The Irish Princess

by Amy J. Fetzer

  The father, a slender, black-haired man, looked at his son, and Gaelan thought the resemblance between the two uncanny. "Go get the healer and be quick about it." The boy dashed off, and then to Gaelan he said, "Come sit and wait. She'll sew you back into your body right enough."

  Gaelan dropped to a stump and the man brought him a cup of water. He sipped, and though the wound did not offer enough pain to warrant so much attention, he would not dismiss it. Irish hospitality was a way of life, and he knew this man would give his last slice of bread to a stranger, if he needed it. And Gaelan needed these people. He needed a friend right now and introduced himself as simply Gaelan.

  "Paddy, I am. Me boy is Flynn." They chatted amiably about crops and fisheries, little of which Gaelan knew, whilst Paddy whittled on a branch, obvious to Gaelan he was cleaning it for an arrow.

  "I'm searching for a woman."

  Paddy jerked a look at him, his eyes narrowing.

  "She may have been injured."

  "What would this lass be to you?" Paddy kept working his knife, disinterested.

  Gaelan didn't know if telling them they were husband and wife would be helpful right now. "She is my betrothed."

  "She run from you?" Paddy's eyes thinned. "You the kind to beat women?"

  Gaelan scowled. "Of course not. What woman would survive?" He put up his hands, palm out. "Have you seen her? She is rather tall, dark red hair, green-blue eyes, with a bit of yellow in them, especially when she's in a temper and—"

  Paddy's lips curved in a slow smile and he patted his uninjured shoulder. "You're fair well tucked and put away with her, aren't you, lad?"

  Gaelan's heart slammed against the wall of his chest. "Have you?"

  Paddy's nod indicated somewhere beyond him. "You mean looking like that one?"

  Gaelan leapt to his feet and turned. "Siobhàn."

  Far down the road she walked, leaning on a dark-haired woman, and he wanted to shout for the sheer joy of finding her alive, yet his throat closed over with heart-ripping emotion. All he could do was stare. Sweet Jesu, what had the killer done to her? Her steps were shaky and slow, her gaze on her feet. Her hair, oh, God above, that glorious hair, was unbound and wild with curls, yet naught could hide the blackened bruises on her temple, throat and chin. Nor the angry cuts along her jaw.

  "I have prayed and searched…" he said aloud without realizing it and took several steps, his relief so tremendous his legs nearly folded beneath him. "Siobhàn!"

  Her head jerked up. "Gaelan." Her smile blinded, quick tears blooming. "Oh, Gaelan!" She shifted away from the woman and Gaelan rushed to her as she staggered into his arms. They clasped tightly, and for a moment they simply held each other, Gaelan's face buried in her cloud of hair, hers snug in the crook of his neck, inhaling his scent.

  "Oh my love, my princess," he choked, and Siobhàn heard days of suffering, of not knowing if she lived, fracture through his deep voice.

  "All will be well now, my husband, shhh."

  He met her gaze, raw agony shaping his expression as his gaze slipped over her battered face. "God above," he moaned miserably. "Look at you." His trembling hand hovered near her wounded jaw and he feared to touch and harm her more.

  Yet she pressed his palm to her face. "'Tis not so bad," she whispered, her lips quivering as she gazed into his dark soulful eyes, his tears cutting her to the quick. "I have truly missed you, my love."

  "Me too, oh, me too. Oh, God, you cannot imagine—sweet Mary, Siobhàn"—he paused to tenderly press his lips to hers—"I thought I'd lost you forever."

  "Nay, nay," she soothed, swiping at his tears whilst more fell from her own eyes. "I never doubted that you would find me. Never. I simply waited until you did."

  Her absolute faith unmanned him and he moaned, holding her gently when he wanted to crush her, clinging to her and shedding the torturous place he'd lived in for days with each passing moment. He chanted her name, over and over, wanting only to feel her heart beat strongly against his and tell him, he too now lived again. And in the center of the little hamlet, the villagers looking on as he tipped her face to the sun and kissed her bruises and cuts, apologizing for not protecting her from this horror.

  "'Tis not you fault; don't be taking the blame," she scolded softly and, curling her hand behind his neck, she brought him to her mouth. "I love you," she whispered against his lips, then kissed him.

  He moaned, sinking into her taste, lifting her in his arms and carrying her to privacy.

  "I guess that means she's your woman," Paddy said as they passed.

  Gaelan drew back enough to say, "She is more than that." He could not take his eyes off her. "She's the center of my soul."

  "And his wife," Siobhàn added happily, her arms looped around his neck. "You needn't head into the forest, Gaelan."

  He stopped, a little frown marring his brow.

  "I have a cottage." She grinned. "And a bed."

  * * *

  Chapter 27

  « ^ »

  Between kisses, he spoke of his love, their son and his brave little heart. In the low-slung cottage, Gaelan laid her to the bed of furs, kissing her as he impatiently stripped off her clothing.

  "Gaelan."

  "I want to see what this bastard did to you." He stilled suddenly, meeting her gaze. "Who was it?"

  "I didn't see his face. 'Twas too dark, and he was hooded."

  Disappointment made his voice harsh. "Even then he hides like a coward." In one motion, he pulled off her plain dress and shift, his gaze raking her body as he sat on the side of the bed. Sympathy swept him and he moaned, bending to press a kiss to her bruised shoulder, her ribs.

  She sank her fingers into his hair, loving the feel of his mouth on her skin. "I'm a bit sore in other spots too, husband."

  His gaze flashed to her, his smile slow and seductive. "Here?" His tongue snaked across her nipple and she gasped, arching, offering, then hurriedly unfastened his belt, letting the sword drop, before helping him off with his shirt.

  At the sight of his wound, she inhaled, covering it as she sat up. "Why didn't you tell me?"

  "Because 'twas unimportant." He ducked, taking her nipple into his mouth and loving her soft sighs.

  "'Twill become infected."

  "'Tis a price, for I want you badly." He laved and tasted instead, ignoring her pleas to let her tend him and dragging his mouth over her soft belly.

  "Oh, for the love of Michael, Gaelan, cease!" she said, pushing him back.

  He eyed her. "You will not let this rest, will you?" Her look said he was silly to even ask as she gingerly swung her legs over the side of the bed. "Who attacked you?" She slipped on her shift, and as he told her about the men on the moors, his gaze followed her as she bustled about the little hut, gathering cloths, a blade, and herbs, then set them on the table and prepared her cures, darting to the fire for water. Gaelan's attention was so fixed on her breasts jiggling beneath the thin cloth that he didn't hear her.

  "Gaelan? You think 'twas Fenian?"

  "Aye, even if you do not."

  She smiled. He could read her so well.

  "'Twas the man in the glen with Rhiannon. I swear he was more willing to die than fight."

  She stilled for a second, chewing her lower lip, then said, "Mayhaps they know you will catch them."

  She motioned him to a chair and he sat as she cleansed the blood from his shoulder and chest, the dull throb of worry and fear and rage he'd carried for days flooding away as he watched her.

  "The villagers do not know who you are, do they?"

  "Fionna does." At his darkened look, she said, "She is my cousin, Gaelan, and the only reason I breathe. Death was calling me, that I remember, my love." His expression twisted in agony and she touched the lines. "She wielded the elements to save me, fought for me."

  His eyes flared. "A witch?"

  "Aye, love, like no other of her kind. Believe me when I say she can be trusted. She burned my clothes afore any could question the fine garments, t
hough they were ruined beyond recognition with dirt and blood." His features tightened at the image. "The rest of the villagers know only my name. I feared there could be betrayers here and after—" A shaky breath shuddered past her lips. "After what happened to Meghan, I thought it best."

  "We must keep it that way and pray none have heard the news of the princess's marriage. This is the safest place for you right now." Suddenly he gripped her waist, pulling her between his spread thighs. "Why did you not tell me of the tunnel?"

  Misery colored her words. "I'd planned to, the night Brody died, I swear."

  And before then he'd been angry, given her little reason to reveal it. "I believe you, love," came softly and she sighed, relieved.

  "I left the chest ajar so I would not forget. Honestly, I did not think it so important, since 'twas only Connal and I who knew of it and it was hard to open without noise."

  "Tigheran did not construct it alone, love."

  Her brows rose. "I hadn't thought of that." She probed and removed his stitches, tisking at his poor job of it. "'Tis fresh enough that mayhaps your fouled stitches will not show." Her gaze did a quick dip down his body and it felt like a hot stoke to his skin. "Another trophy to add to the collection?"

  "You are the only scar that lays upon my skin, love." He pulled her closer, running his hands up and down her spine, shaping her hips, then sweeping around to enfold her breasts. His lips closed over her nipple, sucking it through the thin fabric.

  She sighed, a breathy sound, her fingers plowing into his hair. "I cannot stitch you up if you keep playing."

  "I like to play with you." He shifted to her other rosy peak.

  Oh, she'd missed this, his touch, his teasing. "I will reward you handsomely, sir knight, if you'd be still and let me finish."

  Gazes met and he grinned like an eager boy, easing back into the chair. "Hurry then."

  Smiling, she moved to the table, pouring hot water into the herbs, stirred and mashed, not saying anything, watching her movements. "I did not see the face of Meghan's killer, Gaelan. But there is something about him I cannot remember." She lifted her gaze, confusion lying there.

  "What did you see?"

  She came to him and as if to torture him, straddled his thigh and stitched the wound. "Shadows, blood, a hooded figure and—" She inhaled, her eyes wide with panic. "Culhainn!"

  "He lives." He ran his palms up and down her arms, feeling the leap of tension evaporate.

  "Meghan was a sweet, gentle woman. And took her fallen status as a chieftain's sister with great dignity." Her eyes burned and she sniffled, blinking as she reached for the poultice, spreading it over his stitches. "I want to see this killer drawn and quartered, husband."

  That was an order, he thought, smothered anger behind her tone. "'Tis not your fault."

  Her gaze snapped to his. "Aye, it is. That beast wanted me. He hates me enough to carve a face from bone. And it should have been mine!" She choked, and Gaelan wrapped his arms around her, hushing her, and she laid her head to his uninjured shoulder and sobbed.

  After a moment he said, "I regret Meghan died, love, but I cannot say I am not pleased it was not you." He rubbed her back in gentle circles. "I love you, Siobhàn, and in it, I've become selfish. I would slay an army to keep you alive and with me."

  She hugged him tightly. "I would stay here and hide, if that were possible."

  "I have to return. Connal will be going mad with worry."

  Her heart clenched for her son and the loneliness he must be feeling. "Aye, they need you more, but not yet. A day mayhaps?"

  He tipped her face and brushed his mouth over hers. "I'm not going anywhere, love, especially when I'm due such a valuable reward."

  "There will be no rewards given this night," a voice said from somewhere nearby.

  Gaelan stood, nearly dumping Siobhàn on the floor.

  "Who the hell are you and what—?"

  "Gaelan." Siobhàn laid a hand to his arm. "This is Fionna." He eyed the figure hovering in the darkened corner of the cottage. "I know what is best for my wife."

  "I know what I know, PenDragon, and I did not work so hard to keep her alive to have you destroy it simply because you are horny."

  Gaelan scowled.

  Siobhàn snickered to herself.

  "If you know so much, woman, tell me who attacked my wife."

  Fionna shrugged, her shawl slipping and revealing pale flawless shoulders. "Rhiannon sees the past and the future. I work the present."

  "Then protect her," he blurted without thinking.

  Her hands on her hips, Fionna seemed to glow with sudden anger. "She was safe and well when you found her, wasn't she?"

  Gaelan was instantly contrite, though fascinated with the bluish haze shimmering around her. "My thanks for saving her, mistress. I am forever grateful."

  Fionna tipped her head, studying him. "I know you are, English."

  He heard the bitterness in her voice and sighed, seeing another war coming with this woman. He stepped, motioning her closer, and where he expected an older woman, he found one of youth and stunning beauty, the same age as Siobhàn, if he hazarded a guess.

  Gaelan frowned. "You're really a witch." Half question, half statement.

  She smiled, catlike.

  "Splendid." Gaelan raked his fingers through his hair. "Another one."

  "There are many of us, m'lord. Do we scare you?"

  "Of course not."

  "Good." She smiled, looking vibrant and cherry cheeked in the golden light. "For I am not the only one in your family."

  "My family?"

  "Your Irish one, my love," Siobhàn said, and Gaelan looked at her, his scowl softening as he swept his arm about her waist and kissed her lightly.

  "I will give you a moment alone, then you, sir knight, must leave her to her rest."

  Only his eyes shifted. "I will not."

  "My love," Siobhàn warned. "'Tis not wise to anger her."

  "Aye, you could find yourself wearing fur instead of skin."

  Gaelan snapped a look at Fionna, but the mysterious woman turned and faded before his eyes, a dash of vapor left in her wake. He blinked, spinning about and searching the darkness, yet she was gone.

  "She is rather dramatic sometimes."

  He looked down at his wife and sighed, pressing his lips to her forehead. "Get you to bed, woman. For I like my skin just as it is."

  Siobhàn smiled, running her hands over his sculptured chest. "So do I."

  Gaelan groaned, then ushered her quickly beneath the furs.

  He glanced about, as if he expected Fionna to appear, then bent and kissed his wife, a wild play of wet lips and tongue that left her shuddering and hungry as she sank into the bedding. Grabbing his tunic, he left her when he wanted to hold her in his arms till the next dawn.

  The instant he closed the door, Siobhàn felt a presence in her cottage and smiled to herself. "'Twas rude, peeking in on us like that, Fionna."

  "Had I not, you'd have been wiggling beneath the furs and weakened yourself into sickness."

  "'Twould have been good weakness, though. Gaelan's prowess extends beyond the battlefield."

  Fionna arched a brow, a black wing against translucently pale skin.

  Siobhàn's cheeks pinkened around a secret smile.

  "How is your head?" Fionna pushed curls from her forehead.

  "Still there."

  Smiling, Fionna lifted a small sack from the intricate silver belt wrapping her slim waist, spilling the contents into a wood cup left on the commode. She closed her eyes, her lips moving in silent prayer over the potion, her hand passing the rim and bringing a sputter of sparks. She held out the cup. "Drink."

  Siobhàn pulled a childish puss. "'Tis vile. Are you not talented enough to make it at least sweet?"

  "Spoils the mixture." She shoved the cup into her face.

  "You mother me." Grudgingly, Siobhàn accepted, holding her nose and draining it swiftly.

  "Because you are as stubborn as a chi
ld." Fionna set the cup aside.

  For a moment the two women sat silent, Siobhàn staring at her ring, Fionna watching her. "He loves you so much, cousin.

  "I love him." She lifted her gaze. "I would rather be dead than live without him."

  Fionna sighed, envious. Siobhàn never felt that way about Ian, she realized, and Fionna cursed the day she'd unwisely helped the Maguire kidnap her away from Tigheran before they were wed. Happening upon Siobhàn in the forest had been the first time she'd seen a relation in five years. It made her miss them all the more and feel her isolation with a deep, wrenching loneliness. But prison was of her own making, she thought, her crimes hers alone to bear.

  "I cannot undue the past, Fionna, but you saved my life. I am forever thankful for your kindness and as I did before"—her gaze swept up to meet her cousin's—"I will always cherish you."

  Fionna nodded, tears glossing her eyes as she rose and kissed Siobhàn's forehead, whispering, "Thank you," before she stepped back. They exchanged a smile, then, in a wisp of vapor, she was gone. Siobhàn exhaled, amused by Fionna's drama, and snuggled into the furs.

  * * *

  Not even a sorceress could keep him from his wife's side, Gaelan thought, quietly propping his feet on a rough-hewed table in the center of the room. The little thatched cottage was sparsely furnished, yet not without Siobhàn's warmth permeating the edge. Two cupboards, one with crockery, the other, lined with bottles and jars of herbs, a pestle and mortar and little leather sacks, covered the wall adjacent to the hearth. The rope and stick bed thickened with furs lay in the far corner, and Gaelan's gaze lingered over it, over his wife sleeping peacefully there.

  Fionna was right, she needed her rest, but that did not ease the constant aching he had for her. Just to look at her made him want to claim her, to wash away the horror with tender loving and gentle kisses. His gaze swept her face and anger slithered through him as he focused on the bruises and cuts. She was alive by the kindness of this village and Fionna and he was indebted to them.

  Yet their finding her in the forest barely alive told him one thing: Although the bastard had gruesomely murdered Meghan, when he realized his mistake, he did not have the stomach to kill Siobhàn. And Gaelan did not want to think on the reason why. But he knew.