Gaelan held out his hand.
Connal scowled and slapped the slingshot in his palm.
Leaving the barn, he strode to his wife, depositing the boy at her feet.
Siobhàn tried not to laugh at the look of horror on Connal's young face as her husband crushed the slingshot in his fist. Connal wailed.
"Silence."
The boy's lips quivered and he looked to his mother for support. Siobhàn simply folded her arms, frowning disappointedly down at him.
"When you learn that I am not the enemy, you may construct another." Gaelan looked up, searching the inner yard, then calling out to a dairy maid. "Connal will assist you today. Report to me his behavior."
The maid blinked, her gaze shifting quickly between lord and lady, then to the boy. She bobbed a curtsey, inclining her head to the milkhouse. Connal trudged off to the duty, a little smile curving his lips as he pulled another slingshot from inside his tunic.
* * *
Gaelan frowned at the gaunt man, suspicion breeding through him. Several carpenters and masoners moved in and out of the castle whilst the construction continued, and though he'd come to know the closest villagers, at least by face, this man had not lent a hand. Only a coward did not come forth, yet the man's looks bore an unquestionable hatred. He strode toward him and the thin man straightened, meeting his gaze.
"Who are you and what are you doing in my castle?"
"I've come for you, PenDragon." Disgust thickened his voice.
Gaelan, his hands on his sword hilt, studied the man. "I have seen you afore."
"I am the only one who survived."
Recognition dawned, and Gaelan's heart slammed to his gut. Tigheran's man. He was at the field when he slew the Irish king. The ramifications of his presence swelled through him, fueling anger, stripping his compassion.
"You should have died with your betraying master."
The Irishman, slim and undernourished, straightened. "Prepare to die, Lord Donegal," he spat, drawing his sword.
Gaelan snatched his wrist, twisting the blade away from his chest. The fragile bones snapped under his grip, yet the proud man did not show a flicker of pain. Soldiers and guards rushed forward, but Gaelan waved them back, his gaze on the Irishman.
"Lay down your weapons and I will spare you. As his retainer, you should have paid the price with your treasonous king."
"And what is your price, PenDragon, for warring on Ireland?"
"I war only for Donegal now. For my wife and my folk. You may join us or leave, but speak no ill of me and mine here or you will die." He thrust him back, tormented with the thought of Siobhàn learning his sins from gossip. He glanced at a nearby soldier. "Alert Driscoll of this man's presence, but first escort him to the kitchen, see that he has all he wants to eat and a bed for the night. Do not harm him, Markus."
The soldier nodded, impressed his lord knew his name, and walked alongside the thin man. Gaelan watched his retreat, proud that Markus tried to talk with him. Mayhaps some wounds will heal, he thought, and be stronger for it.
"My lord?"
Gaelan jerked around, his chest clenching at the sight of his wife. Oh God.
Siobhàn's gaze slipped past him to the Irish soldier, her frown deepening. "Who was that? He is familiar."
He sighed heavily, the weight of his misdeeds crushing him. Denying now would only delay the pain. "He is—was Tigheran's retainer."
She hastened toward the Irishman, but her husband caught her. She met his gaze.
"Nay, wife. Do not talk with him."
Her brow knitted delicately. "Why not? I wish to know what happened. A detail, at least."
It took every ounce of his will to say, "I can tell you that." Her expression filled with trepidation, her voice but a whisper as she said, "How—how can you?"
"Because, love—" He swallowed, his Adam's apple grating like stones in his throat. "Tigheran died by my hand."
Siobhàn simply stared at him, searching for the lie in his beautiful eyes, and when she found only harsh truth, her own filled rapidly with tears. "Deny this," she insisted in a broken whisper. "Say you did not put your sword in my husband's chest and came here only to take what was his in reward."
"I did."
"Oh, Gaelan," she cried softly. "How could you keep this from me after all we have shared?"
Why, he agonized, was this the first time she called him by name? "Would you have even let me inside without a fight? Would you have wed me, Siobhàn, shared your bed?" Made me love you, he despaired.
"I had a right to know!" Her desolate look severed him in half.
People paused, staring, and he caught her arm, handing her into the stable. She jerked from his touch.
"Do you not think I would like this to be a lie? Tigheran tried to assassinate the king and he died for it."
Siobhàn paled. "Nay. Oh, nay!"
Gaelan's expression tightened with quick anger. "I speak the truth," he said even as she shook her head.
"He would never go against Henry like that. He went to swear to him, to gain an army to put down Dermott."
"Henry took his oath but refused him the army. Dermott MacMurrough's holdings were larger and of more use to him. Tigheran returned at night to beg his favor and whilst ten of his men assaulted the king's camp, he threatened Henry. His men were caught and executed and I entered the king's tent in time to halt the assassination." Gaelan swallowed, watching her beautiful face crumble with each word. "Because of Tigheran's rank he had the choice of single combat and he accepted. His majesty awarded me the duty of his champion."
A court battle, viewed like a slaughter. "'Twas unmatched! Tigheran was neither powerful nor skilled. You, PenDragon, are naught but the king's mur—"
"Do not say it!" He caught her arms, holding her when she was wont to flee. "He tried to murder the king of England! He had to die, by my hand or an executioner's ax. It did not matter if O'Rourke had succeeded. Had I not won, Donegal and all you loved would have been burned to the ground, your people massacred, their bodies dragged through the streets of London. England would have cheered and none would have been spared." His fingers flexed. "Not even you!"
Her breath choked and he released her.
She stared at him, a turmoil of anger and regret and guilt slamming through her. His words rang with the truth. God above, hadn't she wondered why it took the English so long to come to Donegal? But all she could see was the lie—and how she fell so easily for her want of this man. How he'd smiled at her, loved her body, opened her tired, lonely soul whilst he hid the truth, knowing he'd slain his way into her home, her heart.
"See me, PenDragon." She thumped her chest, shame in her eyes. "See the woman so trapped in her passion that she let her husband's killer into her bed!"
He advanced. "I am your husband!"
"And I am your fool."
Gaelan grabbed her arms, his gaze black and pinning. "Nights ago you swore to keep my confidences and this is one I order you to conceal." When she looked to rebel, he snarled in a harsh voice, "More rests on this than our marriage, wife."
"Aye," she hissed, prying his hands off and throwing them back at him. "You imprison me with your lies in a Christian vow." Gaelan's expression fell into complete misery as she fought tears and anger, her lip trembling. "I trusted you, Gaelan," her voice fractured, her words choked on a sob, "and I wanted so badly to love you." She shoved past him, covering her mouth with her hand and racing out into the ward.
Gaelan's shoulders slumped and he stared at the straw-covered floor. Sorrow ripped through him, the agony of loss and the swell of guilt burning like black fire in his chest. Alone in the stable, he raked both his hands through his hair, then rubbed his face.
Oh, sweet Jesu.
* * *
Chapter 20
« ^ »
She wept like a motherless child. Falling to her knees on the dirt floor of the herb house, she did not cry for a husband she'd preferred dead. She wept for the cut Gaelan's lie left on her
heart, and the lie she must conceal despite her turmoil. His lie wounded only her. Hers would destroy Donegal.
"So, you have discovered the truth."
Siobhàn twisted sharply, then climbed to her feet, swiping at her cheeks. "What are you intoning, sister?" But she already knew. 'Twas the dark secret she'd seen.
Rhiannon crossed the dirt floor, reaching out to her, enveloping her in her arms. "Ahh, Siobhàn," she soothed, her words tight in her throat. "You cannot blame him for defending himself."
Siobhàn choked on a sob. "I blame him for lying to me."
Rhiannon's features tightened. And what lies do we all hide, she thought, then said, "PenDragon spared you the humiliation. You would let Tigheran's destroy you now, after all this time? The man was cruel and unjust to you."
"Nay, I was the enemy—"
She held her back. "Great lady above." Rhiannon rolled her eyes. "Must I remind you of the rape of your body each night, and half the women here, or of a princess fetching and tending him as if he were a child?"
"I know, but, oh, Rhi—I cursed him to die." Siobhàn hated herself for saying those words, hated the memory of watching him ride off and hoping he did not return.
"So did half the castle folk." Rhiannon's lips twisted wryly. "You have done your duty to his memory. His bitterness sent him to England, and call him fortunate to have met PenDragon on the field and taken a swift death."
"How can you say such things! He was our king."
"He was his own enemy. Did one of his retainers return to your side?"
She shook her head. "All but one was executed."
Rhiannon turned away, moving to the kettle steeping with herbs and stirring down the boil. "'Twas a crime, Siobhàn, and justice metered. If not PenDragon, then another would have done it."
Siobhàn loathed that she was right, and worse, repeating Gaelan's words. "Swear this to secrecy."
Rhiannon stilled in her stirring. "I have told no one, but do not believe word will not reach the folk. I am not the only one who is aware, I fear."
Siobhàn sank miserably into a nearby stool, gazing down at her hands. "Connal can never know."
"Aye." There was no question in Rhiannon's tone. Connal had to be protected at all costs. She turned to her sister, frowning softly at the desolate look on her beautiful face. It was rare to see her so low, the fight gone from her eyes. She sank to her knees before her. "Brew in this and more will suffer, Siobhàn. PenDragon did as his king bid him. Mercenary or nay, he is knighted English and had no choice. We both know he did not want this castle, the responsibility—he wanted only you." Siobhàn opened her mouth to speak and Rhiannon hushed her. "He spared us because of you. He bent to your demands because of his feelings for you."
The truth soothed through Siobhàn with an odd comfort.
"A man with a dark past, with blood on his hands, came to destroy us, and yet he showed compassion and sacrifice. Do you forget he saved Connal's life? That you have lain in his arms these weeks past and found pleasure?"
Siobhàn's eyes softened with memory, yet a tear rolled down her cheek. "You could have tried a bit harder to warn me."
"You are too stubborn to listen to reason oftimes." Rhiannon scoffed and stood. "PenDragon has proven himself more the lord than Tigheran, that ugly beast of a man, ever bothered."
Siobhàn's lips quirked. Rhiannon had detested Tigheran, had delved into his thoughts often to prepare her sister for his moods, for the lust she could not avoid. Her only pleasure was that Tigheran feared Rhiannon. "I would not have thought you to defend Gaelan."
Her lips twitched. "Neither would I. But I cannot let you lose so much over a dead, selfish fool. 'Tis no wonder Devorgilla refused him."
"Dermott is no better."
"Our uncle knows how to love and forgive. Be wise and do the same." Rhiannon eyed her. "Cease your stubborn pride and do something for yourself, Siobhàn—not for the rest of us. Forgive and repair the damage I know you did."
"Me? You accuse me—"
"Siobhàn!"
Both women turned to find Gaelan filling the doorway. His gaze shifted to Siobhàn, half angry, half worried, flicking only once to Rhiannon in confusion. It told her he'd heard most of the conversation. Rhiannon glanced at her sister, then hurried to the lord of Donegal before he stepped inside.
"Leave her be, my lord." Gaelan dragged his gaze from Siobhàn "For this day, do not press her."
Gaelan scowled, and Rhiannon motioned him out of the thatched house, pulling the door closed.
Gaelan slapped a hand to the wood, stopping her. "I will take care of what is between me and my wife, sister." He started to push past, but she snagged his arm, her grip stinging through his skin to his bones and rendering him motionless-powerless. Her eyes glazed for an instant, a smile curving her lips, then fading.
"I know you will, but…" She paused, her brow knitting, her look perplexed. "Prepare, brother … there is a darkness coming here," she whispered suddenly, as if divulging a secret long kept. "Great pain to many people. And only you can heal it."
Peeling off her hand, Gaelan scowled, his gaze darting to Siobhàn as she rose from the stool, frowning at her sister. Rhiannon's words were so contrary, he wondered if this was one of her premonitions?
Rhiannon blinked, then smiled gently, her wisdom revealed in the single glance. "You must give time for her to see the benefit of your deeds."
"Do you?"
Her lips quirked a bit. "Oftimes I see more than I would like."
For an instant Gaelan wanted to ask her what she saw for he and Siobhàn, then dismissed it. He did not believe in such rubbish and he would not let his future be jaded by witchery.
"Nay, I am not a witch," she said into his thoughts, "though there are times I wish I was."
Gaelan scowled. Such a peculiar woman.
"And your temper is not malleable right now."
Gaelan looked at the half-open door, the profile of his wife poised on the edge of a stool, her hands clenched on her lap. He never thought to see her so ravaged and the blame rested at his feet. If he had not lied, if he had told her from the start, fought that war first, before he had lost his heart to her, he would not be risking his future now.
"I will see you this evening, wife, in our chambers," he said to her profile, and she nodded solemnly.
Gaelan did not think aught could hurt as much as her passive response and he longed for the combative Irishwoman who baited him at every turn. He exhaled a hard breath, leaving the little cottage. A half hour later, astride his horse, he charged through the gates, sending workers and soldiers darting for cover.
* * *
Tired, sweaty and hungry, Gaelan strode toward the keep, pausing long enough at a rain barrel to scoop water and douse his face, then slake his thirst. He scanned the inner ward, swiping the back of his hand across his mouth. Folk looked at him strangely, and though his argument with Siobhàn was in seclusion, gossip spread in this place as fast as the wind. Deciding that talking with his wife, even fighting with her, was preferable to silence, Gaelan headed toward the keep.
Passing the dairy, he heard a scuffling, the distinct sound of grunts and a short cry. Scowling, he strode behind the building, and when he expected to find a pair coupling, he found Connal and a boy nearly a half size larger beating the stuffing out of each other.
Gaelan bent and pulled them apart, holding them off the ground by the scruffs of their necks. They blinked at him, breathing heavily. Connal dragged his sleeve beneath his nose and Gaelan realized he was weeping. He looked at the other boy, nearly three years older, two hands taller and sporting a bloody nose. He set them down, a hand on either shoulder when they tried to escape. "Explain."
Connal looked at the other boy, his breath hissing in and out between clenched teeth. "Auggie lies."
"Shut yer mouth, brat!"
"You lie!" Connal leapt on the other boy, bashing him in the gullet.
Gaelan sighed and pulled them apart again, kneeling. "What did he sa
y, lad?"
"He called me mother a Sassanach whore." Gaelan's eyes flared and looked at the opponent. Auggie stared at his bare feet, shamefaced.
"Do you know what that means, Connal?"
"Nay," he confessed, sniffling. "But he said it mean." Connal gave him a decent imitation whilst glaring at the other boy.
Gaelan pulled Auggie close, meeting his gaze with a look meant to strike terror. It did and the child swallowed, his lips trembling. "Speak so again, boy, about any woman, and I will see you punished." Fear flared in his eyes. "I will have a few words with your father." He released him. "Now go home." The child dashed around the wall out of sight.
Straightening Gaelan took a rag hooked on the wall, dipped it in the cistern and turned back to Connal. The prince remained where he was, the top of his head barely passing above his knee.
He knelt and swiped the rag over his dirty face.
"I hate you."
"I know."
"I want you to leave us alone."
"I am married to your mother and will not abandon her."
"She does not need you."
I need her, he thought. "I suppose you will hate me forever."
"Aye. And when I grow up, I will kill all the English."
Gaelan stilled, eyeing him. "'Tis a great lot of people, lad."
"I do not care! I will kill until I find the man who killed my father."
Gaelan paled miserably and dropped his head forward. Sweet Jesu. "Come, sit." In a shadowed corner between the dairy and the stone wall, Gaelan settled to the ground, gesturing to the spot beside him. His shoulders drooping pitifully, Connal joined him, plopping like a sack to the ground. They sat there, quiet for a moment.
"That word," Gaelan said.
"Whore."
Gaelan winced. It sounded even uglier coming from innocent lips. "It means—it names a woman who does not care for aught but her own pleasures, a woman who is free with her body to all men and asks for pay. Is that your mother?"
"Nay!"
"Then you know Auggie was wrong."
"But 'twas bad and about me mama." Connal's lip quivered and his eyes filled with fat tears. Gaelan never felt so helpless in all his life. He looked as if he would fight the world alone for her honor.
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