THE IRISH KNIGHT

by Amy J. Fetzer

  "Nay."

  "A contract signed."

  "Nay," Sinead said, and Connal flinched inside. Obviously DeClare had not confided that in the faeries.

  "Then I beg to differ, PenDragon; till at least signatures are affixed, there is naught atween you—" Galwyn looked at the bed—"but lust."

  "Shh!" Sinead said and brushed the faery back. He went tumbling to the floor.

  Connal choked a laugh. The gall of the little speck, he thought.

  Galwyn did not think it so funny and flew up to point his tiny sword at Connal's face.

  Connal, his hand braced on his hips, snapped his jaws at the sprite.

  Before he could bite his wing, Kiarae grabbed Galwyn's arm and yanked him back, whispering heatedly. All they heard was, "He started it."

  Sinead hid her smile and said, "Kiarae, can you not control his temper?"

  "Nay more than Connal can do yours, I suppose," she snipped over her shoulder as she soothed Galwyn.

  Connal grinned. "Impossible, is it not, lassie?"

  "Quite so, my lord," Kiarae said with a deliciously sly look in his direction, her skin glowing to show a blush.

  Galwyn rolled his eyes and still glared between the two humans. "We've been sent to see if you are well and fit."

  "And rather annoyed at the chore, I see."

  "We were at the winter festi—"

  Kiarae pinched Galwyn. "Nay, nay, Princess. Of course not."

  Galwyn glared, Kiarae snubbed him, and Sinead hid a smile neither faery would appreciate.

  "'Tis dangerous here." Kiarae's wings fluttered and crystal ash dusted the air. Her blue-white skin glowed to nearly translucent, her snow white gown making her almost invisible in the firelight.

  "Connal is always near."

  "Aye," Galwyn said with feeling. "'Tis the danger we speak of." He tossed his head, blond hair sparkling the darkness. "Why is he here at this late hour, half clothed?"

  "Less than half," Kiarae said with an admiring glance at Connal. For a moment Galwyn looked jealous.

  "I had a nightmare."

  Kiarae moaned in sympathy.

  "Connal came to me."

  "Well, 'tis over; send him away."

  She looked at Connal. He stood like a great oak, his arms folded, his expression saying he would not be budged. "You may try if you wish."

  Neither made the effort.

  Sinead grinned as the faery fluttered down to settle on a peak of a log. Kiarae, who was centuries older than her, looked no more than sixteen summers old. Even with the unattractive scowl. The faery folded her arms and tapped her foot and the motion felt oddly familiar to Sinead. Galwyn flew down to stand beside the girl faery, his hand ever ready on the hilt of his tiny sword. Sinead's gaze shifted from one faery to the other.

  "You have seen me, now go home."

  "We are to remain with you," Galwyn groused as if 'twere a hated chore.

  "I have nay needed a nursemaid for some years now." Galwyn looked at Kiarae. "I told you she would be like this."

  "Aye, love." She sighed tiredly. "That you did."

  "Then do something," Galwyn said, frustration in his tone.

  Kiarae leveled him a tight, you-are-a-stupid-male look Sinead had seen before, then grabbed his hand, pulling the prince of the forest back so she could not hear. Kiarae was only a bit less fierce than her lover, but Sinead had known since she was a babe, the pair were overprotective and meddlesome. But harmless.

  She did not need any meddling right now.

  Connal continued to stare, amusement on his face.

  "Should you not be keeping the yearling trees green, Galwyn?" He peered over the edge of Kiarae's wing, then pushed it down. "And why are you not seeing the sleeping flowers do not die?" she said to Kiarae. "And where are your sisters?"

  "They gather for the feast of Imbolc," Kiarae said.

  Sinead frowned. "'Tis not for a month."

  Kiarae shrugged, and silver-blue dust scattered to the floor. "We are little. It takes time."

  Sinead laughed lightly, and out of the corner of her eye she saw Connal rub his mouth to hide his humor.

  Kiarae left Galwyn's side and fluttered in the air afore Sinead. "You have told him of the dreams? All of it?"

  Sinead exchanged a glance with Connal. "Aye."

  Kiarae sighed, obviously pleased. But Galwyn was still cranky. "Well, I do not like that he is here, like that, in the dark. And … and—" Galwyn struggled for more reasons, and Connal suspected there was a bit of jealousy growing here.

  "You impeach her honor, and mine, with those words." Connal reached for the back of his tunic and plucked the male from the log, holding him up for inspection. "What is atween us is private. Sinead is wise enough to know what is best for her, and that, my little friend, is me."

  Kiarae flew to Galwyn's defense. "Unhand him!"

  "Connal," Sinead said. "'Tis not wise to anger…"

  "I am speaking man-to-man. Am I not?" he said, dangling the faery, and the tiny sprite looked suddenly honored. "Galwyn does not trust me. With good reason," he added with a sly wink at the faery lad.

  "I trust him," Sinead said, leaving the chair and coming to Connal's side.

  Connal's smile wavered with that, and he released Galwyn. The faery huffed and adjusted his tunic.

  Sinead stood with her back to Connal. "Tell Mother and Father we are well."

  "And that I sent you on your way," Connal added, pulling Sinead back against him.

  The faeries looked at each other, then at the humans, and grinned. "Adieu," they said and blinked out of sight.

  Connal laughed quietly. "Those were the playmates of a witch?"

  "My guardians." Sinead tipped her head back to look at him. "Aye, and if I know them, and I do, they are not so far away."

  He frowned. "They would not—"

  "Aye, they would."

  Connal sighed hard, then kissed her forehead, not trusting himself to do more. "I shall find my bed," he groused and with a lingering touch, walked to the door. He paused his hand on the latch and frowned back at her. "You were alone a lot as a child?"

  She nodded.

  "That has ended, Sinead; you will never be alone."

  He stepped out and closed the door.

  "Neither will you," she whispered. "If you will only learn to trust, my love. Neither will you."

  * * *

  Chapter 16

  « ^ »

  Connal was rarely farther than two strides from her, yet his mind was elsewhere. The look on his face, mapped with concern, spoke more loudly than words. Sinead studied him where he stood with his comrades, Lord DeCourcy and a crowd of knights. He held a goblet but did not drink. He listened to conversation yet did not contribute.

  'Twas his manner since they'd returned from a ride upon DeCourcy's lands. Connal's request to see the township and villages had come as a shock, as had his insistence that she come with him.

  "They are as much my kin as your tenants, my lord," he'd said to Lord DeCourcy. "I would see their wellness fair and right as much for myself as to report such to the king." DeCourcy had taken mild offense but had complied.

  Connal's words were simple and telling. And with them, he took another piece of her heart. And gave back uncertainty. What was to become of them, their lives, once they reached England and stood before the king? How long could she continue to defy a monarch and, likely, shame Connal?

  He lifted his gaze and met hers across the great hall. She felt it climb over her, sweep across her body and face with the mastery of touch. Her skin warmed beneath her borrowed green gown, tingling with energy and begging her to recall his arms around her, the exquisite kisses they'd shared last night. Like the one in the Irish king's chamber.

  'Twas a dark haunted kiss of deep possession, carving an imprint in her that would tear through if she allowed it. A moment of reckoning. A cry from her heart she feared would never be answered.

  She loved him. Her soul had known it since childhood. Her woman's hear
t had refused till now. The very realization left her breathless, her soul opening to fill with the love she was destined to offer him. Her gaze trapped in his, she thought … would he ever be able to accept it? Without conditions? Even the mention of it closed him like a slamming door and left her again, alone.

  His brows furrowed softly. Could he sense her now? She prayed she was deft enough to conceal her feelings, for ever since she'd taken the crossbow bolt, he'd let himself experience what he'd kept trapped inside for years. 'Tis a grand fine mess you've made, she told herself. Since his return to Ireland, she'd wished him to accept and trust the sixth sense in himself, and now that he was, the disadvantage was to her own heart. He was still so unwilling to concede much of himself to her and she wondered what still kept him tucked away in the English facade that serving King Richard had fashioned around him.

  "He devours you with his eyes," Affreca said from her seat beside her.

  Sinead laughed to herself, for they'd been chaffing about her family, and clans. "'Tis good then, for oftimes he bludgeons me with them."

  DeCourcy's wife touched her hand, and Sinead looked at her. "My John tells me the king has betrothed you to him."

  "The king has spoken. I have not agreed."

  Affreca frowned.

  "I have the right to choose." And I choose him if only he would love me back, she thought.

  Affreca smiled patiently. "I did, too, from a select group of men."

  "I had no such selection." And she had made them all unsuitable, she knew, and agreeing to wed Markus had been a poor excuse to abolish Connal from her heart.

  "He is not fit enough for you? Not handsome and virile enough?"

  Sinead flushed a bit and looked at Connal. "Aye."

  "Honorable, trustworthy?"

  Sinead did not hesitate. "Aye, he is that."

  "And you love him."

  Her gaze snapped to Affreca's.

  "He is simply too unsure to see it."

  "Connal is unsure of naught, my lady."

  Aye, Sinead thought. He was certain his past made him unworthy of a loving heart. He was certain of his duty to the king. And he was certain she would wed him because the king had so ordered.

  Hooey, she thought.

  He spoke of duty and dictates, and yet she truly was only a bargain. Only without her lands and castle, without her magic, would she know if she held a place in his heart. But as that was not possible, she'd never know the truth.

  "'Tis your perception of him that is at fault, Sinead."

  She frowned, confused.

  "You are, some say … a legend. Ah! That is not a pretty face you make." Sinead smiled, contrite. "'Tis clear to all who watch that he cares deeply for you and yet, mayhaps, he hesitates to say more, for he wonders if he will ever measure up as a man."

  Sinead blinked, wide-eyed. "Look at him, Affreca." She gestured toward Connal. "Are you not seeing the same man as I? The rest of the world should measure so well against him."

  Affreca took a stitch in the embroidery laying across her lap. "But magic is not a thing one can best in a joust, you know."

  Sinead was aghast. "'Tis ridiculous. One has naught to do with the other."

  "To you, mayhaps. But men, they are strange creatures."

  Sinead looked back to Connal. Aye, he'd resented her gift afore, and yet now he'd accepted it. He'd asked her only not to use it afore anyone here. And of course, last eve, not to burn the castle down around them. Yet she understood why he'd suppressed his gift of the senses for so long. She was an oddity to all because of hers and yet had years to grow accustomed to the knowledge of change. She realized what trouble it could cause him, what she had caused him. Especially now with an assassin at their heels. None would wish to be near him if they knew. Yet the benefits were his alone. And mayhaps the king's. But Connal was not willing to trust the secret with anyone but her.

  That alone won the battle inside her.

  "Go to him," Affreca whispered, and Sinead did not spare her a glance, rising and moving through the throngs of people toward him. He tore his gaze from Monroe and watched her approach.

  'Twas exhilarating, the way he looked at her, the feeling of belonging sweeping through her in potent waves. His arm swept around her waist, the gesture at once possessive and comforting. As it was, so it is again, she thought, trying to contain the hurried pounding in her heart.

  * * *

  Connal reined back sharply and did not bother to turn around. "Sinead, I know you are there, dammit."

  "If you know, PenDragon, then do not swear at me."

  PenDragon. A telling mark that she was angry. He dropped his head forward, thinking he should have known he would not get so far from her without her knowing. But he had to do this alone.

  He wheeled his mount around and found her standing in the road, her hands on her hips, her foot tapping. Angry, aye, he thought, but damn delectable. Last night sprang through his mind with amazing clarity. Her taste. The feel of her body wrapped around his as they kissed, and—suddenly angry she'd risked her life, he rode toward her, taking small pleasure in her wide-eyed expression as he bent and snatched her from the ground. He rode for a few more yards, depositing her on his lap before he yanked back on the reins.

  "You little fool! After all the trouble we've had, why did you leave the encampment and the protection of the guards?"

  "To find you! You slip out in the dark and do not tell me? Think you I will not worry?"

  "I can care for myself."

  "I do not deny that," she snapped, "But did my telling the dream not mean a thing to you?"

  "Did my warning not to leave your guards mean naught to you?" he snapped back.

  "You are my protector, PenDragon. You have claimed such often enough. Now you abandon me?" Sinead knew 'twas unfair, but if he trusted her he would have at least told her he was leaving the camp.

  "I would have returned by morning, lass. And your dream served its purpose, a warning."

  She gripped his arms. "It happened out of doors, Connal."

  It was her expression that snagged him. Her earnest eyes, the fear.

  He groaned and pressed his forehead to hers. "Forgive me for scaring you."

  "Do not do that again."

  "Now will you return to Nahjar's care?"

  "Nay. I'm going with you."

  "I think not."

  Her look was impatient. "Do not get all swelled up and red with fury, Connal. I can go alone, ahead of you, if I wish."

  She lifted her arms out, palms cupped to the sky, something she did and needed for her most powerful magic, and Connal pushed them down. "Nay, you will not, and how do you know where I go?" Even as he asked the question he knew 'twas ridiculous.

  "We are but a few miles from Saint Catherine's Abbey."

  He stiffened, looking away, and when the horse jostled beneath them, Connal realized how unwise it was for them to be standing in the open road. He glanced about for a suitable place to camp and talk her out of joining him. This, he needed to do alone. He had to convince her to return to the camp by her choice or she'd simply conjure and reappear again, and likely in more danger.

  Abruptly he set her to the ground, then dismounted, grabbed her hand, and pulled her and his horse into the thicket of trees. He went about checking the area, and after a moment decided they were hidden well enough and could see anyone coming down the road.

  He whipped around when he heard, "Goddess of the Moon, God of the Sun"—she lifted her arms high, palms out—"hear me. Veil us in your protective light, from arrow and sword, from harm and sight." A gold light radiated from her, a thin barrier between her and the world. "So I say, so mote it be!"

  He heard a creaking sound and reached for his sword, glancing about. The trees curled, trunks bending back to cup the small clearing. Overhead branches elongated, stretching to meet each other like the weave of threads and envelop them in a dome of rowan trees.

  She lowered her arms and met his gaze.

  "Good God, Sine
ad. If you can do that, can you do something to protect yourself from harm?"

  Moving closer, she gathered dead branches and leaves, dropping item into a pile. "Aye, but I have the power to control the elements to safeguard myself, Connal, not the power to control free will."

  Connal added a few sticks and, rolling her wrist, she brought fire into her palm. She spilled it on the wood.

  "That is good to know at least."

  "Why?" Then she smiled and said, "Think I put a spell on you?"

  Too late, his look said he'd thought about it.

  She shook her head. She decided it did not matter. "Emotions are free will. And whilst some people do not show them, inside they cannot be changed." She stepped within a foot of him. "This sight of the heart you have, I do not."

  "Good. No man wishes a woman to have more power than he," he said without thinking. He flashed her a sheepish smile. "I have wondered often these past weeks, how was I to be equal to you when you can command the elements with the flick of your hand?" He knelt to feed cracked logs into the fire. "Since I was a boy, I'd resented the bloody hell out of it. You had magnificent tools to alter lives and yet you played with it."

  "I was a child then, and knew no better."

  "I could not shake loose of that. Till now."

  She frowned, edging closer to him. "What changed your mind?"

  "That you do not toy with it. That you use it to better lives and property when all hope is lost."

  "Ah," she said. "To see with thine eyes has made it so. But not me speaking such did."

  He opened his mouth and after a false start burst with, "Aye, I did not trust you."

  "'Twas rather mutual."

  On one knee, he fed the flames, refusing to look at her and see the unanswered question in her eyes. Can you trust me now?

  She did not ask it, and when he stood, she was inches from him. She laid her hand on his chest, as if to keep him there. Connal felt the burn of her touch swell beneath his clothes and focused on her, his senses sharpening with a razor's edge. Emotions came with images, crowding upon one another. Within her was a locked door eager to be opened, yet she refused, butting against it to keep it closed. So much so, he felt her heartbeat quicken, and the connection that simmered between them intensified.