THE IRISH KNIGHT

by Amy J. Fetzer

  "But your reputation…"

  "Monroe," she said patiently, "'tis little to worry over that when wars are waging."

  Monroe wasn't pacified and sent Connal a warning look.

  Connal recognized it and would have taken offense if he did not know how loyal the man was to his lady.

  "Have a caution, my lady; those who'd stop PenDragon from doing the king's wishes will not think hard on taking lives."

  The coppery scent of blood suddenly filled her senses, as if freshly spilled in a warning. An instant later, her mind clouded with Connal's tortured face. Her heart clenched painfully, and though she knew Connal was quite capable of gaining his oaths, she could not risk leaving his side.

  She angled her mount close to his as she banished thoughts of him dying in her arms. It would not be so, she thought firmly, and wished she had the power to veil him in protection. But she was forbidden, and feared it would be his ruin.

  "Sinead?" he said, his gaze shifting over her features. "Are you afraid?"

  She shook her head. "Come, PenDragon, let us meet the MacGuinness and get your oath signed."

  He frowned at her for a second more, then nodded and took the lead. Yet as they headed west together, one thought scared Sinead, eluded her.

  What was that speck of the vision the goddess refused to show her?

  And when she could cast the spell of change, bend the elements, why could she not see the hand, the face of the villain who would kill her prince?

  * * *

  Chapter 9

  « ^ »

  'Twas a mistake to take the woman along with him, Connal thought as he called to the tower guards and announced himself. Surrounded by the guards who'd been posted along the forest trail, the warriors escorted them to the castle doors. Connal had expected it, as had Sinead, yet the damning looks the men sent him warned of trouble. Sinead, on the other hand, knew a few of the men, and chatted amiably about their families and children, and Connal realized how deeply familiar she was with the lives of her people.

  And that he was still the outsider.

  The wood and iron doors swung open and Connal saw a tall broad-chested man striding purposely toward them. Sinead pushed back her hood and the man paused and grinned, then rushed to pull her from the saddle.

  "Duncan, you crush me! Put me down." She hammered his shoulders, laughing.

  "Is that a proper greeting for your dearest, oldest friend?"

  "Oldest mayhaps, but dearest? You threw rocks at me."

  Holding her off the ground in a burly hug, Duncan MacGuinness spun her about and kissed her hard on the mouth.

  Connal leaped from the saddle and was instantly surrounded by armed clansmen. He spoke in Gaelic, warning them back. The clansmen's shock was plain, their weapons lowered cautiously. As the MacGuinness set her on her feet, Connal moved close to her side.

  Duncan eyed him, his clansmen, then her.

  "He's English," a soldier said, raising his weapon.

  "Nay." Sinead put herself between the pair, then looked at Duncan. "This is the King's emissary, Connal O'Rourke PenDragon."

  Duncan's eyes narrowed sharply. "My lord," he said stiffly. "Welcome to FairGleann." He bowed slightly and knew no good would come from this. Yet Duncan took heart that with Sinead traveling with PenDragon, he'd not be forced, like the other lairds, to surrender all he'd held dear to yet another English monarch.

  Connal smiled slightly, removing his gauntlet and holding out his hand. "A pleasure, Laird MacGuinness."

  Duncan shook it, studying Connal closely. "I know your father. And remember you as a boy." His gaze flicked over the tunic emblazoned with King Richard's banner. "A lot, I see, has changed."

  "Well, little has here, Duncan," Sinead said, tsking softly, at the cluttered yard and hoping to defuse the tension. "'Tis nay FairGleann but Fair Pig's Sty."

  Duncan winked at her. "If I'd known I'd have company, lass, I would have cleaned a bit."

  She scoffed. "As if you know how."

  "I try. But I am merely a man."

  Sinead rolled her eyes.

  "Laird MacGuinness, we're here on behalf of King Richard."

  Duncan's gaze snapped to Connal. "I suspected as much. You've been hailed long afore you stepped on Ireland again, and after all this time I suspected it was for more purpose than a visit."

  Connal's features tightened, the telling look he flashed to Sinead speaking more than he wanted to.

  "Andrew just returned," Duncan said, then looked at Sinead. "I've your magic to thank for keeping those fools alive, I hear."

  "'Twas PenDragon who noticed they were but poorly armed children just as I did." The ruthlessness of PenDragon's troops and their need to kill more Irishmen still worried her.

  Duncan arched a brow in surprise, yet not a shred of emotion passed over his features. "Come then, let us dine and settle what e'er 'tis that you've come to say."

  Duncan turned toward the castle, his arm around Sinead's waist, but she stopped after a few steps, pulling away from Duncan and holding her hand out to Connal. Duncan took a step back, surprised and frowning. Sinead grasped Connal's hand, the burning hum of something grand throbbing though her at first contact, and she jerked back, then let him lace her arm through his. She smiled tightly at him, then looked ahead as they walked.

  "Does this mean you are softening toward me?" he teased in a whisper.

  "Don't be gettin' an imagination, now. I do this so the clansmen at the wall will not take it upon themselves to put a javelin into your back because of that herald on your chest."

  "I know." His smile was brittle with regret.

  She met his gaze briefly. "Just be fair to them. 'Tis all I ask and all I will say."

  Connal tipped his head to look down at her and saw fear. For her people or him, he couldn't be certain. Yet her gaze darted to every corner of the hall as they stepped inside.

  What phantom was she seeking? he wondered, and rubbed his fingers over the back of her hand, the motion more soothing to him than her. Touching Sinead gave him a peace he'd never dreamed he wanted.

  True to her word, she said naught as Connal laid out the king's request. He almost felt bad about accepting her oath of silence, then recalled what would have happenned if she'd not sworn and was thankful. He studied Duncan, his carved features offering no indication of his thoughts as he read the documents. Rubbing a hand across his mouth, the rasp of a day's beard sounded in the silence. Connal suddenly loathed the position he was in, and memories of the way his mother had fought swearing oath to the English King Henry peppered his thoughts. Would Duncan fight as she had to hold on to the last vestiges of control? Would Connal be forced to summon his army to take this castle and land from Duncan because he refused the king's demands?

  The thought made his stomach churn, and when Duncan lifted his gaze to his only a portion of his doubts eased. He did not want to fight his countrymen. Never again.

  Duncan knew he'd sign the oath before he finished reading it. 'Twould assure peace and the livelihood of his clan, and that came before his own feelings. But before he would, he asked about the English that attacked his lower crofts.

  "I believe 'twas Westberry's doings, Laird MacGuinness, or a braggart under his control," Connal said. "For his troops did the same in a village north, in GleannArmagh."

  Duncan sat back in his chair, his glaze flicking between the two as Connal explained further. He looked at Sinead. "You volunteer my stores for Westberry's troops, yet have little to say, Princess?"

  "I have given my word," she whispered softly.

  Duncan straightened, alarm in his eyes.

  Connal remained stoically calm. "She is not here against her will. Tell him, Sinead."

  Duncan looked patiently from one to the other.

  She lifted her gaze to Laird MacGuinness. "I am here for you, Duncan. Of my free will. PenDragon would not dare force me."

  Duncan barked a short laugh. "Not if he knows what's good for him, aye."

  Sh
e looked affronted. "I would not harm him, Duncan, and you know it! Now your clansmen's treatment of…"

  "Sinead, you swore," Connal said, and she clamped her lips together.

  "You were saying about my clansmen?" Duncan goaded.

  Sinead's eyes were cool and hard, yet she remained silent.

  Duncan was amused and looked at Connal. "By God, tell me how you managed to get her to shut that acrid mouth."

  She made an indignant sound. She wasn't acrid.

  "When you are mad, aye, you are."

  "He is right," Connal said.

  "Burns the ears. Even when she was a child."

  She stood abruptly. "I said I would not offer an opinion on these oaths, I did not say I would not comment on your behavior as gentlemen!"

  "And that is?" Connal said.

  "Hideously lacking!" With a sharp snap of her fingers, she vanished.

  "Oops," Duncan said. "Look for a hailstorm soon. In your chamber."

  Connal laughed softly, sinking into the chair. "You are the one who teased her."

  "Aye, but did you see her eyes? By the Gods, she could spit ice with those beauties." Connal had to agree and waved at the bit of red mist she left behind as Duncan rose and went to an elegant table, the piece out of place in the rough stone castle. From a fine glass decanter he poured wine into goblets that he brought to his desk. He offered one to Connal.

  "I served with DeCourcy, too, PenDragon. I was his legion commander for a while."

  Connal stared.

  "I know Sinead holds this against you. I'd heard her speak of it once years back."

  Connal's chest tightened. How was he to fight anger that old?

  "I'd little prospects like this," he gestured to the castle as a whole, "and mercenary work was my only choice. You'd do well to tell her of me and see the rift settled."

  Duncan's intuition over the problems he and Sinead faced made Connal wonder where he'd learned it, or were they simply too plain in their feelings? "Then she will hate you as well."

  Duncan shook his head. "She's not capable of such hatred." At Connal's sour look, he added, "Tell her and she will see that some of us do as we must to survive." Duncan propped his hip on the edge of the desk. "She is the soul of the land, my lord. She feels 'tis her duty to keep it pure."

  "She cannot and she knows it." Connal drank. "And I will not start a war for the feelings in a woman's heart."

  "Wars have started for less. The king lays his law in your hands, PenDragon, yet has she refused to abide it?"

  "Nay," he said, conceding that she hadn't fought him on the oaths at all. "The king orders our marriage and she refuses to even consider it." She thinks me a traitor, more English than Irish, he thought. Lord above, if she knew the truth, would she accept him or loathe him more? Connal gulped another swallow. "She wants only love, and I cannot give it."

  "Love is all that really matters," Duncan said solemnly, watching him carefully.

  Connal scoffed, not believing love changed a bloody thing in his life. "I would not have thought you so soft, Laird MacGuinness."

  "Duncan please, and aye, soft for a woman, soft for an easier life." Duncan shook his head. "I had a different future planned. Be a mercenary, retire young, marry and raise fat babies." He shook his head sagely and moved to stare out the window. He finished off his drink before he said, "I was not to be laird. But the English slew my family and I was the only one who survived. I will rule till Andrew is ready. But if he continues going about attacking travelers, he will not live so long. For certain I will tan his hide till he drops for the attack."

  "Punish him like a man and he will learn. Punish like a boy and he will hate." 'Twas what Connal learned from Gaelan.

  Duncan cocked a look at the knight, then nodded. "Aye. I've raised the boy, and not very well."

  "He acted bravely, Duncan."

  "Yet you did naught when he spat at you? I thank you for not killing the impudent whelp." Duncan poured and drank.

  "I expected anger from my kin. Some still see Ireland as it was, and my role with the English breeds hatred. And the Crusades taught me patience."

  "I almost envy your adventures."

  A shadow passed over Connal's features. "Do not. I would trade them for peace and a home."

  Duncan sighed, draining his glass and refilling it again. "Now," he said taking the document and settling back into his chair to sign, "let us get this done."

  Connal peered over the rim of his glass as he read it again, then penned his signature. He impressed his seal, laid the paper aside, then lifted his glass in a toast. "To Richard, may he return home in time to squash his brother like a bug."

  "Please God, aye." Duncan smirked and tossed back the warm drink.

  "Now, Connal, tell me about you and Sinead. Last I recall she insisted to everyone who would listen that you two were mates of the soul. And she was but six at the time."

  Connal's throat tightened. "Our match is by order of the king and naught more." It cannot be more, he thought. For her sake and his own.

  "Oh-ho, prince of Erin, you have been away far too long, and surrounded by too many foreign women."

  "And you think to teach me about Irish lasses, old man?"

  Duncan snickered drunkenly. "I'm sure you do not need lessons when half my female household lurks beyond yon door, wondering which wench will be in your bed tonight. But I will tell you, her vile temper aside, when Sinead loves, 'tis a force to be reckoned with."

  Connal shifted in the chair, scowling. "How the hell would you know?"

  Duncan frowned curiously. "She has not told you of the O'Brien? Markus?"

  The betrothal.

  "Her parents mentioned 'twas a poor choice."

  Duncan scoffed rudely, then drained his cup. "Have a caution, laddie. I adore Sinead, but the man who hurts her pays dearly."

  "Explain yourself, man," Connal demanded.

  "Her father killed him." Duncan promptly slipped back into the chair and passed out.

  Connal blinked, stunned, and when he stood and shook the clan leader, the man only muttered incoherently and wiggled his fingers. Connal set the glass aside and left the chamber, working his way around women and asking after Sinead. A young man led him abovestairs to the chamber vacated for him. Sinead, he was told, was farther down the corridor.

  He hesitated before his door, thoughtful, glancing once toward her chamber before striding quickly inside and to the bed.

  He brushed back the drape and lost his breath.

  God above, even in repose the woman devastated his senses, and a sharp spike of longing shot through him. Her hair webbed her shoulders like a cloak and with her arm thrown back over her head, she looked delicate. Fragile. She stirred, lazily rolling to her side, and the sheet slipped, baring her side and naked back to his hungry gaze.

  Then he saw the scar, thin and silvery running from her shoulder blade to curl under her arm and over her ribs.

  My God. He bent closer, peeling the fabric, and saw its end was deep.

  Connal had witnessed many wounds in his lifetime and knew without doubt that this was caused from the single strike of a whip. He squeezed his eyes shut, wanting to repay whoever had done this to her and wondering after their identity. Had she been beaten like her mother? He could not fathom Raymond or Fionna doing such a thing, ever, and the thoughts racing through his mind ended with a man. This beast to whom she'd given her love.

  His fingertips grazed the mark and she woke instantly, her hand flying up. Connal felt the punch of something hitting his chest, firm but not enough to push him back. Sinead rolled quickly to her back, staring up at him with wide-eyed fear. Then she scrambled back against the headboard.

  "Stay back, PenDragon, or I will bring this chamber down upon you!" Sinead put up her hand, sending energy toward him, yet naught happened, leaving her helpless.

  Connal frowned, standing his ground. "I will not harm you, lass. I swear it."

  "I believe little of oaths from men."

&n
bsp; Her words spat with full venom and a dark bitterness he'd never imagined to hear from her. "I am not the O'Brien."

  She inhaled sharply. "Duncan speaks too much."

  "Why did you not tell me of him?"

  "'Twas nay your affair."

  "How can you say that? Look at you. You cower from me. Think you I would beat a woman?"

  "Nay," she said bravely, and he loathed her doubt. Connal moved closer, sitting carefully on the edge of the bed. It creaked beneath his weight and that she struggled for more distance fractured his heart. Compassion flooded through him. She trembled delicately, yet valiantly tried to hide it from him. And he took comfort that with the snap of her fingers or the wave of her hand, she could leave, yet remained. Defiant to her fears.

  Her gaze searched his face, then lowered to his hands, and he remembered the moments at her castle, how she flinched when he'd reached for her, and on the parapet when she'd run from him.

  "Tell me."

  "Nay."

  "I have the right to know."

  "You do not!"

  "Sinead," he said patiently, "if I do not know the whole of it, how can we be wed?"

  She made a sour face. "We won't."

  He ignored that. "He beat you. Why? Or should I be surprised 'twas not for your sass."

  Tears glassed her eyes and he felt instantly contrite for his teasing.

  "I did naught to deserve it! I was but six and ten and I fell in love with him!" spilled from her. Instantly she wished she'd not spoken at all.

  The lines bracketing his mouth tightened. "I'd suspected as much," he encouraged softly and knowing it sent a wild stab of pain through his chest as he imagined Sinead, younger, innocent, and trusting. "Tell me, lass."

  She hesitated, her gaze riveted to his, and the compassion she saw there broke the dam of silence. "Markus swore his love for me and was all I'd hoped for, until he learned I had no magic."

  "No magic? I do not understand."

  "I told you," she said impatiently, wishing she hadn't opened this door. "My mother took it from me. From the day I cast on you, she bound me, and when Markus courted me, he was unaware. Only my parents knew, and though the people understood I was gifted, they thought me … tamed."