THE IRISH KNIGHT

by Amy J. Fetzer

  Her gaze searched his. "Speak to me, Connal."

  His expression hardened, shaped with exclusion.

  "You keep a part of you from me like a hound held at bay by its master," Sinead said. "You left Ireland in a rage, I know this. You'd cast your sword at your father's feet and swore never to return, yet you spoke as if a life had ended."

  He took a step back. "It had."

  "Whose, then?"

  Her confusion pummeled him, and he did not look at her, his gaze on the fire. She deserved an answer, he told himself. She was his wife, and though she was unaware of the binding, the burden would eventually reflect on her. He released a long slow breath, his head bowed. He'd never shared this with anyone. Anyone. How would she react? Would he lose what tenderness they'd gained? He wanted badly for her to understand, to know what drove him from Ireland those years back.

  But it would cost him his pride.

  "Connal?" Tension radiated from him like the fire's warmth, bunching his muscles. In the quiet, his knuckles cracked. The turmoil staggered her.

  Orange light christened his hair with fire and Sinead reached out yet did not touch him. "I swear by the Goddess I will not judge you. I only need to know what wounds you so deeply."

  Her voice was soft, lingering in his mind for a moment, soothing with a lilt of the homeland he'd missed so much. His throat tightened and when the words came, they were harsh and low. "I was seven and ten that day, newly knighted and waiting to wield that magnificent sword in righteous service," he scoffed. "But I'd yet to kill a man for my king." He rubbed his face, pushing his fingers through his hair and gripping the back of his skull with one hand. "I said what I thought they wanted to hear. That I was eager to fight for righteousness. When inside I was afraid that in the first taste of battle, I'd piss on myself and rust the armor."

  He laughed without humor and did not look at her.

  "Gaelan thought I should wait. I did not. I wanted to earn my spurs. King Henry himself had knighted me. His finest knights had trained me. Educated well beyond my friends. And I was bigger than most my age."

  He tipped his head back and the wistfulness in his expression sliced open her heart.

  "I was still clumsy, and late at night I would walk a thin log carrying pails of water because I heard Gaelan say it had taught him to be agile. Over and over I practiced, then filled the buckets with stones, then iron. I was determined not to fall on my arse when I first put on that armor for battle. I would have done aught to be a knight like Gaelan." His expression darkened as he looked at her. "I'd lost my right to rule as Prince of Donegal when he married Siobhàn and had accepted it then. Gaelan was the only father I knew and I loved him. I respected him and what he'd made of himself."

  "And you wanted that?"

  "Aye. I did." He rolled around, his shoulders braced against a tree. "I thought I would return when he needed, take his place as his heir. He'd declared it so, for I had the blood of a king in me." He scoffed meanly, pushing off and taking a few steps. He met her gaze. "I heard Gaelan arguing with my … mother. She was insisting something be kept from me. Gaelan thought 'twas best I knew the truth, for if someone should learn of it, I'd be accused of a falsehood and my knighthood stricken from me. I needed to be prepared."

  Oh, my stars, she thought. "Rhiannon," she whispered and did not know how she knew.

  His features yanked taut, sharp in the firelight. "Aye. She is my mother."

  "I don't understand."

  "'Tis all rather clear, is it not?" came bitterly. "She birthed me in the abbey and gave me to Siobhàn to raise. So you see, I haven't a drop of King Tigheran's blood in me. Nor his wife's. I've no right to ever be called prince."

  "Gaelan knew the truth and still named you his heir," Sinead said, confused, and taking several steps closer. His look stopped her. "You left for the lie they told?"

  He shook his head. "Nay. That I could forgive, for I loved Siobhàn and Gaelan and knew well they loved me. But I was young and angry for the secret of years. Yet 'twas my sire that broke the bond."

  Connal plucked his dagger from its sheath at his hip, turning it in the firelight, testing the sharpness with his thumb. Blood blossomed and dripped. He watched it splash on the ground.

  She rushed forward, taking his hand; then, using her sleeve, she blotted it. She swiped at the blood on her own hands.

  He suddenly gripped them. "You have the blood of a traitor on you," he said with a deadly calm.

  "Nay, I do not."

  "You said it yourself, Sinead. I killed my own kin."

  "War breeds strange loyalties; England is here and will not leave," she said, hovering needlessly over the tiny cut. "And your knighthood is a sworn duty." She met his gaze. "I said that to wound you. Out of anger over your absence for so long. To hurt you as you had done to me."

  He pushed her hair off her face. "I am no better than what you claimed. I turned my back on Ireland and traded my family for a mercenary's life."

  "Aye, you did. I can no longer judge your reasons, and these past days you have weathered the cost well. Your past and parents meant little." He looked doubtful, and she said, "Did not Rory wish you to raise arms? Was he not ready to stand behind you and fight?"

  He blinked. "How did you know?" She was near death then.

  She shrugged, accepting that she did. "Rory has always been a bit of a rebel. And Rhiannon—who was her lover?"

  "Patrick. He loved Rhiannon so much he came to her when our people were being slaughtered and still she did not tell her sister, or Gaelan. She hid him. He murdered his own brothers for Lachlan O'Neil, and she knew. Both of them let hundreds die and still Rhiannon said naught!"

  "That is her burden, hers and Patrick's. Not yours."

  He stepped back from her, his cold gaze falling on her like a hammer. "Patrick is dead. Ian Maguire told me he perished taking a sword meant for Gaelan."

  "His sacrifice was to save what was left of his honor."

  He sneered and tossed the dagger. It pierced the ground at his feet. "It does not matter."

  "It does if you think this is a shame you must carry alone." She rushed to him, cupping his face when he would turn away, turn inside. "Nay, look at me, you big ox, and listen well to these words. You are naught like this man who fathered you. He did not touch your life but in death. You are the son of Siobhàn and Gaelan." She released him, yet stood close. "And he was wise to tell you, for you must not only be prepared for others to know the truth, but for you to see that you are the man you are, not for the blood in your veins but for the truth of your heart."

  His gaze searched hers heatedly.

  "Patrick was honorless. I know the tale. I know Lachlan threatened his family with death. What would you do if someone held your sisters' lives and ordered you to kill all those who stand inside Croí an Banríon now to save them? Think of Patrick and how difficult the choice was to him. His love for his family forced him to do it. Rhiannon's love for Patrick forced her to keep it secret or the kin of the man she loved would die."

  Connal tried to put himself in that position as he'd done so many nights in a Saracen prison. And if Siobhàn, Gaelan, or any of his sisters were held? And if it were Sinead he must kill to save them? He swallowed thickly, the thought twisting through his gut, tearing at his soul. "He could have come to Gaelan. He could have betrayed the betrayer and come to Gaelan."

  "Aye, but he did not trust an Englishman. And 'tis done, Connal. Done."

  Connal rubbed his face with both hands. "Aye, aye, I know, but God above, these years have not lessened my shame."

  "Then make peace with yourself."

  His head snapped up, his hands lowering.

  "The blood in your veins matters little." She moved close, taking his hand in hers. "It spills red." She laughed shortly. "'Tis more Irish than mine, actually."

  "Jealous?"

  She shook her head and laid her palm over his heart. Her eyes were soft and smoky as she said, "This is who you are. Here"—she patted his chest�
�"beneath this flesh and muscle, all that matters is why this heart beats strongly, why it hurts and loves and needs." He covered her hand, gripping her fingers. "We cannot control the heart, Connal. But the soul is eternal. Be at peace with yourself and forgive Rhiannon."

  His gaze thinned.

  "She waits for you."

  "She does not know I am near."

  "In yon abbey she abides a score of years for your forgiveness."

  His hands slid downward, the back of them grazing her breasts, and he heard her breath catch before he framed her waist. "You wish that?"

  She shook her head. "Only you can grant it."

  Connal sighed, a terrible weight sliding off his shoulders with the telling. "I cannot promise it."

  She ducked to look under his bowed head. "You will consider it?"

  His lips curved. "Pestering me already?"

  "I will not attempt to sway you, Connal, but I will stand beside you if you need."

  Connal's gaze searched hers, wanting now what he'd denied himself, what he swore he could live without. "Why?"

  Because I love you, she thought, yet said, "If we cannot share the burdens as well as the joys, we have naught."

  "Even without this night, we have had much more atween us."

  Her shoulders moved uselessly. "You want a marriage for land and castles, but in truth, it will be made by us alone."

  Connal instantly thought of the contracts tucked away, secreted from anyone, especially her. Tell her, he thought. Get it done and start anew. But he could not. It had been her only leverage and now she'd feel the weight of the king's word harder than anyone. Harder than he did now.

  He spoke only from his heart. "Aye, I did want that, and I cared less about who I hurt to get it. Forgive me, love, for I regret those words. I needed a piece of Ireland of my own. A home. For I had lost the right. But 'tis not the land that makes me want now, Sinead, but you."

  Her heart skipped to her throat, making her words hoarse. "Bodies joined is trivial—"

  She was still so full of doubt, he thought, and could not blame her. "You are smarter than that. If all I wanted was your body beneath me I could have seduced you last night." She looked adorably indignant and he tipped her chin up and brushed his mouth over hers. Instantly she worried his lips and shifted closer, thigh to thigh. "Nor would I have put up with your insults and slurs, your distrust and—"

  She covered his mouth with her hand. "Forgive me that."

  He peeled her hand aside. "I have. And I do desire you," he growled softly. "Madly. But when you lay dying, I saw the inconsequence of it." She went suddenly still and his voice softened as the words poured from his heart. "I did not see a castle and lands, alliances and the king's bonds. I saw my life without you, and I could not bear to live it alone."

  "Connal," she said in barely a whisper, feeling his torment.

  "I need you," he said fiercely, shoving his hand into her hair and locking his gaze on hers. "God above, I cannot breathe with you this near, and I do not breathe when you are far from me." He swallowed thickly on his pride and said, "We are destined, Sinead."

  Her blue eyes filled with tears.

  She swallowed a sob, the folds of her heart spreading wide. "Aye, your soul is mine, Connal; even when I denied it, your soul was part of mine."

  His breathing rushed, the gift of her words spiraling through his blood, clawing with heat and wonder and salvation. He laid her hand over his heart. "Then tell it to rest, for I have found its mate."

  With trembling hands she touched his face, his throat, his chest, and then smoothed his hair back. "Do not say the words if you do not have them in your heart, Connal, please."

  "I have denied them long enough to the one I should have spoken them." He pressed his forehead to hers and drew a shaky breath. "I love you, Sinead."

  Her lip quivered and she tried to smile as her heart took flight on gossamer wings. "You are the only man I can love, Connal." She pressed her mouth to his and moaned, "And, oh, how I have always loved you."

  He kissed her, and as they fell willingly into each other, the forest bloomed around them, celebrating the love born centuries before and the mating of long-lost souls.

  * * *

  Chapter 17

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  The door inside her heart unlocked and with it a flood of emotion and sensations washed over him, through him, making his body tremble. Energy poured through his blood, given from her, taken into him, and Connal moaned with the pleasure of her, with the knowledge of her love, with the acceptance of his.

  She loved him, and the glory of it surpassed all reason and thought. He knew only the purest joy. His kiss deepened, his arms tightened, as if to pull her inside himself and clean away the rubble still left there. The air around them warmed and sweetened, and Connal felt burdens lift and tranquility seep into his soul.

  The power of it sent them to their knees, clinging, mouths melting and molding with urgency and heat.

  "Ah, Sinead, Sinead," he murmured, his voice rough with the emotions flooding his heart.

  "We are one, Connal, can you not feel it?"

  He did. His blood rushed and matched hers. His heart thundered and hers mated with the tempo. He gazed into her eyes, and for the breath of a moment he was in her world. In her soul. The light of her magic filled him and he trembled.

  With the flare of his eyes, Sinead knew he understood and felt as she did. As she had for so long. "I have loved you since I took my first breath."

  "And I till my last."

  Her eyes teared. "Come to me, Connal. Claim me now."

  Tenderly, he stroked her hair back. "I'd dreamed of making love to you elsewhere."

  She smiled with tender humor. "Ah, my knight, it matters not where"—she touched the shape of his lips, her eyes intense—"only that the love within is true."

  "Oh, love," he choked, "'tis so." He pressed his mouth to hers again. "'Tis truly so." It stunned him, the feelings he could have when he allowed them freedom. She'd defied him and he adored it. She'd fought with him and he felt more alive with each word. No matter how viperous, no matter how cutting, she breathed life into him again, and the chance to love her surpassed all his wants.

  Save one.

  Joining with her.

  Making her truly his.

  Erotic images filled his mind, driving need down to his boot heels as he swept her tightly to him and kissed her, a wild play of lips and tongue. Connal knew he would die for his want of her, of loving her. Need, sharpened with hunger and new-born love splintered through them.

  Cloaks fell. Her hair tumbled to the ground like autumn's red fire.

  His tongue outlined her lips, laying at the taste of her, and she responded wildly, eating at his mouth, clawing at his chest as if to tear into him.

  "I want to touch you; take this off," she commanded, and he hurriedly uncoupled his sword belt, tossing it aside. No sooner done, her hands slid under the layers of his tunic, fingers meeting flesh, and his muscles contracted beneath her touch as she pushed the fabric off over his head. He did not feel the cold, only her, only her small hands riding over his bare skin and leaving a scorching path.

  Sinead felt his power under her fingertips and marveled again at the great size of him, the dozens of slashing scars marking his skin and telling a story of war and battle. Skin taut over muscle and bone, brown from the Arab sun. He watched her intently as she feathered her fingers over calluses left from his armor, then inhaled as she bent and slicked a moist circle over his flat coin nipple. A chest full of air hissed out between his clenched teeth; his fingers tightened on her waist and she kept tasting, each stroke deeper, more certain, more determined to exact pleasure, and when her mouth met his, Connal drank in her very breath, hooking his thumbs in the neck of her gown and pulling it down. Her breasts spilled from the confines, grazing his chest. He enfolded the rounded flesh, thumbs teasing circles around her nipple until she arched into him and enjoyed. He bent his mouth to her and wrapped his lips around t
he little nub and drew on her, her soft cries filling his mind, nurturing his soul. She touched his chin and he looked at her as she rose to slide her gown off her hips. His breath hung in the balance as the fabric slipped downward with erotic slowness, revealing the gentle swell of her belly, then the deep red juncture of her thighs, before dropping to the ground.

  Connal stared, absorbing each curve and valley before meeting her gaze. She stepped closer, and from her delicate ankles he rode his hands up to the backs of her thighs. She touched his hair, and he buried his face in her taut stomach, his fingertips digging into her buttocks, and felt himself shudder with want and pleasure. And love.

  "I love you," he whispered and dragged his tongue over her smooth flesh. Over the thin whip scar forever marring her flesh. For a fraction of time, he glanced up. She watched, her lungs laboring for every breath, her hands running greedily over his arms, his face. Eager, hungry, lovingly. She smiled, feline wild.

  They were like statues, trapped in a sliver of time. Gazes locked. Their only movement was their breathing.

  Then he peeled her open and tasted her.

  The throaty sound she made spilled over him like hot wine, echoing in the woods. He drove deeply, tasting her in hot lavish strokes and feeling her tremble for him. She rocked, and he felt her blood pulse. He sampled sweetness, and her hips undulated luxuriously, and he gave her more, feeding on her passion.

  Her pleasure became his. He felt it sing through her body, spilling into his. Pulling her thigh over his shoulder, he gripped her harder, thrusting two fingers deep inside her. Her cry was bright and filled with honest delight. Free and abandoned to him, and he thickened with hot need to be inside her.

  He felt her muscles convulse, her throb of satisfaction race to the peak.

  "Connal, oh my stars, Connal!"

  Then she came apart, her body flexing, pawing with her sweet explosion. He devoured her pleasure.

  Sinead sank her fingers into his hair and felt bathed in fire, the blaze sluicing within her body as it flexed for his command. And she let him have it, wonderfully helpless and shuddering without control. Exquisite. Yet before her fulfillment could recede she slid bonelessly down onto his lap. He held her, kissing her face, her hair, then pushed her legs around his waist and laid her on the ground.