The Irish Princess

by Amy J. Fetzer

  This monster, in his own twisted way, loved her.

  * * *

  Chapter 28

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  Gaelan dragged the brush over Grayfalk's gleaming black coat, thinking of Siobhàn inside the cottage, alone and possibly in pain. That Fionna popped back inside, shooing him out, did not sit well, for he hated being apart from Siobhàn. Yet he'd conceded to Fionna's advice, for after seeing Siobhàn's battered body, 'twas a wonder his wife had survived at all. He owed Fionna O'Donnel a debt he could never repay.

  Fionna, the sorceress of Donegal, he thought, with a half smile. He'd never believed in magic and spirits, but after everything he'd experienced since his arrival in Ireland, he would not deny their existence any longer.

  Cautiously, Gaelan slid his sword from its scabbard. "Come forth and be known," he ordered softly, then turned.

  "Fine greeting that," Raymond scoffed, ducking beneath a branch before stepping into the tiny clearing.

  Gaelan sheathed his sword. "Bloody braggart," he muttered, folding his arms over his chest. "You have disobeyed me."

  "Aye." Raymond leaned back against the tree, unrepentant.

  "And you think naught of it?"

  "Not when you want to fight the world alone."

  Damn the stubborn puppy, he thought, smiling.

  Raymond straightened. "You found her!"

  "Aye."

  Relief swept through him, sinking his shoulders a bit. "Thank God, for Connal is nigh going mad."

  Gaelan's heart burned for the little boy. "That cannot be helped, yet. She was beaten. Nearly to death." Anguish laced his tone.

  Raymond's expression mirrored his shock and sympathy. "Well, you cannot take her back in that condition."

  "I had no intention of doing so. She is safer here. No one, save her cousin Fionna knows who she is, and the murderer does not know she survived." He explained what he knew, her discovery by the villagers, that she remembered the murder, the hooded man.

  "She thinks she is missing something." Gaelan shrugged. "'Tis a detail she cannot put to words. When she does, I think she will know who did this to her."

  "I have seen the like afore, Gaelan."

  PenDragon's brows rose and slowly he unfolded his arms.

  "'Tis a memory so horrible the mind refuses to see it."

  "I realize that."

  "'Tis like a squire seeing his first battle; you know some deny the horror of it. Even Reese could not believe the man who'd been more of a father to him could sever a man in half."

  Gaelan did not need the reminder of his past atrocities, not now. "Make your point."

  "The shock might not have been the crime, but the criminal."

  Gaelan fanned his fingers beneath his chin, the stubble rasping in the silence. "Who would she least suspect of such a crime?"

  "Ian Maguire, O'Niell, that retainer you let into the castle." Clearly DeClare thought the latter an unwise move and the list grew.

  Gaelan was not so easily convinced. "'Twas a crime of rage, not of simple elimination. 'Twas brutal." Gaelan's brows drew tight as he recalled the gruesome sight. "And Maguire would have to be aware of the tunnel."

  "Would Siobhàn have told him?"

  "She would not have to, secret sworn or not. O'Rourke did not dig it himself, not without notice at least."

  "Mayhaps with help from his brother?"

  "O'Niell would not dare risk his lands to be behind this. He would lose everything, including his life." Gaelan tapped his lips. 'Twas rumored that he and his half brother had never been on congenial terms, yet Gaelan did not rule him out. "Rhiannon could be lying about this too. She protects someone with her silence, and 'tis not her sister."

  "And what one of your knights would lie or die for you, Gaelan?"

  Gaelan's scowl deepened. There was no justice in that, yet he knew there were few who would take loyalty to extreme. For an instant, he thought of Sir Owen and his unexplained absences, yet was inclined to honor the man's past loyalty with the benefit of the doubt.

  "Meghan was Nall O'Donnel's sister, and he lost his tuath to O'Rourke. Mayhaps Siobhàn was a witness and not the target."

  "Bridgett said no one knew Meghan slept there except Siobhàn." Gaelan shook his head. "Nay, Meghan's murder was a mistake. And this bastard, twisted as he is, could not bring himself to kill my wife. He was hoping she'd bleed to death or be food for the wolves."

  Gaelan told him of the attack on the moors.

  "You let him live?" Raymond was stunned.

  "I wanted to find my wife," he defended. "And he is not the root of this madness. The man did not know Siobhàn was missing, I'm certain of it."

  "Was he one of these mysterious Fenians, mayhaps?" Raymond's distaste for the fabled warriors showed in his tone.

  "Do not discount them, my friend. Those men on the moors want the English gone. Enough to send five after me and leave this land without a lord. Whoever is attacking in the guise of English soldiers does it to brew distrust and revolt." Gaelan stared out over the village, wondering if it was the next target. "Clans retaliate and the culprits wait for the war to begin. When I do not slaughter in vengeance, they bid the Fenian to do it in Maguire's plaid."

  "So it looks like the chieftain is attacking you?"

  "'Tis possible." Gaelan shoved his fingers through his hair. "But why wear a plaid that would mark them, when they hide their faces?"

  "Because they could be among us." Gaelan recalled the familiarity of the man's eyes, yet like Siobhàn and her detail, he still could not pinpoint the reasons why. "We can trust so few, and we need evidence. More prisoners who will talk. 'Tis why I must return."

  Raymond's eyes rounded and he glanced at the village. "You want me to remain here?"

  Gaelan nodded, the thought of leaving her for an instant killing him. But he had to return, to Connal and as a presence in the castle. His absence would offer a perfect opportunity to assault Donegal in ways other than a siege. His people were stricken with grief and worry and would see hope in anyone offering the return of their princess. He stared at the village, wondering how he would find the will to leave her here.

  "I do not want to scare these people. Nor alert the Fenians, if any are about. Stay close to her and"—his lips curved—"be aware of the witch, Fionna."

  Raymond scoffed rudely. "There is no such thing."

  Gaelan eyed him, recognizing heated bitterness in his friend just then. "Superstitions abound in this land, DeClare, in my people. Respect them or you offend the entire race."

  Raymond's lips quirked. "Your people?"

  "Aye," he replied in Gaelic. "And get rid of that armor. I heard you coming for a mile."

  * * *

  She slept most of the day and well into the night, and Gaelan realized just how badly she'd been hurt. At least she was eating well, he thought, watching her devour the trencher full of meat. His anger rose every time he thought of this bastard striking her repeatedly. Her face wore the imprint of knuckles on her temple. Her voice bore a raspiness left by the kick to her throat. His fist clenched around the wood goblet and he tossed back a large swallow of wine.

  "What troubles you, husband?" she asked from across the table.

  His smile was faint with self-reproach. "I cannot hide a thing from you, can I?"

  She popped a piece of meat into her mouth. "Would you want to?"

  "To spare you the hateful urge I have to kill."

  "This killer deserves to die, and you will find him."

  "And if it is Ian?"

  She looked up. "So be it," she said, without a shift in her expression. "Hold no sympathy, Gaelan, as I'm sure this killer holds none for the lives lost, for Meghan."

  "He is crafty."

  "You are smarter."

  He smiled, leaving his chair and coming to her. He went down on one knee. "How could I fail with you by my side?"

  She cupped his jaw, kissing his mouth with slow deliberation. "I love you, warrior." Her mouth whispered back and forth across him. "
I love you for the gentle heart you did not know you possessed, and for giving its care to me."

  Gaelan sank into the heat of her kiss, rising to sweep her into his arms and bear her to the bed of furs. He laid her there and slid into the bed beside her, cradling her in his arms.

  "Afraid Fionna will appear?"

  The corner of his mouth quirked. "Nay, but that is irritating, never knowing when she will invade."

  Siobhàn snuggled into the protection of his body and he sighed, running his hand up and down her arm. "I have to return to Donegal, even for a brief time."

  "I know." Her grip tightened a bit. "When?"

  "Now."

  Her indrawn breath filled the little cottage and she rolled to her side and looked at him. "I will miss you."

  Tears filled her eyes as she touched the lines of his face. "Raymond is here to protect you, Siobhàn. Trust no one but him."

  She nodded, kissing him, sniffling, then kissing him again.

  Suddenly he rolled to his back, taking her mouth with a ferocious desperation, all devouring, all greed and hunger and unspent passion, before he released her and left the bed. Moving to the door, he grabbed his sword and paused, twisting for a last look, his expression so tormented she felt unhinged and afraid and lonely.

  He pushed open the door, stepping across the threshold. She called to him and when he turned, her body impacted with his, arms clinging as she sprinkled hot kisses over his jaw, his throat, then whispered, "Come back, husband."

  His throat worked furiously as he held her, cradling her head to his shoulder. God, he did not want to do this, did not want to trust her life to another. "I will, I promise."

  Pushing out of his arms, she turned her face away, choking on a sob as she reentered the cottage. The door slammed behind her, rattling the walls. Gaelan stared for a moment, aching for her, wanting desperately to remain, but if he did not return, the threat surrounding his people would be fulfilled. He continued, pausing when Fionna appeared on the edge of the street, her arms folded, sympathy in her features.

  "My man is here to protect her," he said, and she unfolded her arms, frowning. "He's my champion, and I trust him as I do no other." He took a step away, then looked back. "And 'tis impolite to eavesdrop, woman."

  "You would trust me?"

  "Siobhàn does, and that is well enough for me, sorceress. Use your magic if you must."

  Fionna nodded and Gaelan walked, twice more pausing on the hillside in indecision before continuing onto where Raymond camped in the woods.

  * * *

  Connal sat on the edge of the parapet, his legs swinging as he shot at the ground below. His throat burned and he blinked, trying not to cry. Gaelan would not like to find him blubbering like a baby. Soldiers did not cry. Then he remembered the tears in his eyes when his lord thought his mother lay bloodied in the bed. Aye, sometimes they cried.

  A man without a heart is an empty body, he'd told him. They shared many secrets. Like that Gaelan loved his mama, and that she saved him with her love, whatever that meant. Connal couldn't wait until he was older to discover all these hidden meanings grown-ups spoke of. He notched another pebble and squinted, aiming for a tuft of grass. Around him soldiers walked the guard, everyone in the castle tending to duty. He shot another pebble, then sighed, twirling the slingshot. He missed Mama. Aunt Rhiannon fussed over him, followed him around like Dermott, and he was sorry he told her to leave him alone. It hurt her feelings. But he wanted his mother. He wanted Gaelan to come home and tell him she was alive. Connal brushed at the tear working down his cheek, then glanced left and right to see if anyone noticed. He climbed to his feet, rubbing his bum, then turned to the battlements. He pushed a wood box to the wall and stepped atop it to see over the edge.

  Then he saw him, the black horse tearing across the land.

  "PenDragon!" he shouted, and guards looked, soldiers scrambling to open the gates. He rode through the opening, skidding to a halt, kicking up dust and stones. Reese and Jace rushed forward with the knights and soldiers as he flung from the saddle. He shook his head and Connal knew then, he had not found her.

  "Connal!" His gaze scanned the crowd. "Someone find my son."

  Connal called his name, pushing between the adults, and Gaelan looked down, smiling and scooping him up in his arms.

  Connal sighed and hugged him and thought how lucky he was that he was still loved.

  "Ahh, lad, don't cry."

  "I'm not!"

  His lips twitching, Gaelan rubbed his back, aching to tell him his mother lived but not trusting the tongue of a child. "Come, I am starved."

  "You carry me; how much choice have I?"

  Impudent whelp, he thought, swinging him to the ground as he entered the hall, noticing first that his crest, their crest, hung over the hearth, then recognized the silence. He glanced at his people, still as they awaited word. He shook his head; some sobbed and fled, others, their shoulders drooping a fraction more as they turned to their duties. The deception turned like soured milk in his stomach.

  Driscoll approached, yet Gaelan waved him off, too tired to answer questions when he'd no solutions to offer. Abovestairs and secluded in his chamber, he bathed, Connal always near and quizzing him over his wound. Culhainn recovered near the fire, his gaze constantly on the bed. They dined in private, and though he knew Rhiannon paced beyond the doors, he let her wait, focusing on Connal.

  "You have not ridden since I left?"

  Connal shook his head, his mouth full of food.

  "We shall in the morn then."

  He swallowed hurriedly. "Nay. You must search again!"

  Gaelan's brows rose at his vehemence. "But I just returned."

  "Go again," he pleaded. "She is not dead."

  Gaelan leaned over his meal. "I believe that, too." Russet curls spilled over his forehead as Connal stared at his trencher, playing with his food, and Gaelan instantly sensed his apprehension. "You can tell me aught, Connal, and 'twill remain atween us."

  He looked up. "Mama told me to keep it secret, but…" Gaelan didn't think he could handle another revelation. "Go on."

  "I can feel her."

  Gaelan's features stretched tight. Good God, not him too. "How?"

  He shrugged his small shoulders. "'Tis like I can feel her breathing."

  Gaelan marveled at the boy's intuition. "I will leave to search soon, but I returned because I thought mayhaps you were lonely."

  He rolled his eyes, the notion telling him privacy was scarce. "Aunt Rhiannon wants to always play with me, eat with me—"

  "Smother you," Gaelan finished.

  "Aye." He yawned hugely. "She took away my slingshot." And he'd obviously nipped it back since it was sticking out of his waistband.

  "Who did you hit?"

  "Nova. 'Twas an accident, I swear," he insisted.

  Smiling, Gaelan swiped his mouth with a scrap of cloth and leaned back in the chair. "Want me to speak to your aunt?"

  "Nay." Connal left the oversized chair—Siobhàn's chair—and came to him. "She is too sad already."

  Gaelan's heart did a strange flip in his chest when the lad crawled onto his lap and promptly fell asleep. The trust nearly unraveled his soul. The boy felt warm and solid against him and he inhaled deeply, the scent of wax and lye still permeating the room.

  His gaze drifted to the bed, all traces of the murder gone except for the cracked mirror. Scrubbed clean, he thought, but until Siobhàn was home, the ugliness would never leave.

  * * *

  Chapter 29

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  'Twas good to have a moment alone, Rhiannon thought, without a guard tripping on her skirts. Squatting, Rhiannon fished for another egg and carefully laid it in the basket, then reached for another, her hand stilling.

  She rose slowly, slipping her knife free from its slim scabbard as she turned. "I could alarm the entire castle with one scream," she warned.

  "You won't."

  She scoffed rudely. "My sister is missing and you kno
w where she is! How think you Gaelan will treat you?"

  Fear flickered in his features. "I don't know where she is. Touch me once and find the truth." He held out his hand.

  She ignored it. "'Tis all you have to say, to tell me?"

  "Mayhaps that I am tired and without will? That I watched PenDragon slay four of my friends in seconds and knew I was defeated?"

  "Yet you still fight, still you do not see you cannot stop him."

  "I have no choice."

  "And neither will he. He will show you no mercy." She choked on a sob yet held the knife poised to strike.

  His gaze darted to the weapon. "You do not trust me." He took a step.

  She raised the blade. "I never did."

  "I love you."

  Agony sprinted across her face. "You know naught of love!" she hissed, her beauty contorted with rage and heartbreak. "Or you would cease this madness!"

  "He will only gather more." His voice was dead, empty of hope.

  Her stance softened. "Go to PenDragon, I beg you. Tell him—"

  "I cannot! I am sworn!" She was a fool to even ask.

  "And what of the oath to me?"

  His features twisted with remorse and pain. "And what of your lies, seer?"

  Her posture sank, her beautiful face a portrait of regret. "They die with me."

  She turned the knife to herself and two-handed, she prepared to plunge it into her breast. His eyes flew wide and he lurched, grasping it, grappling with her before tearing it from her hands and flinging it to the dirt.

  He crushed her against him, tightening his hold to near punishing when she struggled to escape. Her breath was hot and angry, heating the skin of his collarbone.

  Around them geese squawked.

  He pushed his fingers into her hair, tilting her head, forcing her to look him in the eye.

  "I hate you!" Tears fell, unheeded.

  "I love you."

  She gasped, choking on her own breath, her hands wedged between them and pushing at him with each word. "You have lost, Patrick. You have done too much, waited too long. This cannot be undone."