Rosamund then turned to Warrick. ‘Shall we escort them to the bedding ceremony?’
Her brother nearly choked at the suggestion, and he shook his head. ‘Forgive me, but that is something I have no desire to witness.’
Her cheeks flamed crimson, but Joan admitted to her brother, ‘We...already consummated the betrothal.’ It might have been weeks ago, but her brothers didn’t need to know that.
Warrick turned murderous, but Ronan held his ground. ‘It matters not. We are wedded now, and the marriage cannot be undone.’
Before her brother could say a word, Rosamund put her hand in his. ‘Good. Then there is no need for us to interrupt your wedding night.’
Ronan escorted Joan from the family chapel and was about to lead her to their chamber when she stopped him. ‘Could we spend some time away from Killalough? It’s still light outside. We could go riding.’
But he shook his head. ‘After what happened earlier, it’s not safe. There could still be men watching the fortress.’
‘Oh.’ Her mood dimmed at that. She wanted to lift his spirits, to find some way of celebrating this wedding together. An idea came to her, and she said, ‘Would you come with me somewhere else? Inside the fortress, that is?’ She took his hand in hers and led him towards the stairs. Ronan didn’t seem particularly eager, but she had her own plans in mind.
Joan guided him through the Great Chamber and towards the doors leading outside. It was colder than she had anticipated, and a few sparse flakes of snow drifted downward, illuminated by the torches. She led him towards the kitchens and said, ‘I thought we could have a small wedding feast.’
Ronan seemed somewhat confused but followed her inside. Joan asked the cook and the maids to leave them to dine alone, and they were met with knowing smiles.
‘What would you like to eat?’ she asked her new husband. When he shrugged, she said, ‘I know what we should do. You can choose what you believe I would like to eat. I’ll do the same for you.’
‘If you wish.’ He took a wooden bowl and started looking on the far side of the kitchen while she took the closer area. She thought about what she had seen him eat in the past and chose a selection of mutton and cheese. But when she opened a small wooden box, she found a delicate crust dotted with honey, crushed nuts, and spices. Carefully, she broke off four pieces of the honeyed cake and then turned to join him at the wooden table.
There was only one chair and one stool. Joan set down the food she’d chosen for him in front of the chair, and then pulled the stool beside him. To her surprise, when she sat, the stool was so low her forehead met the edge of the table. She eyed Ronan and grinned. ‘Well, this won’t make it easy to eat.’
In response, he pulled her to sit on his knee. ‘You will sit here, a stór.’ He held her with one arm while he offered her a piece of bread. It was soft with a crisp crust, and she broke off a piece for him.
‘You’re right, I do like bread.’
She gave him some of the roasted mutton, and when he gave her some of the meat, his thumb brushed against her mouth. And suddenly, the atmosphere shifted from one of dining together to a sensual moment. She grew aware of his hard thighs and the touch of his fingers against her mouth as he fed her a piece of salmon he had selected. She offered him some, but he shook his head. ‘I don’t like fish. I never have.’
She countered by giving him the honeyed cake. When her fingers were sticky, she licked one. Ronan’s mouth lifted in a seductive smile as he took her fingers and licked off the rest of the honey.
Heat flooded through her, and she felt an aching emptiness between her legs. Her breasts grew uncomfortable against the silk of her bliaud, and she understood that she had begun a battle of her own. He turned her to straddle him, and his green eyes were dark with desire. Joan glanced at the door, uncertain of whether they might be interrupted by a servant.
‘Have you...finished?’ she managed to ask.
His hands moved up her bare legs to her bottom. He palmed her and squeezed gently. ‘I’ve barely begun, Joan.’
She felt her body go liquid at his words, and he unlaced her bodice, his hot breath upon her skin. When she was bared to the waist, his hands moved to her inner thighs.
‘Someone might walk in,’ she whispered. But when his mouth fastened upon her nipple, she could think of nothing but the drowning sensation of him. ‘We shouldn’t do this here.’
‘You belong to me now, Joan. And I will pleasure you whenever I want to.’ With that, he slid two fingers inside her, stroking her intimately. There was a faint smile on his mouth. ‘Do you want me to stop?’
‘N-no.’ Her fingers dug into his shoulders as he caressed her. ‘But I want to return to our chamber.’ The danger of discovery heightened with every moment, and she needed to be alone with him.
His green eyes were hooded with desire, and he lifted her into his arms. Though her gown was still undone, she managed to cover her breasts. He gave her his cloak, and she used it to hide herself while he took her away from the kitchens.
Ronan crossed the inner bailey and returned to the keep. Flurries of snow drifted down upon her, but she felt only the heat of desire for her husband.
When they reached the spiral stairs inside, Ronan lowered her to stand. Joan clutched the cloak around her as she hurried up towards their chamber.
The moment they were alone inside, he barred the door and took her in his arms, kissing her as if he could not get enough. The cloak fell to the floor, and he ripped the laces of her gown free, hurrying to take it off. She helped him remove his tunic and trews until at last he lifted her up and tossed her back on the bed, naked. A laugh caught in her throat, but it immediately quieted when she saw the intensity in his eyes.
‘I am going to touch you all night long,’ he swore. ‘Until you can no longer bear it.’
He lowered his mouth to her bare breast to suckle her. She let out a gasp, feeling the molten heat of his mouth upon her. But this night, she intended to pleasure him, too. She reached down between them and palmed his erection, squeezing his length.
Ronan muttered beneath his breath in Irish, and she teased, ‘Did you like that?’
In answer, he freed her other breast and tantalised her with his mouth. ‘Did you?’
She fisted him gently and answered, ‘Yes.’
It became a conquest of trying to drive each other past the edge. Though she was shaking from the force of her own arousal, she would not give in. Not until she had what she wanted.
She guided his rigid length to her entrance and held the tip of him there. ‘Do you feel how badly I want you?’
The expression on his face was so tight, he seemed unable to bear it. ‘You’re so wet, Joan.’
‘Come inside me,’ she pleaded. ‘I don’t care if you spill your seed outside my body. But I need you to join with me.’
There was a moment of indecision on his face, and she kissed him. ‘You need me as badly as I need you, Ronan. Join with me.’
The strain upon his body was so taut, she knew he was at the edge. Softly, she reached down and cupped him, stroking him.
With that, he thrust hard, filling her completely. She cried out with the shock of it, and her body trembled as he was deeply embedded. For a moment, he stayed there, not moving at all. But she arched her back, lifting her hips in small thrusts. She squeezed him within her depths, and he closed his eyes as if unable to bear the pleasure.
‘You are mine, Ronan. As I am yours.’
At that, he began to withdraw and penetrate. The rhythm was slow and smooth, his thickness invading her fully. They did not speak of the impending battle nor of the risks ahead. For now, there was only the joining she had longed for.
‘Joan,’ he said roughly as he gripped her waist. She met his thrusts, embracing him within her depths as the echoes of pleasure rippled within her. Ronan took command and pulled her hips to
the edge of the bed. He stood, holding her bottom as he entered and withdrew. The new position took him deeper, and a cry erupted from her throat as the white-hot pleasure seized her.
She felt every inch of him as he thrust, and her body shattered apart. But Ronan continued to penetrate, lifting her hips up. There was a desperation of a man well past the point of control. When she met his gaze, a sudden fear grasped her heart.
He was behaving like a man who did not expect to survive the war ahead. As if he were claiming the last moments with her before they disappeared for ever.
He continued to pump inside her until at last he growled and withdrew, spilling himself upon her belly. He collapsed beside her, and she held him close.
In a few days, he would leave her behind. But she could no longer stand back and let him go off to fight.
A premonition caught her with the fear that if she remained at Killalough, she would never see him again.
Chapter Eight
A sennight later
Although Ronan had hoped to leave sooner, he had to delay the battle because of the wounded men. Rhys and Warrick had convinced him to stay long enough for the men to heal, and they had promised to remain at Killalough to protect Joan. She had not been pleased about staying behind, but her brothers had given her no choice.
They had spent most of the day travelling towards Clonagh, and it gave Ronan time to think. He had sent word to Odhran that he wanted to meet to discuss the fate of Brodur. He hoped that somehow his father was still alive. Although Brodur had barely spoken to him after the death of Ardan, Ronan needed to make amends. Somehow, he had to free his father and restore him to the throne. But he could not do this until he knew what was happening within the fortress and where his people’s loyalty lay.
It seemed as if his life had been turned inside out. He had never intended to marry, and now he had a wife. Somehow Joan had woven her way into his life. She was not the shy, virtuous woman he’d envisioned. He’d expected her to be demure and quiet when they were alone. But she knew how to get beneath his skin, and only last night, she had awakened him with a kiss. She had aroused him in the dark, riding him hard until they were both sweaty and well pleasured.
His innocent wife had become sensual, and it was a physical ache to be apart from her. Each time he made love to her, it grew more difficult to stop himself from releasing inside her. Perhaps that was why she welcomed him into her arms every night, in the hopes that somehow a child would be conceived. Yet another part of him prayed it would never happen. He didn’t know if he could watch her grow round with his child without remembering what had happened to his nephew.
Ronan forced the thoughts away when they reached the outskirts of Clonagh. There was a thin layer of snow on the ground, and several of his kinsmen guarded the gate. He spied others who were spaced at intervals around the walls. Although they held their weapons, they did not attack as Ronan drew closer. He had left most of the men encamped a few miles away while he travelled with only ten Norman soldiers. He intended it to seem as if he was here to negotiate for Brodur’s release, not to attack. Right now, he needed to gather information and learn what had happened with the hostages.
As they rode within the gates, a heavy stillness still cloaked the air. His intuition warned that women and children were imprisoned within these walls, but there was no proof. Yet, he could not deny the danger here, visible in the faces of the men who lined the pathway. Resentment was carved into their faces, as if they blamed him for this. And when he passed Darragh, his friend’s face showed no emotion at all.
Ronan dismounted from his horse and gave it to a kinsmen, ordering the other men to do the same. He continued towards the centre of the fortress, surrounded on both sides by the armed Norman soldiers.
Odhran stood in front of his father’s house with Eilis at his side. His stepbrother was clothed in a saffron silk tunic, and he wore a gold band around his forehead. His brown hair fell across his shoulders, and his beard was trimmed close to his face. The satisfaction on Odhran’s face mirrored the queen’s smug smile. Eilis appeared as if she was well pleased with the outcome of their rebellion.
Ronan continued to walk closer, though every muscle in his body was rigid with tension. It was a struggle to hide his hatred. Were it possible, he would have brought the Norman army here this very day, slaughtering his stepbrother and seizing the throne. But he could not do so until he knew the truth of what had happened here.
‘Ronan,’ the queen greeted him. ‘I see you’ve come to accept your rightful king.’
He didn’t even spare Eilis a glance. Instead, he stared hard at Odhran. ‘Where is my father?’
Odhran paused, deliberately holding back an answer as he drew himself up to his full height. But Ronan still held the advantage of looking down on the man.
‘He has gone into exile,’ Odhran answered. ‘I believe he travelled to Normandy.’
It was undoubtedly a lie. Ronan turned towards his people to see their response, but most had their heads lowered. It was Darragh who held his gaze a moment before his eyes flickered towards the hillside where hostages were kept. Ronan gave a faint nod towards his friend before he turned back to Odhran.
‘And what if I don’t believe you?’
His stepbrother shrugged. ‘I care not what you believe. Your opinion holds no weight with me.’
‘I am going to find him,’ Ronan insisted.
‘If you wish to travel to Normandy, do as you will. But do not return here. They do not want you.’ Odhran gestured for two of the men to come forward. ‘Your belongings are in this trunk. I give it to you freely as a sign that I mean only peace towards you, Brother.’
‘We are not brothers.’ Ronan’s voice barely hid his rage. Then he turned towards his kinsmen. ‘Do you truly want this man as your king?’
‘We didn’t want you,’ came another voice. It was Darragh. The man reached out for the trunk and put it on his shoulders as he strode towards Ronan. It felt as if his friend had betrayed him in front of everyone, and it took an effort not to lash out.
‘Take your belongings and go,’ Darragh said loudly. ‘We are content here, and Brodur is gone. There is nothing more for you.’ When he reached Ronan’s side, he muttered beneath his breath. ‘I will meet you by the river later this night.’
Some of his tension dissipated, but Ronan gave no sign that he had heard the man. He took the trunk and handed it over to one of the Norman soldiers. Then he regarded Odhran. ‘You will not remain king for long.’ With that, he turned away but met Darragh’s eyes briefly to show that he had understood the message.
At nightfall, he would have the answers he sought.
* * *
Ronan waited that night near the river as Darragh had asked. He knew his friend would not arrive until well after dark, and he ordered the remainder of his men to join them. They made camp by the water’s edge, though he had forbidden them to build fires.
He held himself back from the Norman soldiers, setting up his tent on the outskirts. After they ate a cold meal of dried meat and bread, he retreated from the men. He dragged the trunk inside his tent, though he already knew what was inside: a few pieces of clothing, an extra pair of shoes, and most of his carving tools.
There was a block of wood that he’d begun to shape, with the barest hint of a face. He had never met his mother, and he had tried to envision her within the wood. Now, he found himself picking up the chisel and shaping it once again...only this time, it was Joan’s face he carved.
He gripped the wood and fell into the familiar pattern of carving. The hours slipped away, and his hands were stiff, but he saw the clear image of his wife staring back at him in the wood. He would see her soon enough but wondered what news he would bring back to her.
She had slipped into his life seamlessly, and he could not deny that he was pleased with the marriage. Joan was steadfast and kind, fiercely
loyal to those she loved. There was no doubt she would make an excellent queen for the Ó Callaghan people.
But it was his own capabilities that he questioned as a future king.
There came the sound of grass rustling outside his tent, and Ronan unsheathed a dagger as he stepped outside. When he saw Darragh standing with one of the Norman soldiers, he kept the blade in his hand.
‘I am no threat to you,’ his friend said by way of greeting. ‘I am the one facing the greater risk.’
Ronan put down the dagger and gestured for the man to enter the tent and sit. He dismissed the Norman soldier and closed the flap behind him. Then he opened by asking Darragh, ‘What happened at Clonagh?’
Darragh waited a moment and then said, ‘Queen Eilis hired mercenaries to attack and imprison Brodur. After you left, those mercenaries seized nine of the tribe’s children. My son Ailan was one of them.’
There was worry and anguish upon the man’s face, and now, it became clear what Odhran’s strategy was. By taking children as hostages, he had effectively imprisoned both parents.
‘After they took the children, my cousin Leena tried to save her daughter.’ He closed his eyes, and his fists clenched. The familiar mask of grief washed over him, and he shook his head. ‘They killed her as an example to all of us.’
It was far worse than Ronan could ever have imagined. To slaughter a mother attempting to save her child was an act of savagery. He didn’t want to voice the question, but he had to know. ‘And the child?’
Darragh lifted his gaze and stared hard at him. ‘They slit her throat in front of everyone.’
Ronan expelled a curse. By the blood of Danu, he could hardly grasp such a thing. It was one matter to kill men in battle—but this went beyond anything he could envision.
‘Not one of us will lift a hand against Odhran,’ Darragh continued. ‘We cannot risk the lives of our own children. And any man who would murder a little girl has no soul.’
‘I am sorry,’ Ronan answered. ‘I swear to you, I will find a way to free them. No matter what happens.’
Forbidden Night with the Prince Page 15
