by Sarah Makela
“She is quite fine, Doyle. Now if you’ll excuse us. Enjoy the garden for a while, and let us continue our conversation,” Donoghue said before Doyle could reply to her, obviously dismissing him.
Doyle opened his mouth, but Niamh waved him away, trying to avoid the impending confrontation. Tension burned in the air, and she wouldn’t have it right now.
Doyle confused her. Why did he seem to care so much now, when before he’d been indifferent to her? She would talk with him later, but now she had her future to consider. Lord Donoghue was a wealthy man, and she’d do well to have someone like him as a suitor.
Doyle stared at Donoghue. His eyes flared as he took a step back. From his posture, Niamh knew he was furious.
Donoghue seemed like a wild cat, unpredictable and ready to attack. Doyle didn’t trust him at all. He heard the hunger in the fae’s voice as he listened to their conversation. Something about the lord’s timing, the location of where to meet and the familiar way he treated Niamh was off.
First, Donoghue spoke too openly and freely to her, as if he knew her, which from her reactions, Doyle knew wasn’t true. Secondly, the way he’d treated Doyle was that of an aggressive—almost jealous—dog trying to defend his prize. It was not the lord’s words—it was his posture while talking to him. His hand had slightly lowered, as if going towards the hilt of a hidden blade, his torso leaning towards Niamh to show she was his. There was no doubt he was more than what met the eye.
The two wandered the garden as they continued their conversation, but he refused to leave. Instead, he watched them from the shadows. Donoghue knew he was there—he glanced Doyle’s way every so often, giving him a smug grin each time.
What had hurt more was Niamh’s dismissal of him, but he brushed those feelings aside. He’d rather have her upset with him than see her hurt.
After nearly an hour, Doyle could wait no longer. His concern for Niamh grew with every word and gesture Donoghue made. He needed to get her somewhere safer, somewhere away from Donoghue.
He stepped out of the shadows, and Niamh jumped again. Her eyes widened at the sight of him. “Lady McNamara, if we could have a word?”
“What is it, Doyle?” Niamh said, glancing at Donoghue before frowning back at him.
“In private, if you would.” Doyle nodded towards a bench farther off from Donoghue.
“Excuse me,” she said to Donoghue then walked away with Doyle. As they created distance from the suitor, he looked back to make sure Donoghue wasn’t paying them any attention.
“Be careful with this man. He is a predator on the hunt. Not only does he carry hidden weapons, but he is possessive of you. He’s trouble. Trust me,” he said, keeping his voice low and level.
Niamh blinked at him. “Doyle, you come across the same way. Does that make you untrustworthy? No, don’t answer that. I’m comfortable with Donoghue. We’re having a nice conversation. There is nothing wrong with him.”
“Please, Niamh, don’t trust him.” He watched Donoghue, who looked more irritated at each passing moment.
“Stop this.” She shook her head. “He’s a nice man. I want you to find my maidens, get my belongings to my room and prepare to leave court. You cannot go around attacking a noble whom you barely know, and I’m not your property. Nor am I a child. I have my own two eyes, and from what I know of you and of him, I’m more comfortable with him.” She turned to leave.
“That’s it?” Doyle said.
“Your services are no longer needed. Please leave,” she said, walking back towards Donoghue.
Cursing under his breath about the stubborn fae, he headed to the court to do as she’d asked. Not only was she waltzing straight into danger, but she’d sent him away. This did not bode well for either of them. While he didn’t have to listen to her, he knew her connections with the queen could make him regret crossing her.
He knew how far he could push. To openly disrespect Niamh, especially on Seelie grounds, was something he wouldn’t dare to do. His reputation meant a lot to him, but he wouldn’t risk Niamh’s wrath.
Like it or not, he cared for her.
If she wouldn’t let him look after her, he would convince one of his acquaintances in the court guard to keep an eye on her. Hopefully he’d find the guard in time.
Chapter Six
The garden became busier as the day progressed. To obtain some privacy Niamh and Lord Donoghue walked along the hallways of the palace. They talked about the daily events of the court, news and even some of the inner politics. Part of her wondered at her sudden interest in Donoghue. Maybe being with Doyle had made her realise how lonely she’d been. Or more likely, his behaviour at her manor and now his jealousy had spurred her towards Donoghue.
While she normally withheld herself from long-winded conversations, she found herself enjoying his company. They made their way towards a more quiet section of the palace, finally settling into a darker hallway near the royal library.
When they had been walking, Donoghue had held the doors for her and made sure she was at ease, almost too much so. He constantly attended to her with a wide grin playing across his lips, his behaviour a friendly façade. The more time she spent with him, the more his grin reminded her of a sly fox. She shrugged off the odd feeling—she hadn’t noticed anything else out of the ordinary with him. Everyone had their quirks, right?
Their conversation moved towards her background. He rarely revealed his own past or preferences, unless she tried to pry.
Yet he gobbled up every detail she spoke, his attention undivided from her features, his gaze constantly upon hers with subtle glances to her neck.
Doyle’s warnings came back to her—he’d cautioned her about Donoghue’s hidden blade and his odd behaviour. The more she tried to avoid those thoughts, the more they came unbidden to mind. Her nervousness nearly overwhelmed her, and she found herself needing some space.
Donoghue seemed to sense the change in her. His features shifted from charming to cynical, calculative and cold. “You’re thinking about him, aren’t you? What did he say to you in the garden?”
She took a deep breath, surprised at the sudden change in Donoghue. “Nothing. He needed to discuss something with me about my safety. He’s my guard. He was appointed to keep me from harm, after all.” She took a step away from him.
“You lie.” Donoghue sneered. His expression snapped into one of jealousy and loathing. “What is that weak-blooded mercenary to you? Apparently something special. Don’t you realise he works for any court willing to pay him? What did he promise you for you to be so interested in him? Sex for protection? You turn away all other men, except him. Is that it?” He crowded her personal space and raised his voice, apparently not caring if anyone were to overhear them.
She tried to get away from him, but he grabbed her shoulder and spun her around to face him. The first punch hit her squarely in the stomach, knocking the wind out of her. The two jabs that followed smashed into her even harder, making it nearly impossible for her to regain her breath. She doubled over, gasping in shallow gulps of air.
“No denials?” He grimaced. “I’m not done, you little bitch. You’ll sit right there and listen to me.” He hardened his grip on her. “You turned me down for that mercenary? You betray your Seelie kin. He works for coin, not for loyalty. He bedded you, and now what will you do? How will you find a husband now? You’re his worthless whore!” he yelled in her face and shoved her hard.
She toppled backwards to the stone floor. Her head hit the ground, and her ears rang. She couldn’t focus on the insults Donoghue heaved at her now. I need out of here. I never should’ve dismissed Doyle. What was I thinking?
He punched her in the cheek, breaking her thoughts. Realisation struck her as he punched her again and again.
If she stayed there, she would die. The coldness in his eyes made that clear.
She drew in a breath as he cracked his knuckles. She whispered a knockback spell to get him away. The spell slammed against his chest, and though h
e shuddered at the impact, he only moved a foot away from her. Unfortunately, he was at her side faster than she’d anticipated.
He slammed his foot against her side, and she screamed at the agony that ripped through her chest. The next blow hit her in the same spot, making the pain blindingly intense.
Rolling out of the way, she used what breath she had to cast a spell to hold him in place. If only for enough time to gain a little distance from him… Almost anyone of her social stature would be able to rebuff it, so she had to act fast. He stayed there, slinging more insults at her.
“You think you’ll get away? You won’t. I’ll find you. I’ll make you regret fucking your guard and rejecting me.” Donoghue’s face was red with his rage.
Without wasting time, she scrambled to her feet—not wanting to hear anymore—and turned to run, but on second thought, she kicked him as hard as she could in the abdomen, leaving him gasping for air. Two could play his game. Slight satisfaction settled in her chest.
As she ran, she heard Donoghue bellow in anger.
Niamh staggered through the hallway. Her feet took her as fast as they could away from him. She should’ve listened to Doyle’s warnings. She shouldn’t have let herself get so angry and spiteful with him, especially when he’d showed he cared. That wasn’t who she was. She was better than that, and yet, she’d allowed herself to get swept up in her negative emotions.
Footsteps beat a steady pace behind her, and she pushed herself to pick up speed. She cried out as she reached her room and pounded her fist against the door. Glancing back towards the sound of footsteps, she saw Donoghue gaining on her, holding his stomach.
The door swung open, and she nearly fell inside. The only thing keeping her from falling to her face was Doyle’s strong arms. She glanced up into his eyes to see a mix of confusion and concern.
“What…?” He lifted her into his arms like a child and she twisted sideways to peek through the doorframe. No one was in the hallway. The courtier must’ve taken off when she’d gone inside. “What happened?”
Her gaze swept her quarters as he turned away from the door, and she saw his bags open with all of his belongings inside. It was her turn for confusion. He was preparing to leave, but he couldn’t.
“He…the courtier…he attacked me.” She leaned her head against his chest, pressing her face against it. She should’ve known. “He said I was your whore. That I must’ve given you my body in return for your protection.”
Tension radiated through Doyle’s muscles, causing his arms to shake, but he sat with her in his lap. He ran his hand over her back in soothing motions, but she couldn’t help flinching when he brushed against where Donoghue had hit and punched her. He paused his petting and swept her hair aside gently. He carefully slid her ripped gown down to see the damage, and viciously cursed beneath his breath.
She stiffened at the sheer violence in his tone. While she knew he wouldn’t hurt her, she couldn’t help but shrink away from him. He exuded danger.
Doyle stopped cursing and watched her as if she were a frightened animal ready to flee, which wasn’t far from the truth. He moved slowly, placing his hand on her shoulder then pulling her in for a gentle hug. “I’m sorry, Niamh. I wasn’t thinking.”
“It’s okay. I just…” Tears sprang to her eyes at the tenderness he displayed, and she tried to keep herself from bawling, but it wasn’t easy. Her breath came out shakily, and she forced herself to remain calm. Now wasn’t the time to break down, she’d kept herself fairly under control so far.
He pulled back a little. “I’m going to make sure he pays for what he did to you. I haven’t been able to find Sadb or Maeve as you asked. Do you know where they might be?”
They were probably off at one of the many parties. She shook her head. “No, I’m not sure. They’re probably around court somewhere.” He frowned deeply, and she regretted making him even more unhappy.
He helped her onto the chaise longue. “You stay here, and don’t let anyone into the room while I’m gone.” He headed away from her before she could reach out and grab onto him.
“Where are you going?” she asked, but the feeling niggling in her gut knew where. He was going to exact revenge for her injuries. He would make sure Donoghue paid for hurting her, and yet she was so afraid of the harm that would be inflicted on him if he went.
Donoghue hadn’t tried to hurt her at first. That had only happened after she’d tried to run away from him. Even though her suitor had belittled her relationship with Doyle, she wouldn’t change her time with him for anything. Her feelings for him were far beyond anything she’d ever felt for another person.
He reached for the doorknob without answering her, but she couldn’t let him leave.
She got to her feet, and her battered wings stretched out around her. She floated over to his side, not trusting her legs. “Please, Doyle. Please don’t go.” She brushed her hand against his shoulder, and he looked up at her. His eyes widened in what she presumed was amazement as he took her in. She drifted back to the ground and felt as if she would fall over if she didn’t sit soon. Flying had drained more of her energy than she’d anticipated. Her wings faltered in their beating, and she dropped to her shaky legs.
Doyle grabbed her before she could fall to the floor. She held onto his strong shoulders and looked into his eyes. This moment felt like their first time in her manor’s garden, but she was too weak to do anything other than be held by him.
He lifted her into his arms and carried her over to the chaise longue. Placing her there carefully, he sat beside her. “I’ll stay with you tonight, but in the morning when you’re protected, that scum will be punished by my hand.” The hard set of his jaw when he spoke softened when he looked at her. “I promised to protect you, and though I was dismissed from your service, I will make sure you remain protected while that asshole still roams these halls.”
She leaned her head against his shoulder. She never should’ve removed him from his duties—she didn’t even have the authority to do so. Anger had clouded her reason, and part of her had suspected that he might’ve held jealousy towards Donoghue. Maybe that had been true, but Doyle was a warrior, a mercenary, and right now, one of the only people she wanted to be near. She took a painful breath and relaxed against him. “I’m sorry for not letting you do your job.”
He stroked her cheek, and she closed her eyes against the sweet caress, rubbing her face against his rough palm. “Don’t apologise. Rest now.” He brushed his lips against her forehead.
Her body sank into a satisfied slumber, and she barely felt him carry her off to bed.
Doyle sat next to the bed watching her. She looked so battered and bruised. He hated seeing her like this. The asshole needed to die by his blade. The queen had hired him—he could’ve refused to leave her and prevented this attack on her, but he hadn’t wanted to upset her further. Part of him demanded immediate retribution but she’d asked—nearly begged—him not to go, and he wouldn’t betray her trust or safety by taking off while she was vulnerable. Not again…
He knew he wouldn’t be able to sleep, so he propped himself up next to her to watch her while she slept. He brushed a strand of hair off her face then trailed his knuckles over the soft curve of her bruised cheek. At her soft whimper, he drew his hand away, not wanting to disturb her more.
His eyes unwittingly grew heavy, and he drifted off to sleep.
* * * *
The loud pounding at the door startled him awake, and he jerked upright. He knew the morning had arrived while he’d slept. Damn it!
The banging continued, and he heard a soft whimper beside him. Niamh lifted her head off the pillow a little to look at him. “What’s going on?” she said, confusion heavy in her sleepy voice.
“I’ll figure out what’s happening. Stay here.” He rose from the bed then strode across the room. He drew his sword and opened the door a crack, but the door was shoved in roughly and he stumbled back in surprise. The court’s guards gripped his arms and start
ed dragging him out of the door. He dug his heels in. “What’s going on here?” he yelled. This couldn’t be happening. The guards had to have made a mistake.
“You’re under arrest for assaulting the Lady McNamara, sir,” one of the guards said. He seemed to struggle slightly with Doyle’s strength while the other kept him mostly contained.
“Who told you this? It’s not true.” Doyle grimaced and pulled with all his might on the weaker guard, causing him to trip. The few moments gave Doyle a chance to try to wrestle his arm from the stronger guard. “Stop struggling. That won’t help your case. We have our information on good authority.” The weaker guard shifted his gaze over Doyle’s shoulder and stood at attention for a moment before grabbing onto Doyle again. “My lady, do you need medical attention? We only just heard about your injuries. We’ll send for someone,” he said. He nodded at the other guard, and they began hauling Doyle away.
Doyle wished he could see Niamh, but she stood behind him. If only he saw her face, he’d be okay.
“What…what’s going on? No, this is wrong. Stop!” Niamh’s voice faded behind the closed door as it was shut soundly behind them on their way to the dungeon.
He’d ceased his struggles once in the hallway. They wouldn’t do anything to help him. Even if he escaped these two, he’d still have to make it out of the Seelie Court, which would be nearly impossible with the volume of guards.
The door opened behind him, but he wouldn’t look back. He couldn’t. “You don’t understand,” Niamh said, but neither guard paid her any attention. The faint sound of her fluttering wings filled the hall.
“I didn’t harm Lady McNamara,” he said, trying to hold on to his nerves. “She needs a guard sent to her room to protect her.”
“You were in her room with her. That’s how she was injured,” said the stronger guard. “That’s probably why we hadn’t figured out who had abused her sooner, it was her own guard assigned by our own queen. I’m sure the queen won’t be happy to hear that.” The two chuckled as if something were funny.