he would have been knocked to the floor. His heart jumped in his chest and he wanted to see it often and directed solely at him. In that moment, he wanted naught more than to win this strong woman's heart. Yet so much stood between them.
"Connal will be thankful when he is old enough to appreciate it."
His expression turned sour. "That is doubtful." She frowned, and he regretted his discouragement. "Your son cannot even talk to me."
"He is a child." A fraction of sympathy for him lit her features. He had a stepson he did not know how to reach and Siobhàn knew Connal's anger was festering, and even she would have trouble staying mischief and maligning if he chose to vent it. "He understands only what he is told and unfortunately, he heard naught but a jaded view of the English."
"Where might he have gained that, Siobhàn?"
Her chin tipped, rebellion shadowing the private truce. "Mayhap when I told him an Englishman took his father's life and he would never see him."
"Nay, none of his retainers returned, dispatching to other tuaths, I'm thinkin'."
Nay, he thought, most were executed for their part in Tigheren's attack.
"He is dead and that is all I needed to know then."
Gaelan could do no more than nod, guilt falling through him like hot oil, burning away his urge to tell her. He could lose even this small moment, and he was not ready to relinquish this truce even for a moment. Suddenly he wanted to keep the truth at bay with the force of his legions, though he knew 'twas a hopeless wish. He held out his hand and she accepted it, rising to her feet. With one hand, he took the book, placed it in the chest and closed the lid.
"One day I shall clean it out." She looked about the room, to the chest filled with her son's baby things, with her girlhood. "I am sure there are some things another could use."
"Leave it, if you choose, Siobhàn."
She smiled slightly, her eyes suddenly dancing with humor. "All the bridal gifts need a place to hide, though."
That reminded him. "I want you to fashion garments for yourself with the fabrics and trims, Siobhàn. They've been in my possession so long, I feared they would rot. And I want to see you attired befitting your rank."
"I try not to. The flow of riches afore the less fortunate show how little others possess and a wish for more."
"I wish it."
"I will think on it."
"Must you defy even the smallest request?"
"'Twas not a request, but another order."
He sighed tiredly, releasing her hand and raking his fingers through his hair. "By God. I never knew a woman who did not want new clothes."
"Those women are not me, my lord."
He laughed, softly and to himself. "Of that, wife, I am most certain." He cocked a look at her then, his gaze lingering over her fitted bridal garments, the deep green of her homeland, the Celtic marks of her ancestors in the circlet banding her head. "But then, we have years to learn of each other."
Siobhàn stared at him, this man who was her husband, this man she was bound to by Christian law, by her people and his. He was all things she disliked in a man, tyrannical, arrogant, a slayer. She did not trust him, nor did she believe he was committed to Donegal or to her. Their marriage was a bargain, a price. For land and power. She held no fairy-filled notions of more, for she'd done the like before and would not bare herself for such disappointment again. Yet her heart did a strange spin in her breast every time they touched, every time she met his steely gaze, and she found herself searching for the vulnerability she'd witnessed when he asked her to wed under Christian law. 'Twas a moment she would never forget, for it stole a piece of her then.
She stepped, her intent on the door, and was not at all surprised when he caught her to him, his hands on her waist. Her heart suddenly pounded, a furious beat of unnamable proportions. He was merciless and strong, great in size, a seasoned warrior, yet when he touched her … oh, sweet believer, when he touched her he did with the tenderness of uncertainty, as if she was fragile and cherished. No man had ever given her that.
"I ask for a kiss, Siobhàn. I do not take, nor order. I ask."
Her gaze searched his and she found a flicker of unguarded humility in his dark pools, a breath of fear. It endeared him to her, and without pause, she placed her hands on his wide chest, smoothing her way up to his neck and tipping his head down. "'Tis no portrayal for the people this," she whispered against his lips and swore she felt him tremble. "Deny me naught, husband."
Her mouth pressed against his and the passion exploded. They moaned as one, sinking into the kiss, a kiss blistering in heat and untamed desire, heads shifting to take more and still more. Standing a hand's width apart, his fingers flexed on her waist, and Gaelan felt a quiver rake him down to his boot heels, his muscles at once tensing and turning to water under her touch. She was voracious and womanly, a radiant power releasing on him, and he could bare no more of being parted and slid his arms around her, crashing her against his length. And she melted into him, soft breasts to his chest, hip to hip. Her finger sank deep into his hair, holding him, marking him her willing prisoner as her tongue pushed between his lips.
Gaelan came undone, groaning his pleasure. Never in his life had he felt such energy in a single kiss, yet this woman unmanned him, mastered him with her untutored touch, her lush body. She had in the glen, had in the barn, and Gaelan felt that only in private did he see the true woman he'd wed. And in private he wanted to keep her.
"My lord—oh, forgive me."
Slowly they parted, gazes locked. Together they sagged through a heavy release of breath, not looking at the man standing in the hall.
"If you value your life, DeClare, the enemy had best be knocking at the gates."
"Well, not exactly."
Gaelan cocked him a look. That grin was going to split his face in half, he thought.
"The men want to wish you well."
"A drinking game," Siobhàn said, sliding her arms from around his neck. Patting his chest, she took up the candle and moved to the door, waiting.
Gaelan waved at DeClare and he moved away, and when Gaelan met her at the threshold, he blew out the candle and set it back inside.
"I must oblige them."
"Of course you should."
He pushed her hair off her shoulder, exposing her slender throat. He watched the spot at the base, where her heartbeat pulsed, then lifted his gaze to hers. "I would accept your offer to teach me to read."
She nodded, keeping her expression schooled, a feat when he was running his finger over her collarbone in whispery strokes.
"I would not have the keep know."
"'Tis naught to be ashamed of, husband. Apparently you never had the time to learn."
"Apparently." She was seeking a bit of his past, he could tell, but he could not spoil the erstwhile moments with the ugliness of it. The telling would lead to how he gained the king's favor, and he could not stomach seeing the gentle moments turning to vapor. He leaned, pressing a kiss to her forehead, then guiding her into the corridor and back to the hall.
Every pair of eyes focused on them and Siobhàn blushed, a ridiculously maidenly thing to do, considering her age and past.
"Get to our bed, wife. I come anon." Then, for her ears alone, he said, "Sleep, Siobhàn. I swear this night I will not demand a thing from you." She had given up her home, her people to his threats, and now her freedom. Knowing her as he did, she would not have done so without some thread of hope stringing between them. And although he'd never been so frustrated in his life, he was not willing to break the twine with husbandly demands. Not from a woman who could too easily look upon him and show her loathing.
Slowly her lashes swept up, blue-green eyes gazing deeply into his. Her confusion was succor to his hungry soul. "But they will know—"
He touched her lips with his finger. "They will not."
Siobhàn searched his gaze, dark eyes suddenly soft and comforting. Lord above, she prayed their life together would not be this constant puzzlement listing between total command and a tenderness that left her hungering for peace with him.
His gaze shifted past her and his handsome features sharpened. Siobhàn twisted and her heart nearly shattered to find Connal, standing alone and forlorn near the solar, his fists clenched, his eyes boring into the man at her side.
"Go to him," Gaelan urged. The boy's hatred lay on his sleeve for all to see. "He needs his mother this night." He could see the relief on her face and kissed her lightly. She fairly ran to the boy, scooping him up and hugging him. The child wrapped his arms around her neck, his look biting as he stared over her shoulder at him.
Gaelan sighed. Another Irishman he must battle for his wife, he thought, and watched until she left the hall before his comrades immediately dragged him off, thrusting a tankard in his hand.
* * *
Siobhàn slipped ou
t of Connal's room, blinking back the burn in her eyes. He hated the new lord of Donegal so much, she was afraid this marriage would scar her son beyond repair. Closing the door, she pressed her head to the wood, praying she could find a way to make his young mind understand that they must accept the new life King Henry thrust upon them, that she would try her best to see that the tide of England felt like only a ripple in Donegal.
"Siobhàn." She spun about, blinking unshed tears, to find Rhiannon and several women standing close. "We've come to prepare you for him."
Was that envy she saw in Rhi's gaze? "I have wed afore, my friends. A man's ways are not new to me." Though this one's were, she thought. "Find your beds." The women departed, their quickness telling her they wanted no more to prepare her for the sacrifice than she wanted to be the lamb of his feasting. Her sister remained.
"Go drink some wine, Rhiannon. You look as if your bed would house him and not mine."
Rhiannon blinked, still wringing her hands, her gaze darting to the doors below.
"Who do you expect?"
"None," she snapped, and Siobhàn's gaze narrowed. "I am sorry," she offered an instant later. "But drunken knights in the hall bodes ill, I swear."
That was not it, Siobhàn thought and stepped closer, her voice low. "What know you of Ian's men attacking my husband's?"
"Naught." Rhiannon frowned deeply. "'Tis true, then?"
"Ian says he did not."
"You do not believe him?"
"His view is a bit jaded of late."
"If he attacked, 'twas for you. He still loves you."
Siobhàn made a sour face. "He lets his head full of sweet dreams and poems rule him, Rhi. PenDragon could have killed them all last eve."
"You side with the English?"
Siobhàn took a step back. "There are no sides, Rhiannon. Ian has not sworn to Henry and would have good reason to war, but only in his eyes. I am not worth the wrath of my husband, be assured. Yet PenDragon is right to suspect. The day we met we were attacked, and the riders cared naught who they slaughtered. PenDragon was ambushed again afore he arrived here. Think you 'twas the same that burned the herder's shack and killed his family? Or mayhaps 'twas the Fenians?"
The Irish Princess Page 15