THE IRISH KNIGHT

by Amy J. Fetzer

  Nahjar stood, stroking the wicked blade sheathed in the wide waistband. "So where do we find this sheriff, little one?"

  "In the west, Derbyshire, m'lord. The shire of Nottingham."

  * * *

  "Good God, how did you get like that?" the sheriff, Eustance, demanded.

  Guy nudged the air with his chin.

  The lady stood by the bed, her hands free of the shackles, and if he had to guess, her temper high.

  "My, you are lovely," he sand, walking closer, his gaze moving over the gown he'd provided for her. "That color suits you."

  Sinead put up her hands and the sheriff went flying backwards, smacking against the wall. "Do not make me angry, Sheriff."

  Eustance shook his head and climbed to his feet.

  "I would not do that again if I were you, and release him. That looks ridiculous."

  Sinead folded her arms and refused. Sir Guy had already tried to climb beneath her skirts, thinking she was still drugged and helpless. He deserved worse and her look said as much. She turned her gaze on the sheriff, a slender man with midnight black hair and a tiny scrap of a beard dappling below his lip and chin. It made his face look pointy.

  "You are being uncooperative, I see," Eustance said, sighing dramatically, then striding to the door. He called for a guard.

  Sinead kept her gaze on him as he whispered to the guard, and then the ugly little man with the pockmarked face left.

  The sheriff looked at her, folding his arms and leaning back against the wall. "I will ask politely, free him."

  Sinead glared. "Where is my husband? What have you done?"

  "Your husband is dead."

  Sinead did not pale, did not wince. "Do not think to tell me what I know to be a lie. He lives and you, sir, will pay for this crime."

  "Will I? I think I hold all the pieces, my lady." He strolled closer. With the flick of her hand, Sinead sent him stumbling back.

  "Keep your distance sir, or you will end up like him."

  Eustance glanced at Guy, noticing the redness of his face, yet naught shackled him to the wall. "Fight it!" the sheriff demanded.

  "I am!"

  "Be stronger. She cannot fight free will." Sinead's features stretch taut. O'Brien must have told him that. "Bring O'Brien to me."

  "Demanding little witch, aren't you? Nay, I think not. But you will obey me and behave or I shall drug you again."

  The guard returned, pulling someone along, and Sinead's eyes widened when she saw Murphy. "Oh, Goddess bless," she said. "I though they'd killed you."

  Murphy yanked her hand from the guard's and sniffed, righting her clothing. "The creatures tossed me over a horse and took me out of the castle afore the fightin' started. I saw it from the hill."

  Sinead swung on the sheriff. "What point was taking her?" Then she knew.

  "Ah, good. You do see my purpose." His smile was thin and oily. "You behave and she lives. Now release him."

  She looked at Guy, who managed to get one hand free. She waved and he fell to the floor. Sinead went to Murphy, wrapping her arm around her. "She stays with me."

  "Oh, nay, nay, and have you put a spell on her or something? Nay." He called for the guard. And they took Murphy away. Sinead's heart broke at the fear she tried to hide.

  "I will behave as well as I can."

  Eustance eyed her, then nodded. "Someone will be up to feed you."

  "You drug me and expect me to eat your food? Nay, I want naught more of yours."

  "Then fine, you won't get any. Atall." The sheriff left, closing the thick door.

  Sinead let out a breath and said to the darkness, "And I find, dear sheriff, that I cannot behave atall." With a quick spin, she vanished.

  Murphy lurched back when Sinead appeared. "Land—!" Sinead covered her mouth, looking to the door. Murphy's chamber had a small window in it and she hustled the woman over into a corner and hoped they could not be seen.

  "Connal—did you see him?"

  Murphy's expression turned grave. "He was fighting the sheriff, and Branor stabbed him."

  Sinead inhaled. The dream. Oh, Goddess nay, the dream. Branor was what she could not see. "Why?" she whispered, her hands trembling.

  Murphy shrugged. "Connal was not expecting it, that I can tell you. Land, when I think on the times I fed that man, washed his clothes … welcomed him like a brother."

  Sinead thought back, at Branor's disapproval of her, and even after all this time he was one man she'd not won over. He'd known their plans and was likely relaying news to Prince John's conspirators through their entire trip. He was the one off to "find" the attackers and came back with no one. He was the one left guarding the archer in the cell at Rory's castle. Had he been working his own plan or someone else's?

  "I saw Nahjar kill him," Murphy was saying and was about to say more when a thin voice called to them. Sinead frowned and moved to the door, peering out. There were no guards, and she realized that the sheriff did not consider the woman a threat.

  "Who is there?"

  A female, Sinead decided. "I am Sinead, wife to PenDragon."

  The woman gasped, the sound like wind through the trees. "PenDragon! Then Richard comes home?"

  "My husband precedes him. Who are you?"

  "I am Marian, the king's cousin."

  Sinead glanced back at Murphy.

  Murphy shrugged. "I don't know the royals, lass."

  "Why are you here?" Sinead asked in barely a whisper.

  "The sheriff uses me as bait. Can you release me?" Marian called. "Please I must get out, now." She rattled the door, and Sinead glimpsed a face pressed to the small cut in the wood.

  "Shhh. Will you believe me if I say you are safer there?"

  "Nay, I will not!"

  "I did not think so," Sinead said on a sigh. "I cannot release you. I am trapped as well."

  'Twas not a lie, for she was. If she left, not only would Nottingham take it out on Murphy, she would not be able to know what these men were about. They posed a great threat to King Richard, and though Sinead had no fondness for either brother, she knew Connal would not follow a bad king so loyally.

  Sinead stepped away from the door and looked at Murphy. "They will use you to keep me from leaving here, my friend. I fear they will do you grave harm regardless."

  "Can you not—?" Murphy waved her hands wildly. "To protect us?"

  Sinead grinned. "You must ask."

  "Please, little one. Protect me and go to Connal. Do your best and Goddess be praised."

  Sinead stood, her arms raised to the ceiling as she invoked the Goddess and asked her for help. "Lord and Lady, all about, guard her day and night throughout. Guide her through each passing hour and grant Murphy your protective power. From head to toe, from sky to ground, keep her safe and well and sound. Pure of heart and words of old, to those who harm, turn back threefold. So I say, so mote it be!"

  Murphy smiled, her body warm, her skin pricking as a sheet of pale lavender mist hovered above, then fell, draping her in cool peace.

  Sinead lowered her hand, hugging the woman, whispering, "I must return to my cell afore he notices," then turned and vanished.

  "Hello," the woman called out.

  Murphy walked to the door, peering out. "Hush. You'll be bringing the guards and trouble, lass. King's kin or nay, I'll tell you to shut yer yap."

  "I beg your pardon."

  "Lady Sinead will help us. Trust in that." There was a sound of frustration from the other cell, and Murphy smiled. "Takes a bit of getting used to, I know."

  Her smile fell as she thought of Connal, and she prayed he survived Branor's wound and found his bride—and gave that skinny English sheriff his due.

  * * *

  Connal was dressed when Monroe entered the chamber, and he did not cease stuffing his packs.

  "Aw, my lord, give it a day, I beg you."

  Only Connal's gaze shifted. "Would you?"

  "Nay, but your injury…"

  "'Tis not so bad; sore, aye, but I will
live." If only to kill Nottingham.

  "Then eat first."

  Connal agreed, taking bread and meat, folding it over and chomping into it afore he left the chamber. He called to Nahjar and Sir Kerry.

  "Sajin, we ride?"

  "Aye, and think on a plan as we do, my friend, for if she is drugged and shackled, she is helpless."

  "When have you ever known Sinead to be helpless, my lord?"

  Connal met his gaze, a smile tugging at his mouth. "Aye."

  "Pity the sheriff and Prince John," Monroe said, "but not her."

  Connal only nodded, yet the memory of her dying, of her spirit slipping from him, reminded him that enchanted though she was, she was still a fragile human. They covered the distance into Derbyshire, then to Nottingham in less than a day. The sound of the army, the hooves, came like thunder, drawing folk from their homes and into the roads. Connal recognized the conditions much like those in Ireland, the people hungry and beggarly.

  Some threw stones and sticks as they passed, and a friar warned them to avoid the forest. Connal did not, 'twas the quickest path to the castle, and on the edge of the woods he found a lock of Sinead's hair clinging to a bush, torn free in the ride. He stuffed it inside his surcoat and rode into the mist-filled woods.

  Nahjar glanced about, scowling at the trees. "The forest has eyes, Sajin."

  "And feet and hands and weapons." Connal looked to the treetops, reining back. "Show yourselves," he said, "or we shoot."

  Behind him, his archers readied bows and shafts.

  "And if we shoot first?" A man dropped from the trees directly in front of him.

  Connal's gaze swiped over the man, noticing his mismatch of clothes and the multitude of weapons he wore. "Then we have a war that is unnecessary. I've no quarrel with you."

  "And who would your fight be with, sir?"

  Connal frowned, and though he did not sense a threat, something nagged at his memory. "'Tis my business."

  The sword whispered out of its sheath and pointed at the chest of Connal's mount. Still, he did not draw his own sword. "I'd be very upset if you killed my horse."

  "I'd hate to do that, since he was ever faithful to you that day in Syria."

  Connal blinked and leaned forward, trying to see the man's features in the dappled light. "Locksley?"

  The man grinned. "Welcome to Sherwood, PenDragon."

  Connal smiled. "Sweet mother, I thought you dead!"

  "The same of you, too."

  Locksley sheathed his sword and whistled. Nearly fifty men emerged from behind trees or dropped from branches. Connal ordered his men to shoulder arms and slid from the saddle. He winced, grabbing his side, and was thankful that Branor's aim was off and the blade too narrow to do much damage. But God above, it hurt like hell. He looked at Locksley, then pushed away from his mount. The two men stared for a bit, then shook hands, the greeting ending in a back-slapping hug.

  "Why on earth are you here?"

  Sir Robert gestured to the land. "'Tis my home and these are my friends," he said, enjoying PenDragon's surprise. "Come, we can share what little we have and I'll tell you a story."

  An hour later Connal sat near a fire, Locksley at his side. "My sympathy for your family, Robert. And that the sheriff has made you an outlaw."

  Robert leaned back against a rock, idly tossing pebbles into the blaze. Around them children played, women worked, and men prepared for attack. "I learned in the Holy Lands that none could know what the next day brings. And war must have a greater purpose than one man's belief in religion."

  Connal glanced at Robert, understanding the man's feeling more than he let on. Though they followed Richard, neither could forgive him for ordering thousands of Muslims executed.

  "So, who is this lady of yours?"

  "Marian. I've known her since I was a boy. She always hated me." Robert smirked to himself. "But not now."

  Connal snickered a laugh. "I understand that. I have known my wife since she was four. She declared her heart to me, and I broke it several times. 'Tis been a long road to regain what I thought I did not need." Or could not have.

  Robert grinned. "Your men speak highly of her, Irishman."

  Pride swelled in Connal. "One cannot help but adore her."

  "Then how do we get them back?"

  "I'd hoped you had a plan to get inside the castle."

  "I've not enough men to lay siege, and that could bring harm to both women."

  "Three women; they have my steward, too." At least he hoped so, for there was no sign of Murphy anywhere, and during the battle only Peg had said she'd seen a single rider on the hillside

  "You do not fear for her safety? For I know the sheriff would not hesitate to abuse Marian if he thought it would make me fight him."

  Silent and still, Connal concentrated, his brows working for a moment. Then a grin stretched his features. "Nay, she is well enough."

  Robert scowled at him. "How the bloody hell do you know that?"

  "I can feel her heart beat."

  "'Tis twisted, that," Robert said.

  Connal could not reveal his gift, not now, nor that his wife was a powerful witch. These people did not need to be more frightened than they were already. "Not if you loved her like I do."

  Robert looked at him oddly. "Good God, you've gone all softhearted mush, PenDragon." He shook his head sadly. "I never thought to see it."

  Connal smiled, his heart relieved that he knew Sinead was alive, yet he could not ease the worry plaguing him. Not till he held her again. He prayed she held her tongue and did not antagonize the sheriff. She was only a woman, he thought, and she bled like any other.

  * * *

  On the shores of Dover, a weathered ship scraped against the sand, and men hopped into the water to pull the small craft farther onto shore. A single figure stood at the bow, his gaze moving over the landscape for a moment before he stepped onto the land.

  A cheer rose, and he smiled, then looked up toward the cliffs. A narrow road cut the side of the earth, and riders traveled single file. Well-ordered power, he thought, as they rode down toward the water. King Richard smiled, noticing PenDragon's banner a few yards behind his own. Success, he thought.

  * * *

  Prince John waited impatiently for the witch to appear. Through the door, he amended with a smirk. He'd arrived only an hour earlier, under disguise of course, since he could trust so few right now. He'd already taken the oaths of a dozen barons, and the tithe paid would ensure him a healthy start as king. He glanced around the room, at the Irishman who'd betrayed his people, and wondered what the man would say when he told him the witch would not die, not yet. Not till he was finished with her.

  He'd so hoped the man had died some time ago.

  The stir of voices and footsteps drew his attention to the entrance, and he waited, his heart pounding a little faster. She stopped on the threshold, her gaze going directly to him.

  It hit him like a punch, those pale blue eyes, that rich red hair. He was transfixed. Clad in a fine blue gown richly appointed with silver, she did not cover her hair like Englishwomen. And he was glad of it, for the wild curls spilled riotously over her shoulders to her knees, and in the mass he saw little flecks of silver in the braids peppering the curls.

  "You have summoned, so I am here, Prince," she said, and her Irish lilt clipped the words.

  "A pleasure to meet you, Lady PenDragon."

  "I cannot offer the same," she said, taking purposeful steps toward him.

  Sinead enjoyed that he retreated a step. She should not have, for fear was not what she wanted people to have near her, but now 'twas an advantage. And with Murphy in the tower with Lady Marian, she had too few.

  She looked him over. He was not overly tall and yet undoubtedly handsome. Boyishly so, she thought, mentally comparing him to her husband. Oh, Prince John, you haven't true power, she thought, and the image of the two men facing each other made her smile.

  John, thinking she was pleased, smiled back. "'Twas r
ather convenient of you to come to England."

  "I came for my husband, and for King Richard."

  John's features tightened at that. "Richard wallows in a prison."

  "One you arranged, I am certain."

  "Did your husband tell you that, afore he died?"

  She simply arched a tapered brow, refusing to feed their hope that Connal was dead. He was not, Sinead knew without a doubt, and had faith that he would find her and put this bug of a man in his place.

  "So, m'lady, prove to me that you are a witch."

  Sinead swung her gaze to Angus O'Brien. He stood at the far end of a table, a pearled goblet in his hand, dressed finer than when she'd seen him last. He took a step back, his gaze cracking between her and the prince.

  "As much as I would like that, your highness," she said with a glance over O'Brien, "I shall not perform like a trained animal."

  "You cannot do aught with magic," the prince scoffed, folding his arms over his chest, his stance speaking of challenge.

  "I can do most everything." Sinead's smile was thin. "But I will not need to." She took a step closer, her gaze intense and clear. "Prepare, John Lackland," she said softly. "Ireland has a new champion and your ruin is about to come."

  * * *

  Chapter 21

  « ^ »

  Prince John sneered. "I do not think so, my lady." He looked at the sheriff. "Tell her."

  "Aye, I saw him die."

  "You saw him fall."

  "How can you be so certain that he lives?" the prince asked, picking up a goblet.

  "I simply am." Sinead's smile was brittle as she waved a hand through the air.

  The Prince sipped, then spat the wine on the floor. He examined the goblet. "'Tis sour."

  The sheriff inclined his head to the woman. Sinead moved away, her gaze lingering on O'Brien. He took a step back and muttered, "Harm none."

  "Do not think to tell me the rules, O'Brien." She focused her attention on the prince's back. The man turned sharply, looking her up and down.

  John returned the stare. "I'll have you show me what I have bought."

  "Bought?" She laughed, her eyes feline bright. "You cannot rule me, Prince, and dare you toy with magic, 'twill come back to you threefold."