THE IRISH KNIGHT

by Amy J. Fetzer

  His lips quirked with tender humor.

  "When he wanted me to cast for riches, I refused. For his love I would have given him the world, but I'd no power." She sank into the bedding, the motions drawing her a little closer, and Connal took comfort in it. "I'd been sent to him and his mother afore the wedding. I was alone but for Monroe as my escort. Days afore we were to be wed, he learned the truth but did not believe me. Markus's mother, like his people, obeyed him without question, and when he put me in the tower, 'twas to force me to cast. She did naught to stop him." A single tear slid down her cheek and she dashed it away. "Monroe asked after me, and when all refused to reveal where I was, he challenged Markus's captain. My mother sensed the trouble and she and Father were already on their way to the keep. Markus had just done this when they'd arrived." She gestured to her side. "He'd done far worse to my face already."

  Pity and anger kipped across Connal's features and Sinead lifted her chin, not wanting any of it.

  "My father's men stormed the castle, for by then Mother knew what Markus had done and had come by magic to free me. But my father was not satisfied with that and took the O'Brien's head." She looked down at her hands. "They have not forgiven themselves for giving me to Markus. Mother returned my gifts that very moment. And Monroe has dedicated his life to protecting me." She looked up, her smile feeble. "Even from myself."

  Connal swallowed heavily, imagining those last moments, Fionna's and Raymond's guilt, for if she'd had her gifts, she would have been able to protect herself. Connal felt somehow responsible.

  "'Tis not your fault," she said suddenly, recognizing the look on his face, the feelings rippling between them. She scooted closer, clutching the sheet.

  "If I had been more compassionate mayhaps, and let your innocent claims of love die a mature heart's death, then mayhaps your magic would not have been bound against you."

  "Nay. I was a spoiled brat who saw the world as her playground then."

  "You loved so deeply as a child. How could this man not see the gift of that?"

  A leap of joy crested through her heart, for hearing those words from him had been an innocent dream. Yet the truth of it made her scoff, then fold her legs beneath her, as if they were in a garden and not in her chamber. Or on her bed.

  "I've been courted well, and by many. They wish for the riches and power magic can bring. They do not understand the rules and want the power I possess." She shrugged as if it did not matter.

  "But never the love."

  Her gaze locked with his. "Nay, never that."

  Connal looked away, harboring his own doubts in himself behind a mask of indifference. Yet the unanswered questions lingered. And he could almost hear her say, is it possible for us? And he'd no answer for it.

  "Oh, they claim such feelings, but if 'twere true and right, they'd have no need of riches, for love would be the greatest magic."

  Connal felt the dangerous slice of her words cut through him. Love was no longer in him to give, he wanted to tell her, but she'd ask why, demand it. And he could not speak the words. It would kill him to admit his crimes.

  When he said naught, Sinead could no longer look him in the eye and called herself a coward for sliding down into the bedding and wrapping herself in furs. "You may return to your own chamber."

  "I do not think so."

  She twisted a look back over her shoulder. He was stripping off his clothing, his sword already propped against the stone wall.

  "Do not think to share this bed with me, PenDragon! Sleep on the floor if you must remain."

  Her panic unfolded like the wind through the trees, rustling through him. He kept his voice calm and even. "Nay, I am tired as well. You are safe with me, Sinead. For unlike the O'Brien, I have honor."

  Sinead did not doubt that, but watching him bare his scarred chest, then lay on the bed, eased little of her fears. He was a mountain of flesh and muscle, his warmth calling to her now. She dared not move closer or find herself on her back and beneath him, yet she considered that this was actually good fortune, lest someone take it upon themselves to avenge England's wrongs on him during the night. Though her dream had him in battle, in the forest, Sinead did not trust that as truth. Riddles were oftimes the root of her premonitions.

  "Go to sleep, Sinead. You are protected."

  She made a rude sound and, sitting up, lifted one hand to the ceiling. "Veil of the Goddess, drape this chamber. Veil of the God, bind it tight. Protect us in your blanket of love and seal it till the morning light."

  Connal rose as she'd chanted and now stared in awe as, when she lowered her hand, a blanket of tiny stars, like light on water, trickled gently down upon them.

  "Now we are protected," she said, and dropped onto the bed, her back to him.

  Connal settled slowly back down, struck again at how perfectly magical Sinead was. And how deeply unworthy he felt when she did that. Did she not think him at all capable of protecting her? 'Twas damned emasculating, he thought, and tried to sleep.

  During the night Sinead stirred and did not wake from a tortured dream, but from a soothing peace she'd sought for a fortnight past. She shifted carefully, opening her eyes. Her gaze moved over his bare chest, torn from war and chiseled with strength. Odd that she felt no fear at the sight of those big hands; yet in a temper, would he hurt her? Markus had not shown his true plan till she'd refused to give him her magic. Yet Connal wanted naught of her gift, nor his own.

  Markus's angry words spewed vilely through her mind … freakish, unnatural. Inhuman. Still now, they made her feel unworthy, an outsider to the love her heart cried to embrace. Is it my doom to need unquestionable love to survive, or my doom to never know it? And if the king would force her, what was to become of her people, her land, when she mated with a man who wanted only to be Richard's first knight, to honor his duty, even with her as the sacrifice?

  She did not know which was worse, to be wanted for only her magic or needed for the sake of an alliance. 'Twas the way of the English kings, she thought, yet could not resign herself so easily.

  Her gaze lit on the scars painting his sun-dark skin, each mark of battle beckoning her touch. As a child and an innocent girl she'd loved this man, and she recognized now that his dismissal only buried those feelings deep within her. The longer she was near him, the harder it was to hide and not drag them out and question them daily. Was it old feelings she experienced or new? Was it past wounds that kept her guarded from him or the knowledge that if he knew her heart stirred for him, he'd use it against her? He'd discarded her love once afore.

  'Twas a weapon she could not give. Not when his heart was sealed against her and Ireland. Ah, but what woman would not want this man in her bed? she thought, letting her gaze travel the length of him again. He was braw and handsome and strong … the spin of desire swept through her suddenly, making her shiver, and when her gaze returned to his face, she found him staring at her.

  He did not move.

  "Is there aught you wish to say to me?"

  "Nay."

  Connal's gaze made a slow prowl over her body wrapped in the sheet. She looked flush and ripe and 'twas all he could do not to reach for her and kiss her endlessly. "Scared?"

  She scoffed.

  "Good. Go to sleep; our journey on the morrow will be long and fast." He rolled to his side, squeezing his eyes shut and calling on the patience he'd learned in prison.

  Sinead slid to the far edge of the bed, burrowed deep under the furs. She slept, safe in the knowledge that he was near, safe in the knowledge that he would not die this night.

  In the early morning, Connal awoke sharply, his body tight for pleasure and aching for satisfaction. An instant later, he understood why. Sinead was tucked close to his back, her warm naked breasts teasing him with her breathing, her arm around his waist. Yet 'twas her hand splayed low on his belly that threatened his control. His blood pulsed hard through his veins like a racing horse. His erection flexed and thickened. Damn me, he thought, and wanted naught mor
e than to roll over and take her beneath him, fill her, pleasure her and himself.

  Yet to waken her any other way would frighten her. For he did not doubt that beating Sinead was not the only act inflicted upon her by Markus O'Brien. The thought of her helpless sickened him all over again, and Connal vowed he would tread carefully. Slowly he slid to the edge of the bed, nearly falling to the floor in his efforts not to wake her. He glanced over at her. She gripped his pillow tightly and slept on.

  'Twas almost insulting to be so easily discarded, and he moved to the pitcher and basin, praying for ice cold water and a way to relieve his agony. Yet he knew, the longer he was near Sinead, naught would satisfy him.

  Except the woman herself.

  * * *

  Chapter 10

  « ^ »

  Wrapped in an oilcloth, a solitary man huddled in the bow of the ship, his gaze on the shoreline ahead. The ship bobbed as it fought the current and icy winds to northern Ireland's shore, and the heavy spray soaked through his already damp garment. Tucked in his hand was a dagger, his only protection against those who'd stop him. And he knew they would try. The wound in his side and the loss of his sword spoke of their last attempt.

  He glanced back at the crewmen working the sail lines, the captain eyeing the shore, then him. Moments counted and he feared he'd not reach Ireland in time to sound the warning. The lives of his kin hung in the balance, their value no more than a coin played in a game, a final pawn to be expended in the battle atween brothers.

  * * *

  It had been a while since Sinead felt this wonderful. A night without dreams, she thought, was as pleasant as the morn. The sun reigned supreme over the clouds this day as they rode, the shine of light glittering off fresh fallen snow. Though Connal was a length ahead of her, their trek was slow, and a sweet joy filled Sinead as she looked around. Icicles hung from evergreen trees like spiral gems, each twinkling back at her as they passed. She inhaled the cold, crisp air and, losing the reins, stretched her arms wide. She called to the wild things.

  "Come the wild and free," she whispered. "Come and show me the life in the barren land of ice and snow. Nurture my spirit. Nurture the lands. Come forth and be seen!"

  Lowering her arms, she smiled when a few rabbits poked their faces from the burrows. Birds flew down to sit upon her shoulder and head. Then a deer trotted from the edge of the tree line, studying Connal a few yards ahead of her, then Sinead. The fawn ventured quickly closer, and Genevieve remained calm as the young deer walked alongside her mount. Sinead slowed, leaning down to pet the animal, then looked around for its mother. A proud doe showed herself, and Sinead pushed the child toward her parent. But she would not go.

  "Sinead, just what are you doing?"

  The amusement in his voice pleased her. "Visiting a wee bit."

  "Really." Connal smiled, riding back to her. She was covered with birds, some finding a nest in her hair and peeping with contentment whilst others made a fine marching line down her mount's fetlocks. She laughed lightly as they pecked at her hair, and Connal thought it the sweetest sound. For a moment he simply watched her, the smile he rarely saw, the comfort she took in the animals. Then one bird jumped from her to his thigh, inching its way up, and Connal let it perch on his hand. It sang prettily for a moment, then preened for him. He grinned and, with his teeth, pulled off his gauntlet to stroke the bird's tiny head.

  Sinead smiled. The bird was no bigger than a nut compared to him, like a great beast touching a delicate flower. The birds chirped noisily, all at once, and Sinead's brow knit.

  "Well, have they any news?"

  "Learn that yourself."

  His expression went sharp and unruly. "I think not." The bird flew away and Connal turned his mount ahead.

  Sinead said good-bye to the animals, and they scampered and alighted for the trees, plucking a few strands of her hair before she rode alongside him. "Why do you deny the gift our family has?"

  "I do not deny it exists, Sinead. I choose not to take advantage of it."

  "'Twould not be a gift then, but a curse."

  "Exactly."

  "Fool."

  His gaze snapped to hers. Her eyes were glossed with unshed tears. As if his denial wounded her.

  "'Twas given to you for a reason, knight. As was mine. Not for your advantage, but for others."

  He scoffed rudely, and she wondered exactly how much he loathed her power. He could not accept the woman she was and her gift of change till he recaptured his own. 'Twas part of his birthright as a descendant of the Tuatha De Dannon, part of who he was, and hiding it beneath that learned English calm was hurting him. And it pained her to see him fight it.

  "Do you not think that mayhaps 'tis harder to fight than accept?"

  "Do you not understand, Sinead? I do not want this … gift." He glared at the woodlands, sensations he hadn't known since he was a boy reeling through him. The fright of the animals, wary for the human who hunted for food. "I cannot have it."

  He urged his mount forward and, the path wide enough for the horses, she fell in pace aside him.

  "Why? Tell me why so I might understand."

  His gaze snapped to hers. "I have struggled to gain Richard's trust and being a creature would not keep it."

  She felt that like a stinging slap. But she was accustomed to such names. "So you smothered it." To avoid scaring anyone, to avoid being marked as she was.

  "Aye, and till I returned to Ireland, I lived bloody damned fine without it."

  Instead of anger, she smiled with patient understanding. "It comes from the land."

  He scoffed. "It comes because of you."

  "Me? I have no such gift, nor could I give it. Why would you say such a thing?"

  "Because I feel too much near you, and I cannot think clearly with it crowding me." He would not admit that he was in a constant state of turmoil around her, that it took every ounce of his will to keep his thoughts under control. And his focus on his duty and not having Sinead, in his bed, in every way possible.

  "'Tis but lust."

  His eyes smoldered, his body remembering the imprint of hers against his spine, her hand low and teasing on his belly. He was still hard from it. "Mayhaps. But I know what you feel."

  Was her blush as telling as what lay in her heart? "I speak my mind, knight, and anymore, I will conjure against that," she said lightly. "Few women want a man to be privy to their thoughts."

  "Not thoughts, but…" He struggled to explain, unaware that he was opening himself up to more when he did so. "Heartbeats."

  When she gazed at him, patient for more, he felt the gentle pull of his soul. Damn me, he thought, reaching out to grasp her hand. Her eyes flared beautifully.

  "Like now, I feel your heart's pace hastening. A warmth pouring through you." Her heartbeat tripled and his smile grew full of male arrogance. "And last night I felt your torment as if I wore it 'neath my skin."

  "Do you not see the truth, then? As a lad you sensed animals, but age has given you more." Her joy was solitary and short-lived.

  He pulled back, knowing she spoke the truth and hating losing the control he'd taken years to forge. "Do you not understand that I will lose all I have if anyone learns of this?" His voice was harsh and deep with self-anger. "What will happen to me and Ireland if Richard denies the rights and favor I have?"

  Aye, she understood. Connal had enough of the king's friendship to do his duty as he pleased, at his leisure. It could be easily lost, for Richard was bent on forcing religion on an entire race; the pair of them would matter little. And without that trust, someone else would come in Connal's place and be unwilling to bear the brunt of England's wrongs on Ireland as he had. She admired him for that. But the risk to his life should anyone learn of it was as great a hazard as her power was to her. She could bend the elements, but he was helpless but for his sword and his word of honor. As strong as he was, they held little strength against a council of unenlightened witch hunters. Was this the reason he died in those nightmares
, for his gift? The thought reaffirmed her vows to stop the prophecy of her dreams. He'd no one but her to protect him.

  "Then I suggest you keep your mouth shut about it."

  He eyed her, wondering why she looked scared all of a sudden.

  "Be careful with it, PenDragon. 'Tis a gift not to be abused," she said cryptically and left him frowning as he moved ahead on the narrow path.

  She glanced covertly behind them, shooing at the animals that had been hopping, fluttering, and strolling the tree line behind them from the first. She kept her face impassive as they traveled and looked back to wave at a troop of rabbits lodged in the snow like rocks, as if bidding them good journey.

  Deny in your heart, Connal PenDragon, she thought, but the world of magic has embraced you.

  * * *

  Darkness had descended quickly, cloaking them in the small clearing. Around them branches cracked beneath the weight of snow and ice, yet cocked them with their gnarled limbs. Connal sat on one side of the fire and bit into the roasted rabbit, not looking forward to another night alone with Sinead. But 'twas too dangerous to travel in the dark. If all went well, they'd meet Galeron a few miles north of King Rory's fortress by late morning.

  He picked at the crisply cooked meat, watching his moves and listening for intruders. Yet anyone could come upon them for all the attention he mustered. His senses felt as brisk as the cold air, overflowing with the fragrances and warmth of the woman a few feet from him.

  Only his gaze shifted.

  On her knees, she fed dry branches into the fire, her fur cloak thrown back over her shoulders with her hair. His gaze rode unheeded over her body. Her bosom was full and flush in its snug confines, and longing speared through him. She was a small, delicate thing, he thought, her beauty unquestionable, yet Connal did not see that so much when he looked at her, but saw the cloud in her bright blue eyes, the torture she'd suffered for love. And how poor he'd treated her as a boy; then, when she was over her heartache, how the next man nearly killed her for the power he'd abhorred. 'Twas no wonder she distrusted him and his intentions. She'd lost her faith in him years past and he'd done little to regain it since returning. And what had she done except protect what was hers? Relinquishing her hold, even when the king had ordered it, would hurt her.